Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century 3030836088, 9783030836085

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Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century Edited by Sonia Zyngier Greg Watson

Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century

Sonia Zyngier · Greg Watson Editors

Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century

Editors Sonia Zyngier Federal University of Rio de Janeiro Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Greg Watson University of Eastern Finland Joensuu, Finland

ISBN 978-3-030-83608-5 ISBN 978-3-030-83609-2 https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2

(eBook)

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

In memory of Ronald A. Carter

Preface

… seeing new horizons is always the hardest part of the journey [Carter, R. In Watson & Zyngier (2007: x)]

Never have Ron Carter’s words been more pertinent than now. Just as this volume had been commissioned, the world came to a standstill, so new ways of learning, working and communicating had to be devised. As a consequence of the Covid 19 pandemic, our initial plan of presenting evidence-based assessments of what actually occurs in the classroom had to be changed. Attempting to cover the lack of empirical studies in the area (see Fogal 2015), many of the initial chapters promised to bring data fresh from the educational environment, which became an impossibility with schools closing down. Empirical endeavours would have to be left for another moment in our history. And yet, as the field has expanded, we could see that there was still much ground to be covered. Thanks to the flexibility and resilience of our contributors and to the trust Palgrave Macmillan had in this collection, we have managed to materialize a different albeit much needed project and bring this book to print. We are pleased to say that together we made it through the

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crisis, which proves that, although quite daunting a journey, we can still envisage new horizons even in the direst situations. As professionals working in the fields of language and literature, our role is to see that students learn and develop the skills of how to make meaning out of language patterns, especially those that turn into verbal art. As noted by Zyngier in her survey of pedagogical stylistics (2020: 447), The emerging field of stylistics, or the linguistic analysis of the way language works, offered promising tools for teachers who aimed at showing students how to read between the lines and how to substantiate their interpretations. In this sense, the language of literary texts was seen as useful for stimulating students’ sensitivity to everyday communication.

And it still does. By now, research in pedagogical stylistics has shown its relevance in many educational settings: from primary to tertiary levels, in English as a first, second, or foreign language, and in many other environments such as book-clubs, chats and all sorts of virtual media. Studies in pedagogical stylistics are in great demand today, especially with regard to the contributions they may bring to the educational context. It is now nearly half a century since stylisticians realized the potential of using linguistic description to substantiate textual interpretation and we believe we must assess the field from time to time to see which directions the studies will take. In 1997, a first special interest group on pedagogical stylistics (Ped-Sig) at the PALA conference in Nottingham, UK (1997) was organized to carry out a two-phase project aimed at finding out what was consensual in pedagogical stylistics and what varied due to the educational context (Clark & Zyngier 2003). This initial project stimulated teachers to go beyond practice and define scientific parameters for the area. In 2007, Carter noted that much could be done in the area, among others, of textual theories and analytical frameworks, empirical classroom research on language acquisition and reading development, on creative writing and virtual environments (Carter 2007: IX–X), or what he later called cyberspace classrooms (Carter 2010: 120). In fact, much has happened since our last collection of studies on pedagogical stylistics was published in 2007, covering contributions from

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five continents. At that time, the influence of cognitive studies on pedagogical stylistics was just beginning to be felt and we presented a section on awareness and cognition. We also offered a section on corpus stylistics and web-based courses as well as grammar and textual analysis. As a sequel to that volume, in this present book we provide an assessment of what has occurred in this field during the past 14 years. Here the reader will notice that Carter’s predictions materialized in the sense that much more emphasis is given to advances in cognitive studies, students’ reading and engagement, innovations in educational settings, the virtual world, and a more critical perspective which considers how pedagogical stylistics can promote political and social awareness. The scope of this book is quite comprehensive in terms of contexts. In our 2007 volume, five continents were included. Here, our contributors represent eight countries and 18 universities, thus covering an even wider range and different settings than those in the earlier volume. Collectively, these studies re-examine and update the state of pedagogical stylistics and in doing so offer an organic view for those who wish to have an assessment of the most recent developments in this field. Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century is divided into four main parts. Part I, Assessing and Broadening the Scope of Pedagogical Stylistics, aims at providing an overview of where the field is at the moment. Geoff Hall opens this part with an extensive survey where he reports research developed in the last 13 years pointing out the achievements obtained in a number of areas. He argues that language and literature education has been greatly influenced by globalisation, digitisation and mobility in today’s world. Among the many topics Hall covers, the reader will find empirical research in pedagogical stylistics, the cognitive turn, the issue of multimodality, online reading environments, creative writing, corpus stylistics, curriculum development, and many other recent outcomes. He also provides relevant educational research publications. In this sense, Chapter 1 is an excellent overview for scholars new to this field who will be able to have a broad assessment of the current state of pedagogical stylistics. In Chapter 2, Violeta Sotirova addresses the conflicts between linguistic and literary criticism. She shows how traditionally literary critics have been criticized by linguists for being impressionistic and

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imprecise and the linguists have been attacked for not being as objective as they claim to be. She shows how this mutual rejection has had implications for the teaching. Through examining the present perfect aspect in the work of Ezra Pound’s poem ‘Provincia Deserta’, Sotirova demonstrated that linguistic analysis can help to elucidate critical interpretation and that both have much to contribute to pedagogical stylistics. Looking at students as researchers, in Chapter 3 David Hanauer shows how the developments in the field of scientific inquiry teaching can influence educational environments. He illustrates his arguments with a course-based research experience (CURE) that can be used to help raise the students’ personal and societal agency. He holds that it facilitates deliberation surrounding political issues, a concept that seems to merit more and more attention in recent and contemporary times. Hanauer’s point is that through CURE students can become more socially and politically engaged. The fourth chapter closes Part I, by looking at developments in corpus stylistics and how it can assist in the teaching of style and register variants to English for General Academic Purposes (EAP) students, in this case within a Japanese setting. Based on their teaching experience, Marcus Bridle and Dan McIntyre are aware that undergraduate EAP students in Japan encounter much difficulty in developing both general language proficiency and language used in an academic context. By describing a course based on corpus stylistics, they argue that this methodology empowers students to discover for themselves how to target foreign language functions in specific discourse types. More specifically, they show evidence that it both enables students to develop their knowledge of academic register and helps them become independent writers. In such cases where corpus studies are unable to provide this, they can then realize that language curricula need to also take into account non-corpus methodologies. Based on advances on cognitive developments in the past ten years, Part II opens with a very original and relevant chapter where Peter Stockwell introduces the concept of Principle of Moment. His primary claim is that ‘experiential matters of textuality such as pragmatic knowledge, memory, feeling, and anticipation are also the proper domain of linguistics; and also that discourse and readerly experience are at the heart of a

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stylistic exploration’ (pp. 107–108). Stockwell highlights these concepts by briefly discussing Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet and a novel by Evelyn Waugh. His final goal is to show that introspection can also be regarded as an empirical method to be used in pedagogical stylistics, as it may promote the student’s qualitative experience and the process of discovery of intersubjective reading. Combining pedagogical affordances of cognitive grammar with research on theoretical models of grammar for the classroom, teacher knowledge and cross-phase collaboration, Chloe Harrison and Marcello Giovanelli present a case study of the use of cognitive grammar in the classroom. In Chapter 6 they describe two workshops in which teachers (re)conceptualize cognitive grammar as a pedagogical resource, finally leading to the publication of a book. This work is concerned with empirically exploring how this framework can be used as a pedagogical resource in secondary English teaching. Text World Theory is then discussed by Ian Cushing in Chapter 7. This is a well-established theory but not necessarily so for all secondary English teachers in the UK. Cushing presents the results of a 3-year project in which teachers are trained in the principles of cognitive stylistics and in the design and delivery of Text World Theory in the classroom. This very interesting work helps to reconceptualize traditional divisions between language and literary studies. In the final chapter of Part II, Esmeralda Bon and Michael Burke show how today’s world has shifted from paper to screen and they look into the influence of electronic devices such as e-readers and the smartphones on students’ reading. In order to see what kind of impact this change may have on reading, understanding and memory, they describe a qualitative piece of research of when, how, and possibly why students engage in modern e-reading devices versus traditional reading. In addition, they observe in which locations their research participants read books or use these electronic devices. Their study leads to quite innovative and unexpected results. Addressing the focus of current work on reader engagement and feeling, Chapter 9 opens Part III, where Frank Hakemulder carries out an empirical reader response study in the classroom. He argues that we often

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speak of how the reader might respond without having taken into consideration the reader’s gender, socio-economic background, and ethnicity, to name but a few variables. By conducting classroom experimentation and using self-formulated research questions, he demonstrates how students can be sensitized to the stylistic artistry of literary texts, how they can compare their own feelings and understanding with other readers, and how they can examine their own rewritings. He concludes by offering practical guidelines for running simple tests that students can carry out by themselves. Chapter 10 offers an interesting cross-cultural, multilingual investigation into how students’ reading experiences can be strongly impacted by the stylistic options a translator adopts when translating a set piece. In this chapter, Anna Chesnokova and Sonia Zyngier investigate the use of translated poems in two culturally different EFL settings. The authors examine Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Lake’ translated into three separate languages from the original English, namely, in Portuguese, Ukrainian and Russian. This is an important piece of work that combines translation studies, cross-cultural communication, reader-response and pedagogical stylistics all in one. The final chapter of Part III is concerned with teachers’ intertextual identities and English education. Here Jessica Mason looks into the relationship between reading and identity at the intersection of cognitive stylistics, English education and reader response research by means of intertextuality. She empirically examines anonymous reports by 300 teachers of English about their experiences of embarrassment regarding their reading histories and practices, which may not exactly correspond to the perceived ‘love of reading’ they believe they are meant to have within their chosen profession. This is a most fascinating piece of work that reveals the intricacies of the sociology of booktalk within pedagogical stylistic settings. Part IV introduces us to Innovations in the Educational Setting, and consists of three separate chapters. In Chapter 12, Jane Spiro addresses the challenges academic writing poses for students. She argues that much has already been done in terms of making these conventions transparent, however, discourse analysts still need to see how exactly Ph.D. students transition to academic writing, and how they enhance their sense of self

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as a doctoral writer. Spiro suggests a discourse awareness approach which may enable writers to transition from one set of text types to the other. She details how this approach can be effective in building principled and informed peer review skills. This is a well-structured empirically scaffolded method which offers concrete results for students and instructors alike. The two final chapters in Part IV entail empirical studies conducted in Japan. In Chapter 13, Paul Sevigny revisits the concept of rolebased literature circles in this specific EFL setting, and argues for aligning role-based literature circles for the B1 (intermediate) level of the Common European Framework of Reference (CEFR). He evaluates literature circles through four separate lenses, namely, collaboration, relevance, evidence, and alignment. Sevigny argues that role-based literature circles have been limited to classrooms and text selection depends on the teacher. Instead, based on the evidence from the study he details, he proposes the literary circles are expanded to local cafés and other settings, and that Self-Access Learning Centers (SALC) are included so as to promote stylistic awareness, linguistic fluency and involvement, among other benefits. Still contextualized in Japan, in Chapter 14 Azumi Yoshida, Masayuki Teranishi, Takayuki Nishihara and Masako Nasu offer a cross-linguistic stylistic qualitative analysis of EFL learners’ writings, with specific reference to the impact of reading experience in L1 (Japanese) on L2 (English) proficiency. To this purpose they divide their Japanese EFL participants into four groups based on early L1 and/or L2 education and carry out a stylistic analysis of writings. The results suggest that reading in Japanese leads to English proficiency and quite a few respondents pointed out a correlation between Japanese and English proficiency. They also found a correlation between Japanese and English proficiency. The authors suggest that early L1 (Japanese) and L2 (English) education may impact positively upon English proficiency. Their findings prove to be both quite nuanced and intriguing, but as they point out, more research needs to be developed in this area. Finally, in the afterword to this volume, Michael Toolan skilfully weaves the preceding chapters together, revealing their strengths while offering a panoramic view of where we stand today, and his perceptions

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of what he believes should be developed in future pedagogical stylistic works. Over a quarter of a century since the first Poetics and Linguistics Association (PALA) Special Interest Group met to discuss pedagogical issues in stylistics in 1994, and 14 years after the publication of our first collection, we can say that theories and strategies come and go but the quest for learning remains. Let us see what awaits us in the future that starts now. Edited and compiled in virtual space. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Joensuu, Finland May 2021

Sonia Zyngier Greg Watson

Acknowledgements We would like to thank Palgrave Macmillan for their understanding and flexibility, and the contributors, who went against all odds to meet our deadlines. We would also like to thank our respective partners, who bore with us throughout this entire year of isolation and always had words of encouragement.

References Carter, Ronald A. 2007. Foreword. In Literature and stylistics for language learners: Theory and practice, ed. G. Watson and S. Zyngier, vii–xi. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Carter, Ronald A. 2010. Issues in pedagogical stylistics: A coda. Language and Literature 19 (1): 115–122. Clark, Urszula, and Sonia Zyngier. 2003. Towards a pedagogical stylistics. Language and Literature 12 (4): 339–351. Fogal, Gary. 2015. Pedagogical stylistics in multiple foreign language and second language contexts: A synthesis of empirical research. Language and Literature 24 (1): 54–72. Watson, Greg, and Sonia Zyngier (eds.). 2007. Literature and stylistics for language learners: Theory and practice. Hampshire & New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Zyngier, Sonia. 2020. Postscript: Pedagogical stylistics: Past and future. Language and Literature 29 (4): 446–453.

Contents

Part I

Assessing and Broadening the Scope of Pedagogical Stylistics

1

Pedagogical Stylistics Since 2007: A Baker’s Dozen Geoff Hall

2

Pedagogical Stylistics and the Integration of Literary and Linguistic Criticism Violeta Sotirova

3

Pedagogical Stylistics in the Service of Democracy David I. Hanauer

4

Pedagogical Corpus Stylistics: Teaching Style and Register Variation to EAP Students Marcus Bridle and Dan McIntyre

Part II 5

3

31 55

75

Cognitive Perspectives

The Principle of Moments Peter Stockwell

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Contents

6

Cognitive Grammar in the Classroom: A Case Study Marcello Giovanelli and Chloe Harrison

131

7

A Text-World Pedagogy for Young Stylisticians Ian Cushing

159

8

Devices, Settings and Distractions: A Study into How Students Read Literature Esmeralda V. Bon and Michael Burke

Part III 9

10

Reader Engagement and Feelings

Empirical Pedagogical Stylistics: Reader Response Research in the Classroom Frank Hakemulder

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Considerations on the Use of Translated Poems in EFL Settings Anna Chesnokova and Sonia Zyngier

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11 Teachers’ Intertextual Identities and English Education Jessica Mason Part IV

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Innovations in the Educational Setting

12 Why Do I Write This Way? Tracking the Stylistic Leap from Professional to Academic Writing Jane Spiro 13

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Revising Role-Based Literature Circles for EFL Classrooms Paul Sevigny

14 The Impact of L1 on L2: A Qualitative Stylistic Analysis of EFL Learners’ Writings Azumi Yoshida, Masayuki Teranishi, Takayuki Nishihara, and Masako Nasu

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Contents

15

Afterword Michael Toolan

Index

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Editors and Contributors

About the Editors Sonia Zyngier is Adjunct Professor at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. She co-founded the Research and Development in Empirical Studies project (REDES Project, 2002–2012) aimed at developing researchers in the area of Scientific Study of Literature. A member of IGEL and PALA, she was on the Board of both Associations. Among her more recent publications are ‘Postscript: Pedagogical stylistics: Past and Future’ (Language and Literature, 2020), Language, Discourse, Style: Selected Works of John McH. Sinclair (John Benjamins, 2016); and, with co-authors, Scientific Methods for the Humanities, John Benjamins 2012), Scientific Approaches to Literature in Learning Environments (John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2016), and ‘Language-literature integration in high-school EFL education: investigating students’ perspectives (Innovations in Language Learning and Teaching, 2020). Currently, she is an English language coordinator for Fundação CECIERJ and co-editor of the Linguistic Approaches to Literature Series (John Benjamins).

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Greg Watson is well published in several fields of speciality, including Linguistic Stylistics, Pedagogical Stylistics, and Language Contact Studies. Now retired, he was Professor of English Language and Culture at the University of Eastern Finland, and Adjunct Professor in Sociolinguistics at the University of Tampere, Finland, as well as Adjunct Professor in Applied Linguistics at the University of Oulu, Finland. His primary publications are Doin’ Mudrooroo. Elements of Style and Involvement in the Early Prose Fiction of Mudrooroo (1997), Finno-Ugric Language Contacts (2006, co-edited), Literature and Stylistics for Language Learners (2007, co-edited) and The State of Stylistics (2008). Born in Sydney, Australia, he holds dual citizenship, having lived in Finland for the past 32 years.

Contributors Esmeralda V. Bon is a Research Associate at the University of Manchester, based in the Cathie Marsh Institute for Social Research. There she is part of the DiCED project (Digital Campaigning and Electoral Democracy). This is a new comparative study into the drivers and effects of digital political campaigning in five countries and seven elections, taking place between 2020 and 2023. Esmeralda has recently obtained her Ph.D. at the University of Nottingham in the field of Politics. Her research focuses on the contemporary communicative behaviour of political parties and political candidates and on how this influences public opinion. This research is informed by her undergraduate and postgraduate studies of linguistics, rhetoric and argumentation, journalism and political communication. Marcus Bridle is an Assistant Professor in the Global Education Center at Waseda University, Japan, where he helps to coordinate academic writing programmes. He holds a B.A. in English literature (Lancaster), M.A. in stylistics and Ph.D. in applied linguistics (both Huddersfield) as well as a Cambridge DELTA. He has been teaching on EFL courses and writing freelance teaching and testing materials since 2005. He has spent the last ten years in EAP provision at various universities including the

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University of Sheffield, UK, and Aoyama Gakuin, Japan. His research interests include learner writing, error feedback and correction, and the application of corpus-based methodologies in classroom contexts. Michael Burke is Professor of Rhetoric at University College Roosevelt, a liberal arts and sciences undergraduate honours college of Utrecht University located in Middelburg, Zeeland. He is the author of Literary Reading, Cognition Emotion (Routledge, 2011) and the editor of both The Routledge Handbook of Stylistics (2014) and Stylistics: Critical Concepts in Linguistics (Routledge, 2017). He is also a co-editor of Pedagogical Stylistics: Current Trends in Language, Literature and ELT (2012, Continuum Press), together with Csábi, Week and Zerkowitz; Scientific Approaches to Literature in Learning Environments (2016, John Benjamins Press, together with Fialho and Zyngier); and Cognitive Literary Science: Dialogues Between Literature and Cognition (2017, Oxford University Press, together with Troscianko). Anna Chesnokova is a Professor at the English Philology and Translation Department of Borys Grinchenko Kyiv University, Ukraine. She was the area coordinator for Ukraine in the international REDES (Research and Development in Empirical Studies) project (2003–2010). Since 2010, she has been the Director of the Ukraine-Europe Linguistic Centre, offering language services to companies and organisations. Her main research interests lie in Stylistics and Empirical Studies of Literature. Her publications, most with co-authors, include Directions in Empirical Literary Studies (John Benjamins, 2008) and chapters for TheInternational Reception of Emily Dickinson (Continuum Press, 2009), Teaching Stylistics (Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), Scientific Approaches to Literature in Learning Environments (John Benjamins, 2016), Pedagogical Approaches to Intercultural Competence Development (Cambridge Scholars, 2020) and International Handbook of Love: Transcultural and Transdisciplinary Perspectives (Springer International, 2021). Ian Cushing is a Senior Lecturer in English at Edge Hill University, UK. His doctoral research theorised and enacted a pedagogical application of Text World Theory in secondary schools, developed in close collaboration with practising teachers. His current work examines the social

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implications and consequences of racialized and classed language ideologies in schools, which draws on a range of frameworks and approaches across critical language policy, the sociology of education and critical literacies. His work has appeared in journals such as: Language in Society; Language, Culture and Curriculum; Journal of Language, Identity and Education; British Educational Research Journal ; Literacy; and Language Policy. Marcello Giovanelli is a Senior Lecturer in English Language and Literature at Aston University, UK. He has research interests in applications of Text World Theory and Cognitive Grammar to literary discourse and in pedagogical stylistics. Recent books include Text World Theory and Keats’ Poetry (Bloomsbury, 2013), Teaching Grammar, Structure and Meaning (Routledge 2014), Knowing About Language (with Dan Clayton, Routledge, 2016), Cognitive Grammar in Stylistics: A Practical Guide (with Chloe Harrison, Bloomsbury, 2018) and New Directions in Cognitive Grammar and Style (with Chloe Harrison and Louise Nuttall). He has published widely on cognitive stylistics and applied linguistics in major international journals. Frank Hakemulder has a background in literary theory and comparative literature. He specializes in the psychology of literature. As PI he led two national research projects: on the experience of being absorbed in fictional worlds (Narrative Absorption, Benjamins, 2017), and on how such experiences affect social perception and self-concept. He is affiliated full professor at the Norwegian Reading Center (Stavanger) concentrating on the nature of deep reading and its relation to readers’ mental well-being. He teaches Media Psychology and Communication Studies at Utrecht University, and trains students in the Humanities in qualitative and quantitative methods of the Social Sciences (Science and Humanities: New Research Methods, John Benjamins, 2012). From 2012 to 2016 he was president of the International Society for the Empirical Study of Literature. Currently he is involved as supervisor in various projects within the Empirical Study of Literature Training Network funded by the EU (elitnetwork.eu).

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Geoff Hall is Professor of English at University of Nottingham Ningbo China (UNNC) and Professor II, Nord University, Norway. Previously Chief Editor of SAGE journal Language and Literature (2010–2016). His most widely cited publication is Literature in Language Education (Palgrave Macmillan, 2nd edition, 2015). Recent publications include ‘Using Literature in ELT.’ (in The Routledge Handbook of ELT, 2016); ‘Literature and the English Language’ (in The Routledge Handbook of English Language, 2018), and ‘Literature, challenge and mediation in 21st century language learning’ (Research-publishing.net, 2020). David I. Hanauer is Professor of Applied Linguistics at Indiana University of Pennsylvania and the Lead Assessment Coordinator of the SEAPHAGES program at the University of Pittsburgh. His research focuses on science and literacy education, scientific inquiry teaching, and the processes and uses of poetry reading and writing. His articles have been published in Science, PNAS, CBE-LSE and a wide range of applied linguistics, literacy and educational journals. He is the author of eight books including Poetry as Research. He has received funding from the NSF, HHMI and the US Department of Education. Dr. Hanauer is editor of the Scientific Study of Literature journal and the Language Studies, Science and Engineering book series with John Benjamins. Chloe Harrison is a Senior Lecturer in English Language and Literature at Aston University, UK. Her research interests include cognitive stylistics (and specifically the application of Cognitive Grammar for literary linguistic analysis), re-reading and contemporary fiction. She has a number of publications in these areas, including three recent books: Cognitive Grammar in Contemporary Fiction (John Benjamins, 2017), Cognitive Grammar in Stylistics: A Practical Guide (with Marcello Giovanelli, Bloomsbury, 2018) and the edited collection New Directions in Cognitive Grammar and Style (with Louise Nuttall and Marcello Giovanelli, Bloomsbury, 2021). She is also Treasurer for the International Association of Literary Semantics. Jessica Mason is a Senior Lecturer in English Language at Sheffield Hallam University, UK. She has published widely on topics at the intersection of stylistics and English education, in particular in relation to

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the study of literature in secondary schools. She was awarded the Terry Furlong Award for Research for this work by England’s National Association for the Teaching of English (NATE), in 2015. She has run a module for aspiring teachers in this area, Exploring English Education, for the past five years. Most recently she has published a co-authored book on the application of cognitive stylistics to English education: Studying Fiction: A Guide for Teachers and Researchers (Mason and Giovanelli, 2021). Dan McIntyre is Professor of English Language and Linguistics at the University of Huddersfield, UK, where he teaches corpus linguistics, stylistics and the history of English. His major publications include History of English (Routledge, 2nd edition, 2020), Corpus Stylistics: Theory and Practice (Edinburgh University Press, 2019), Applying Linguistics: Language and the Impact Agenda (Routledge, 2018), Teaching Stylistics (Palgrave, 2011), Language and Style (Palgrave, 2010), Stylistics (Cambridge University Press, 2010) and Point of View in Plays (John Benjamins, 2006). He founded and co-edits Babel: The Language Magazine, which aims to make linguistics accessible to non-specialists, and his most recent book is The Babel Lexicon of Language (Cambridge University Press, 2021). Masako Nasu is an Associate Professor at the Centre for Liberal Arts and Language Education, Okayama University, Japan. Her research interests include the qualitative analysis of narratives collected from foreign language learners, as well as stylistic approach to British modernist writings. She is the author of ‘The Role of Stylistics in Japan: A Pedagogical Perspective’ (Language and Literature, 21 [2], 2012, co-authored), TOEIC Test Advantage (NANUNDO, 2014, co-authored), ‘The Role of Literature in Foreign Language Learning’ in Literature and Language Learning in the EFL Classroom (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), Scientific Approaches to Literature in Learning Environments (John Benjamins, 2016, co-authored), From Individual to Collective: Virginia Woolf’s Developing Concept of Consciousness (Peter Lang, 2017) and The Intersection of Arts, Humanities, and Science (SEIBIDO, 2020, co-authored). She is the chair of the Japan Association of International Liberal Arts (JAILA).

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Takayuki Nishihara is an Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics at Hiroshima University, Japan. His research interests include literary reading processes in a foreign language, EFL literary reading difficulties, teaching and testing procedures for literary texts in EFL and the effects of literary reading on second language acquisition. He is the author of ‘Poetry Reading and Noticing the Hole in Interlanguage: A Proposal for Investigating the Relation Between Poetry Reading and Interlanguage Development’ (JACET Journal 54, 2012), ‘Achievement Tests for Literary Reading in General EFL Reading Courses’ (M. Teranishi, Y. Saito, & K. Wales (eds.), Literature and Language Learning in the EFL Classroom, Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), and ‘Of Learning and Poetics: Exploring Strategies Used by L2 Japanese English Learners’ (M. Burke, O. Fialho & S. Zyngier [eds.], Scientific Approaches to Literature in Learning Environments, John Benjamins, 2016). Paul Sevigny is an Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics at Ritsumeikan Asia Pacific University in Japan. He completed an M.A. in second language studies at the University of Hawai’i and a Ph.D. at the University of Birmingham, where he developed methods for teaching and researching L2 literature circles. He is blessed to have studied with Michael Toolan, his Ph.D. supervisor. Ron Carter provided significant guidance on the early stages of his dissertation. He is currently working on a three-year grant from the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science (JSPS) to develop bilingual graded readers, discussion systems, and literacy leaders. This involves applying stylistic research methods to the development of language learner literature and student literacy leadership in L2 university contexts. Violeta Sotirova is Associate Professor in Stylistics at the University of Nottingham. She has written a book on D.H. Lawrence and Narrative Viewpoint (Bloomsbury, 2011) and a book on Consciousness in Modernist Fiction: A Stylistic Study (Palgrave, 2013). She is also the editor of The Bloomsbury Companion to Stylistics (Bloomsbury, 2015) and co-editor of Linguistics and Literary History: In Honour of Sylvia Adamson (Benjamins, 2016). Her research focuses on the representation of fictional consciousness and on the stylistic practices of Modernism. She has also studied authorial revisions and reader responses to narrative viewpoint. She is

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Assistant Editor of the international journal of the Poetics and Linguistics Association—Language and Literature. Jane Spiro is Professor of Education at Oxford Brookes University with interests in teacher reflection, creative language education and writing development. She has taught literature and language in Switzerland, Hungary and Belgium, and for the British Council in India, Poland and Mexico. At Oxford Brookes she ran an M.A. in TESOL for international teachers of English and developed a 3-year doctoral writing programme. Her publications include resources for teachers (Oxford University Press), poetry and story collections (Oversteps and Palewell Press), and several books on language education: Changing Methodologies in TESOL (Edinburgh University Press) and Linguistic and Cultural Innovation in Schools (Palgrave Macmillan). These books aim to foster teacher and learner creativity, and build bridges between academic and creative ways of sharing knowledge. Peter Stockwell is Professor of Literary Linguistics at the University of Nottingham UK, and a Fellow of the English Association. He has published 12 books and over 80 articles in stylistics, sociolinguistics and applied linguistics, including Cognitive Poetics (Routledge, 2020), The Language of Surrealism (Palgrave, 2017), and Texture: A Cognitive Aesthetics of Reading (Edinburgh University Press, 2009). He co-edited The Language and Literature Reader (Routledge, 2008) with Ron Carter. His work in cognitive poetics has been translated into many languages, including Chinese, Japanese, Polish, Persian, Russian and Arabic. Masayuki Teranishi is Professor of English Studies at the School of Human Science and Environment, University of Hyogo, Japan. He is the Japanese Ambassador for the Poetics and Linguistics Association (PALA) and a former chair of the Japan Association of International Liberal Arts (JAILA). He is also an editorial board member of Journal of Literary Semantics. His publications include Polyphony in Fiction: A Stylistic Analysis of Middlemarch, Nostromo, and Herzog (Peter Lang, 2008), ‘The Role of Stylistics in Japan: A Pedagogical Perspective’ (Language and Literature, 21 [2], 2012, co-authored), Rock UK: A Cultural History of Popular Music in Britain (Cengage Learning, 2012, co-authored),

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Literature as Inspiration in the English Language Classroom (Eihosha, 2013, co-edited), Literature and Language Learning in the EFL Classroom (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, co-edited), Scientific Approaches to Literature in Learning Environments (John Benjamins, 2016, co-authored), and The Intersection of Arts, Humanities, and Science (SEIBIDO, 2020, co-authored). Michael Toolan is Professor (Emeritus) of English Language at the University of Birmingham, having retired in 2020. His research interests centre on stylistics and narrative analysis and he has published extensively in both those areas. His most recent monograph, however, is a critical discourse study of how UK newspapers have represented the growing wealth inequality in Britain in ways that make their readers accepting of this injustice: The Language of Inequality in the News (CUP, 2018). Michael is a past Chair of the Poetics and Linguistics Association (PALA) and the International Association for Literary Semantics (IALS) and for nearly twenty years edited the Journal of Literary Semantics. Azumi Yoshida holds a B.A. from Kobe City University of Foreign Studies and an M.A. in Human Science and Environment from University of Hyogo, Japan. She had taught English at a language institution for more than 15 years. She is currently a Ph.D. student and has been teaching at Okayama University and Okayama University of Science. Her research interests include English education as a foreign language, English language teaching, and the relationship between L1 reading and L2 proficiency. She is the author of ‘A Study on the Correlation Between Reading in Japanese and English Proficiency: A Qualitative Analysis of Interviews with EFL Learners’ (JAILA Journal 6, 2020), The Intersection of Arts, Humanities, and Science (SEIBIDO, 2020, coauthored), and ‘Noticing by Undergraduates Intending to Be Elementary School Teachers: Through Practical Application of Teaching Materials for Cultural Comparison Between Japanese and English (published in Japanese)’ (JAILA Journal 7, 2021, co-authored).

List of Figures

Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 8.1 13.1

Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

13.2 13.3 13.4 13.5 14.1

BNC interface (english.corpora.org) Concordancing facility (english.corpora.org) BNC interface—chart view (english.corpora.org) Components of the textual moment Screen capture of the coding approach Intermediate Group 2 role schedule for LCs (Sevigny 2019) Role-based LC discussion structure Peer-coaching phase in role-specific groups LC groups Bell’s (2011) interpretive arc Participants’ educational background (Note Before the fourth grade [10 years old])

87 88 88 121 189 321 323 325 326 332 352

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List of Tables

Table 4.1 Table 4.2 Table 4.3 Table 4.4 Table 4.5

Table 8.1 Table 8.2 Table 8.3 Table 8.4 Table 10.1 Table 10.2 Table 10.3 Table 12.1

Summary of 90-minute lesson Comparative frequencies of target language items (initial classroom tasks) Comparative frequencies of target language items (worksheet task) Student responses to worksheet tasks Task B alternative language items found (bold indicates comparatively higher frequency within the BNC academic context subdivision) Paperback and hardback-aspects and preference The smell of devices: examples Paper book and e-reader compared in terms of touch: positive references Examples of ‘transportation’ on the train Participant grouping Brazilians’ responses to original (English) vs. translation (Portuguese) Ukrainians’ responses to original (English) vs. translations (Ukrainian and Russian) Four discourse tools for analysing texts

91 92 93 95

96 198 199 200 201 237 251 251 296

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List of Tables

Table Table Table Table Table

12.2 12.3 12.4 13.1 13.2

Table Table Table Table Table

13.3 13.4 14.1 14.2 14.3

Comparing text types Analysing target reading Kinds of writing in a thesis Pre- and post-semester survey (Sevigny 2019) Average changes in self-efficacy by intermediate class group Devil’s Advocate role sheet The Fellow Reader role sheet Participants’ background Participants’ profile Stylistic checklist

298 301 305 328 330 333 338 348 351 353

Part I Assessing and Broadening the Scope of Pedagogical Stylistics

1 Pedagogical Stylistics Since 2007: A Baker’s Dozen Geoff Hall

Abstract This chapter offers a survey review of research and activity in pedagogical stylistics since 2007. The survey refers to first language as well as foreign language education, mainly in English, though an increasing and fruitful accommodation of pluri- and multilingualism is also referred to. Topics covered include language awareness, focus on form research, empirical research in pedagogical stylistics and relevant educational research publications, curriculum developments, the cognitive turn in stylistics, uses of corpus stylistics and creative writing pedagogy. The survey shows an encouraging range and variety of activities, including more direct attention to secondary schooling levels, and evidence of growing acceptance and valuing of linguistic approaches to literary study. At the same time, there is a need to continue and even step G. Hall (B) University of Nottingham Ningbo China, Ningbo, China e-mail: [email protected] Professor II, Nord University, Nordland, Norway

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_1

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up training and development programmes for practitioners who have not yet been reached or remain to be convinced of the value of pedagogical stylistics. Keywords Pedagogical stylistics · Empirical studies · Corpus stylistics · Educational practices · Multimodality · Creative writing

What and Why Is Pedagogical Stylistics (PS)? There have been many developments in the field of Pedagogical Stylistics (PS) since my last report (Hall 2007). The chapter’s sub-title refers to these developments using a traditional British idiom referring to thirteen or more tasty pastries where twelve were expected. I will return to that idea of superfluity in the conclusion, having reviewed thirteen areas of recent activity in the last thirteen years or so. Pedagogical stylistics (PS) promotes looking AT language rather than through it, and in an informed and systematic way, rather than opportunistically, impressionistically and selectively as is the dominant critical tradition in literary criticism (for example, as argued and illustrated in Hall 2014a, b). The objective of this informed and principled examination of language use is to raise awareness and understanding of how language works to achieve new and valued meanings (Zyngier 2006), and, ideally, also to inform improved uses of language by the students who have participated in such pedagogical stylistic study. PS refers to stylistics in education, and not to the teaching of stylistics as such (compare Jeffries and McIntyre 2011). Stylistics I take broadly as a label, not necessarily a narrowly linguistic endeavour, but an approach of wider interest taken by those who have found that an examination of a literary (often) or other creative text informed by linguistics will be revealing and offer a fuller and more satisfying account. The heading of literary linguistics sometimes indicates this more flexible area with its acknowledgement of contexts of reading and readers in linguistic sense-making. Such a PS can be used as a principled, accessible way in to a challenging text, ‘bottom-up’, crudely. Or in a more ‘top-down’ fashion, PS can help a reader or class to explore further initial intuitions or suspicions, to refine and deepen understanding and

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response, and indeed this informed and focused attention will sometimes draw to attention aspects and features a first reading had missed. Such an approach can be of value to both students of language and of literature, and perhaps is particularly valuable for those whose interest embraces both, and who have seen the close relationship between the two. The primary reason foreign and second language readers give for reading literature (Bloemert 2019) is for the language learning opportunities such texts offer, and which can be highlighted by a broadly stylistic approach, which foregrounds attention to the workings of language. First language readers may sometimes feel they already know their own language well enough, but the value of PS, as of applied linguistics more widely, is to refresh, extend and deepen their understandings too. The benefits are not so very different ultimately across varieties of ‘English’ teaching and learning. As Widdowson (1975) pointed out in his very early contribution to this field, learning to deal with the uncertainties of communication in principled and progressive ways is an essential contributor to communicative competence for all and in the widest sense, and literature reading can demonstrably be useful in promoting such a competence. The language of naturally occurring texts, not specifically written as exemplars or textbook materials, will inevitably include identification and investigation of meaningful patterns of variation and register, multilingualism, dialect and of style generally. Varieties will be local and national but also international (sociolinguistics of class, gender, region, ethnicity and the rest). These are increasingly important for learners of English, but for other world language users as well, of course. Creative language use can contribute to educationally efficacious attention and engagement, and pleasure too, we hope, including what Kramsch (2009) has called the pleasures of ‘appropriation’ of a new language, or languages and language varieties perhaps not so well known to us and our students. More broadly, this contributes to language awareness and valuable open minded curiosity about language use and features (Carter 2003; Garrett and Cots 2018). Learners report valuing the range of language that they have noticed extends their vocabulary, and through knowledge of idioms and metaphor, their knowledge of cultural differences and overlaps, and broader ways of talking and understanding. Sensitivity to

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language patterns, collocations, and genre and discourse features can also be learned through attention to natural language use, including through extensive reading programmes which are not afraid to broach issues of language and meaning-making as well as ‘content’. For practitioners of PS after all, content and form are indissoluble twin elements of the literary reading experience (Hakemulder et al. 2017; Volkmann 2015). What is said and how it is said are interdependent: this founding principle of literary studies also informs functional applied linguistics. For more advanced students such understandings can be articulated and explored more explicitly, while for the majority of those in schools and colleges at earlier stages of their education, it will be sufficient to draw attention and probably leave understandings of these relations more implicit, but nevertheless assimilated for later development and elaboration.

The Empirical Turn There has in the past been a regrettable tendency in much PS to preach to the converted, an echo chamber of call and response for initiated teachers which has sometimes felt difficult to break out of. It is in that spirit that I have only briefly rehearsed in my first section what are not new arguments and debates. For many readers of this piece they are relatively uncontroversial received wisdom. The problem has been that much of the advocacy writing by believers (including my own!) has been at a theoretical level and/or anecdotal, based on limited experience in usually more elite situations of UK or other higher education, while critics remind us that for many students insensitive close focus on form can alienate and bore the less academic and lower level student. Indeed, more student perspectives have been evident in research more recently and have proved valuable (e.g. Kramsch 2009; Viana and Zyngier 2016). The dominant response to this lack of evidence for the value of PS pre-2007 was to report exemplar lessons or materials design, and such practicalities remain important if too often merely anecdotal and too situation specific. To convince more of those participants in education who we feel should be interested at all levels (teachers, materials

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designers, curriculum writers, testing authorities, policy formulators and beyond), more varied and better presented empirical studies are needed, especially as relating to more typical situations of learning such as secondary schools, with larger classes, less resources and generally of potentially wider application and use (see critiques of the state of research in Hall 2015; Paran 2008; Fogal 2015). It is therefore a welcome move to see more principled empirical studies appearing in reputable forums in recent years, where at least the value and shortcomings and bases for comparison between studies are more easily seen and improved upon (Burke 2010; Fialho et al. 2016; Van Peer et al. 2012; Bloemert 2019). I take one such study (Bloemert 2019) at more length in section “Bloemert and Dutch Lang-Lit EFL” and refer to many others as examples and in passing. The journal Scientific Study of Literature appeared in 2011 and has contributed significantly to this empirical turn even though tending to publish to date more quantitative and psychology oriented research. Likewise many references here derive from the book series Linguistic Approaches to Literature, also published by John Benjamins, Amsterdam. Enhanced awareness of the forms and workings of language, at least in the short term, can be shown to result from PS activities (Viana and Zyngier 2016). A further and bolder challenge for PS more recently, however, is whether awareness is enough. Does enhanced awareness actually translate into longer term proficiency in use and knowledge?

Focus on Form and Foreign Language Learning A valuable area of research to demonstrate empirical advances that have been made, from the field of second language acquisition, is what is known with increasing security about ‘focus on form’ and the learning that can be shown empirically to follow upon the kind of focus PS aims at. In a survey review, Ellis (2016) distinguishes more traditional language teaching ‘focus on forms’ (sentence-based, grammar or lexis focus led by a teacher, with an orientation towards error and correction rather than enabling)—from Focus on Form (FonF) seen as meaning variation in linguistic forms used in discourse to be explored by second or

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foreign language learners (see Ranta and Lyster 2018). Modern ELT has tended to move away from the idea of rules and invented sentence-based ‘synthetic’ teaching, building up language knowledge brick-by-brick, to more holistic learning through negotiation of meaning. In this view, what needs to be learned, among others, is that there are no fixed formmeaning relations, but rather meanings are elaborated upon or jointly co-constructed through interaction. Learner form-meaning mappings need to occur, but are heavily context-dependent. A PS approach to authentic texts will inevitably attract attention to forms used, especially those that can be problematic in use. This more or less conscious and engaged attention to form is posited to underlie developing competence in language use beyond mere enhanced awareness. Ellis (2016) shows how such pedagogy can work in different ways in different circumstances but positive results for learners can generally be shown through a range of specific studies he instantiates and critically evaluates. Learning is shown at lexical and grammatical levels. Such research also corresponds to the kind of metalinguistic ‘Language Related Episodes’ (LREs) (Swain and Lapkin 1998) and others illustrate as naturally arising in classrooms as in everyday discourse, where language itself is predictably a motivating and engaging topic of attention and discussion for language learners. Naturally enough, learners may not independently and autonomously notice stylistic features very consciously at first. They are typically focused first on meaning. At times, teachers my lead learners to notice how meaning depends on forms used. However, hunting features is not a sufficient precondition for formal learning. Having said that, task-focused discussion and exploration of the reasons for and specificities of how those features are used is shown by such researchers to result in real learning and extension of previously existing communicative competence. There is a need to demonstrate more long term learning taking place through such activities, as Ellis and others have conceded, and at times also to convince that explicit declarative knowledge is translating into what the psychologists call procedural knowledge (being able themselves to use these forms productively). In addition, and interestingly, the FonF research typically indicates greatest gains for more advanced learners, but importantly, learning gains have been empirically shown from formfocused activity at all levels in the research reviewed by Ellis (2015).

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Such research does not address PS directly, but, extrapolating, PS can be expected to guide and focus attention, promote deeper meaningful, and memorable cognitive and affective processing. Ultimately, it may offer more in-depth learning which becomes available to the learner for productive as well as receptive use. In line with the conclusions of Ellis (2016), Chen (2018) reports language learning deriving from incorporating tasks into an extensive reading programme (student self-reports). Learning occurred from productive interaction as well as the comprehensible input (Krashen 2004) of the extensive literature reading itself. Enhanced awareness of the language of the texts, including problems with the language, was exploited by teacher assistance in preparing productive tasks, and identification of language features and structures to teach explicitly, following the task-based methodology of Willis (1996). Jones (2019) also reports gains for spoken skills as well as more obvious gains for literacies through tasks focused on literary texts. The value for foreign language learning of exploiting stylistic features of idioms, metaphors, proverbs and other fixed expressions have been shown by Boers (2000), and Lindstromberg and Boers (2008). Foreign languages were historically mainly studied in order to enable the reading of the literature of that language in the original (in the West, the ‘classics’ of Latin and Greek, then later modern foreign languages followed that model). The inheritance of that tradition can still be found notably in the US (Paesani 2011). More widely, too, foreign language literature is often seen as something to be left for the advanced classes at university (and teachers with Ph.Ds. in those literatures) while lower levels will work on grammar and vocabulary, their eyes (supposedly) enviously on that far literary horizon. Part of the communicative reaction to that situation (to simplify dramatically, I concede) was to move to dialogues in stations and hotels, ‘transactions’ rather than interactions, as if such reduced functional interaction is all the learner would ever be interested in. This is contrary, of course, to the much more enlightened understanding of Edelhoff (1993) and other founders of the communicative movement, who were well aware of much more sophisticated understandings of ‘communication’ than that. CLT is now returning to

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those origins, in some ways, after the diversion of limited instrumentalfunctional understandings, and such a shift is auspicious for PS and wider uses of literary texts in foreign language education (Jones 2019).

L1 and UK PS In the UK, unlike in other parts of the world, language and literature studies were early in the twentieth century separated off as distinct specialisms in schools and universities so that it was and is still possible, if less so now, to emerge with a degree in ‘English’ in the UK having studied no linguistics of any kind. Literature was the privileged partner, and rhetoric had been dropped as a subject of study by the twentieth century. After many years of advocacy and effort, it is now more or less recognized again that there is a value in studying one’s own language as well as a foreign language in principled ways informed by scholarship and science, and that the study of literature can also benefit from such knowledge and expertise, though for the more literary minded colleagues with no applied linguistics background such activities and focus tend to remain rather marginalized and not integrated in a meaningful way. Stylistics is still largely seen by the literary establishment as reductive and mechanistic, where the stylistician deplores the pretentious speculations and elitism of the literature professors (Hall 2014a, b). Successive UK governments, meanwhile, have continued to ask for simplistic ‘back to basics’ grammar teaching with no apparent interest in or awareness of the advances of applied linguistics since the Second World War, combined with ideas of uncritical approaches to literature as national cultural heritage (Clayton 2013). In his study of UK experienced and pre-service teachers of English, Goodwyn (2012) reports much frustration with ‘analytical’ approaches with National Curriculum wrong and right answers and a focus on ticking objectives boxes and required ‘progression’ tests (not ‘progress’ tests, a stylistician will note!). For these teachers literature teaching should dominate ‘English’ teaching, and should be about personal growth models and ‘response’. Students read extracts rather than complete longer texts, with emphasis on over-simplistic assessment. One

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interviewed teacher notes that students ask if they are ‘doing’ a book, ‘have we got to do this book?’ (Goodwyn 2012: 222) rather than whether they are reading it with space and time to reflect and assimilate (even enjoy!) their experience. Too many texts are felt to be covered too superficially. It is revealing and symptomatic, however, that PS is not considered by Goodwyn or his correspondents as a possible approach to making texts accessible with no important wrong and right answers, and deepening and extending experience while learning about language as well as literature. Interestingly, an Australian curriculum document is referred to in passing as an example of good practice, but which points to the need to balance the analytic and the more personal response approaches to literature study: “In studying literature, students will increasingly reflect on the processes by which some works have been found to offer distinctive personal, cultural, social and aesthetic experiences” (Australian Ministry of Education 2009, quoted in Goodwyn 2012: 224. My emphasis). As a teacher, I would take such a statement as a charter for PS as well as cultural studies approaches, among others. It is not a question of an either-response or-analysis dichotomy. Both can complement each other to contribute to successful literature and language teaching and learning as studies reviewed in this chapter clearly show (compare Volkmann 2015, with reference to EFL literature teaching; Fialho et al. 2011; Locke 2010; Whiteley and Canning 2017). In his report, Cushing (2018b) describes a well-received training course for current UK English teachers based on a cognitive stylistic approach, where foregrounding and transitivity emerged as particularly useful features for teachers to be aware of in designing tasks. Those teachers appreciated updating and extending their knowledge and developed more favourable attitudes to the possible uses of PS, but Cushing rightly laments that such initiatives are patchy and partial with no wider sectoral commitment to such necessary teacher development. Contributing to the area, Van Gelderen (2010) reviews consistent findings from across a range of European and US L1 research to indicate that focus on forms does not much help linguistic performance (a focus on spelling and ‘grammar’ as labelling parts of speech, typically, proposed as a response to ‘poor writing’). On the other hand, first

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language research like that surveyed by Ellis (2016) for second language learners and discussed above, suggests that student-centred active observations, exploration, and investigation of linguistic forms in use may well help. Interestingly, like Ellis, Van Gelderen (2010) reports evidence that more intellectual and more advanced or older learners in particular may benefit most from such metalinguistic ‘focus on form’ work in education literature teaching. Some recent valuable classroom and empirical studies have been prompted exactly by reforms to the ‘English’ curriculum in UK schools and universities which have attempted to bring closer literature and language studies at secondary level and beyond. Thus, Macrae and Clark (2014), based on a questionnaire and workshop at Middlesex University in 2012, report that increasing student demand and interest in ‘integrated’ language and literature provision is not being met at A level and British universities and the reasons for this. A lack of integration and continuities is evident in many cases, with many tennis match programmes of study (my own term for what I experienced at university when taking a first so-called interdisciplinary degree). General feelings of confusion are reported across students and teachers, together with failures in teacher training and development. Many UK teacher training programmes still will not admit or are prejudiced against language and linguistics graduates, for example, despite increasing requirements for language teaching in the required national English subject curriculum. A clearly written and presented introductory PS textbook for confused or intimidated teachers and students would be Giovanelli (2018), though probably not to be worked through from page one, and with adaptations for those working outside the UK. Ahmed et al. (2020) appears as I write this chapter, but with a promising title and good author PS record to date. Simpson’s Stylistics (2014) remains the crucial accessible resource for teachers not trained in the area to begin exploring the discipline. ‘Doing Shakespeare’ is an important or notable element of much English teaching around the world. In the abstract of publication on the research they conducted, Murphy et al. (2020: 302) inform that they used:

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[…] two groups of Shakespeare students, one with English as a first language and one with English as an additional language. Participants were asked to identify difficulties in extracts from plays, rate specific linguistic forms according to difficulty and discuss what they think of Shakespeare’s language. Common areas of difficulty included archaic words, borrowings from other languages, coinages and false friends.

Focus group discussions followed up. Frustrations with language emerged as the key problem, words in particular. Murphy et al. (2020) therefore went on to explore corpus-driven pedagogical solutions to involve students actively and contextually investigating many of these lexical difficulties. The authors note that for many teachers, performance is widely accepted in drama teaching as the best solution for student difficulties, on the principle of active rather than passive learning having proven widely to be more effective. In addition, traditional critical rather passive or philological ‘close reading’ is contrasted exactly with more active use of PS, with examples based on research identified difficulties deriving from the authors’ own research (the Encyclopaedia of Shakespeare’s language corpus project at Lancaster University, UK), and originally from Johnson (2014) and Crystal (2008): lexis, semantic change (diachronic) and complex syntax (in rank order). Moreover, Murphy et al. (2020: 317) noted that “One of the most notable findings was the similarity of results for speakers of English as a first or additional language”. The solution proposed is ‘discovery learning’ through corpus as one tool for teaching, not exclusively, but to combine with performance and others.

PS Relevant Curriculum Reform and Development Another promising development for PS since 2007 has been a number of relevant curriculum statements of significant national and international bodies. A common curriculum impulse has been to push systems and

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teachers towards recognition of the integration of language and literature through ‘close reading’, at least, if not always, linguistically informed ‘stylistics’ as such. One important and influential document is the Modern Languages Association’s (MLA 2007) mainly higher education-focused rejection of the traditional professional division between language teachers at lower levels of foreign language instruction and ‘humanist’ researchers teaching literature and culture at higher levels of proficiency. MLA argues that literature should be introduced from the earliest stages and, at advanced levels, linguistic approaches have much of value to offer. A number of articles and activities have been prompted by this shift, though with little precise PS to date. Paesani (2011) is a good first stop, including wider references to language based approaches to teaching of modern foreign languages apart from English in the US. The MLA reform is a move in a PS direction perhaps, rather than the thing itself. The MLA reform provides a good reason for the introduction of PS approaches, but does not promote PS as such. It should also be noticed that concern with assessment rather lags behind the bold new statements on lang-lit integration which have begun to appear. This must surely follow, with some green shoots already to be discerned (notably Paran and Sercu 2010). If the case for literary linguistics, at least, is well accepted by now by many educators across the board, the challenge remains to offer materials and relevant training for practitioners who tend in many systems to see themselves still as ‘either’ literature or language specialists. Turning to the heavily assessed UK English subject curriculum from 2016, at Key Stage 3 [roughly 11–14 years], school students are required to ‘understand increasingly challenging texts through … making inferences and referring to evidence in the text’; to ‘read critically through … knowing how language, including figurative language, vocabulary choice, grammar, text structure and organizational features, presents meaning’; to develop abilities in ‘discussing reading, writing and spoken language with precise and confident use of linguistic and literary terminology’. At Key Stage 4, to become competent in ‘identifying and interpreting themes, ideas and information’, [..] ‘exploring aspects of plot, characterization, events and settings, the relationships between them and their

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effects’, and ‘seeking evidence in the text to support a point of view, including justifying inferences with evidence’; to ‘make an informed personal response, recognizing that other responses are possible and evaluating these (Department for Education 2014, quoted in Macrae 2016: 52). Similarly, Cushing (2018b) points out that while the word ‘stylistics’ is nowhere used in the UK National Curriculum documents, yet it does include statements like those quoted by Macrae (2016), or references to ‘the effectiveness and impact of the grammatical features of the texts [the students] read’; ‘new vocabulary and grammatical constructions for their reading and listening, and [use] these consciously in their writing and speech to achieve particular effects’; or ‘[recognize] the possibility of different responses to a text; [make] an informed personal response that derives from analysis and evaluation of a text’ (Cushing 2018b: 273)—in other words, PS! Returning to foreign languages teaching, the Council of Europe’s ‘Framework’ document (CEFR) for the teaching of foreign languages has proved very influential globally, not just in Europe, since it was first published in 2001. That first version had very little on literature or creative writing unless taken under the broad headings of ‘reading and writing’. Where literature or media study was mentioned at all, it tended to be exclusively with regard to higher level benchmarks of proficiency. A 2018 Companion reveals how literature has become more salient for the foreign language teaching field since 2001, though again we might see this, like MLA, as beginning to recognize the full imbrications of language and literature learning rather than a full embrace of informed PS, as such. In their original document, the Council of Europe (CEFR 2001: 56) gestured that ‘imaginative and artistic uses of language are important both educationally and in their own right’, with other similar general statements sprinkled through the document (‘where appropriate state which ludic and aesthetic uses of language the learners will need/be equipped/be required to make’). Incidental more specific statements of recommended competences are made in 2001 too, but with no systematicity: ‘relating plots of books’ (2001: 59); ‘reading highly colloquial literary and non-literary writings’ at higher levels (2001: 69). The more recent Companion (2018) goes further in line with wider trends among

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the ELT community. Perhaps most noticeably, creative writing is now explicitly recognized and described for all levels (2018: 78). Literature is still mainly seen as a reading skill, and a ‘Leisure Activity’ (2018: 68), but divided into two much more extensive and detailed headings: Response to literary texts (2018: 206; including ‘Describing Experience’ with sub-headings like Stories, Feelings); and, (yes!), Analysing a text (2018: 208). As might be expected there is much scope here for PS work by practitioners even though ‘Analysing’ barely mentions language except at advanced level (‘stylistic subtleties’) and seems to have been drafted by writers who studied literature in the 1960s (‘ambiguity’, unspecified ‘metaphor’ etc.). An early attempt to consider operationalization of the 2018 Companion, with a bias towards intercultural communication and wider ‘literary literacy’ is the work by Alter and Ratheiser (2019). These documents, then, offer real scope and encouragement to PS, even if often in rather implicit or unconscious ways.

The Cognitive Turn in Stylistics and PS Cognitive stylistics has attracted much of the limelight in recent years as is evident from many of the chapters in this volume. Early attempts to develop PS approaches to teaching English in varying situations are gathering force and weight though still developing, generally with a particular focus on reading and the reader, which are obviously of relevance to education. The need to bring readers into PS is advanced by Whiteley and Canning (2017). Others explore further, with practical classroom examples and more references, this fruitful idea of students exploring and developing for themselves their own informed and textbased responses (including affective responses) rather than reproducing the approved expert readings of their teachers and examiners (notably, Giovanelli 2010). This is a strong solution to precisely the failing of the much less structured ‘reader response’ based teaching that Gilbert pointed to way back in 1989, but which still holds sway among many teachers using literature. The argument for ‘authentic reading’ experiences in class, rather than ‘comprehension’ exercises and other such teacher and test originating

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approaches, is further supported by Giovanelli and Mason (2015). They term the latter ‘manufactured’ readings with more or less correct answers to be rehashed for teacher approval. In their words, ‘[S]tudents can end up being taught about books, rather than how to read them’” (2015: 43). Beyond this, teaching ‘about’ can be reinforcing, whether intentionally or not, academic elitism in literature reading and generally a sterile reproductive model of schooling. Instead, Giovanelli and Mason (2015) propose using cognitive ideas of figure-ground relationships and then narrative schemas, as, for instance, in the reading of a villain in Holes (Sachar 1998), a popular book in UK English classes. The authors also show how text world theory informs activities relating to a Calvino short story. ‘Responses’, central to literary experience for Goodwyn’s (2012) teachers, for example, are here explicitly articulated in a student-centred approach, as a way into the literary texts, learning how to read for themselves, but in a structured and likely more productive way than previous ideas of ‘response’ have suggested. Students are prompted to investigate literary sense-making and their own role in this, both individually and then through interaction with others, with the teacher framing and scaffolding rather than directing the responses. Cushing (2018b) offers another useful report from the classroom front line for those interested in using cognitive PS. UK younger secondary students received an approach designed to encourage creative student readings based on Text World Theory (Gavins 2007). Fruitful and helpful coordination between perception and description of language features is reported, along with the reader’s own ‘text world’ creation: classic PS in fact! In this sense, these approaches are in line with Simpson (2014: 95), who warns that: To be overly text-based risks losing sight of what readers do when they read, and this makes our stylistic analysis look as if it holds for all readers in all reading contexts. To be overly cognitive risks losing sight of the way a text is made, and this tends to mask stylistic subtlety and creativity in textual composition.

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Corpus Stylistics I have necessarily touched on corpus stylistics in several previous references in this chapter, for example in discussing ‘doing Shakespeare’ (Murphy et al. 2020). Its influence is growing and ever more pervasive, whether minimalistically, as a resource for checking intuitions, assertions or frequencies, or when used in more principled and thoroughgoing investigations. The most notable introductory publication to date for this rapidly growing and ever more widely accepted area of activity is McIntyre and Walker (2019), a clear, careful and comprehensive study already gathering numerous citations and establishing itself as a basic textbook for the area with worked examples and step-by-step exercises, links and appendices to back up the ideas and arguments. Chapter 7 specifically addresses ‘Pedagogical corpus stylistics’ (McIntyre and Walker 2019: 208–236). However, the limitations of corpus linguistic work in helping readers of Shakespeare are rightly acknowledged by Murphy et al. (2020). Just as (their starting point) performance will not solve comprehension problems, so, in turn, their corpus linguistic approach will not in itself clarify complex syntax, identified as another major student reader problem. There is a need to combine approaches, corpus linguistics as one important tool among others. Similarly, the data driven exploratory approach advocated and illustrated by McIntyre and Walker (2019) is summarized by them as ‘[PS] should be seen and used within the context of established approaches to language teaching’ (Murphy et al. 2020: 236), and only awareness raising is claimed for their approach. However, they do insist that the combination of stylistics and data driven learning (DDL) they advocate and illustrate can respond to the charge (Flowerdew 2009) that corpus stylistics is only good for bottom-up approaches to literary text reading, neglecting relevant wider contexts. The combination of task, stylistics and DDL encourages top-down processing by asking students to consider an overall meaning of the poem [their extended example], and bottom-up processing by asking students to focus on individual forms that will help them to draw conclusions about the meaning. Additionally, the use of a poem offers a window onto

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language and English culture that might not have emerged from other texts or teaching materials. (McIntyre and Walker 2019: 236)

This is a rapidly developing area gradually being taken up more widely by the research and teaching professions and no doubt more interesting developments are already under way. The technical aspects are less daunting than they once were. Corpus linguistic findings can be counter-intuitive, but perhaps that is one of its greatest values for an exploratory classroom. It can identify features or patterns readers had not consciously noticed (Sinclair 1991). Such activities will undoubtedly raise awareness, but as already suggested, awareness is not enough for some. Collocations, phraseology, deviance, re-registration (Carter 2010) and many other key literary language uses are usefully studied with the help of corpus linguistics if used sensitively with those patient, curious, and motivated enough to study the surfaces carefully. As already mentioned when discussing Cognitive PS, what is needed is precisely the kind of combination of approaches to text and to readership McIntyre and Walker (2019), Murphy et al. (2020) and other best practitioners fully recognize and concede.

Younger Readers, Young Adults and Their Preferred Forms of Creative Language Use I have referred in passing to the importance of a growing number of studies conscientiously working to expand the scope and applicability of PS to secondary and even younger learners, partly in response to criticism of earlier PS publications (Giovanelli 2010, 2018; Ahmed et al. 2020; Cushing 2018a, b; Bloemert 2019; Viana and Zyngier 2016). In particular, the booming young adult and literary scene as well as the internet, multimodality, and digital games are instanced as valid ways to bring engagement to PS classes in increasing numbers of papers, even if this may not be what Ministries and politicians are looking for language, literacy and English classes to provide. Bringing EFL researchers together, Bland (2013) leads such efforts to place literary and wider aesthetic

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experience at the centre of school language education, though once again this is more suggestive than mainstream PS. In another study, Kaminski (2019) shows how multimodal forms and sounds can engage even primary EFL learners.

Creative Writing Programmes and Activities PS is about exploring meaningful choices afforded by the language system (e.g. use of a first person narrator or third person for narrative writing), criticality, and crucially oriented towards empowering, and always very much activity oriented. According to Pope (1995: 1), ‘The best way to understand how a text works is to change it: to play around with it, to intervene in it some way … and then to try to account for the exact effect of what you have done’. A powerful formulation of these ideas can be found in Halliday’s (1975) Learning how to mean. Nevertheless, for many English and creative writing teachers in UK schools and universities not trained in linguistics, there are residual ideas of language based approaches to their work as prescriptive, nit-picking and effectively hostile to creativity despite the efforts of practitioners like Pope. UK Creative Writing ‘A’ level was suspended in 2015 for the usual hostile reasons despite its attested widespread appeal. Perhaps a more obvious PS orientation could have saved it. The CoE 2018 Companion has already been mentioned. At the level of implementation, Hanauer (2015), Iida (2012) and (Disney 2014) represent cutting edge EFL research.

Comparative Literatures, Translation, Multilingualism and Translanguaging It is worth highlighting briefly under this heading how in a world increasingly aware of multilingualism as an advantage and resource rather than a problem, literature and linguistics must be central to learning ‘how to operate between languages’ (MLA 2007) as a key aim of FL education standards for the Council of Europe and beyond. Language teaching needs to become more ‘plurilingual’, according to the influential Council

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of Europe (2001, 2018) specifications, with movements like ‘translanguaging’ (García and Li 2014; Cenoz and Gorter 2015) affecting a range of classrooms. Similarly, translation is very much back as a favoured approach in language teaching and even as an aim in language learning (Cook 2010; Kerr 2014). García and Kleyn (2016) offer examples of language-related episodes in such contexts for literature in Language Arts literature lessons. For PS, this means that the idea of exploring actively with students meaningful language and other communicative choices has widened beyond choices within a single language code such as English. Likewise, there is an awareness in L1 contexts that study of literature, despite National Curriculum or other specifications and institutional boundaries such as ‘English’ departments, can no longer be seen as confined within nation state boundaries. Mobility is the condition of modern life for many—indeed an aspiration for many young people—and of language use, and of literary and other creative communicative interaction. If, as traditionalists or media channels would have it, Standard English is the best and ‘correct’ English, and literature is the ‘best’ writing, students of English need to explore why it might be that Standard English is not widely or regularly used in most of the valued contemporary creative writing that wins prizes and plaudits.

Bloemert and Dutch Lang-Lit EFL Most studies of language and literature activities in EFL have had university students as subjects when many more study English (or other foreign languages) at secondary or high school (Paran 2008). One well-informed response to that challenge is Bloemert (2019). She identifies the need and demand of EFL secondary school learners in the Netherlands for language learning and language skills. Literature is a required component of the high school foreign languages curriculum and her high school participants report that they find literature already valuable for their aims. Bloemert reports a wide survey of literature teaching in language classes across 15 different Dutch secondary schools, 635 upper secondary school students and more than a hundred teachers, and two consecutive years of data collection. In sum, typically less than 10%

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of literature lesson time is spent directly on language-related activities, though more time was inevitably spent on incidental learning and implicit instruction, including extended reading of demanding authentic texts. Even when focusing on language, lessons typically used mainly L1 for teaching and learning. In her words, “There is a major difference between what students believe is beneficial and important and what is currently happening in the EFL literature lessons” (Bloemert 2019: 176). English teachers in the schools Bloemert investigated saw themselves as literature rather than language teachers. Language teaching was still largely seen in utilitarian and practical everyday terms, ignoring what is now known of the actually creative, playful and interactively constructed nature of everyday interaction (see Carter 2015 [2004]). Thus literature and language lessons are mostly kept rigidly separated. Students in Bloemert’s study report primarily valuing from literature used in their English instruction, ‘Language skills, Vocabulary and idioms’ and ‘grammar and syntax’ (2019: 171). They want more language focus; they are getting more literature focus in most cases. Of course, literature as a source of cultural learning, pleasure, Theory of Mind and other such benefits are useful in education. But literature is seen by the students as first and foremost a use of language, and whether by training or inclination, the teachers are not responding to that demand. A first stage is to draw such facts to the attention of teachers and other relevant stakeholders. But the next important stage must be training programmes to build confidence and competence and belief in teachers’ ability and desire to deliver what the students are asking for as well as extending student horizons and aiming to inculcate a lifelong love of reading. The suspicion would be that such a situation obtains not only in the Netherlands, though this is the clearest case study I have seen to date. My only reservation about this very interesting and convincing study of a particular national secondary situation for English teaching is the absence of specific proposals for what I have been calling pedagogical stylistics, an informed and systematic linguistic approach to literary texts and reading which should surely be central to efforts to meet the students at least half way. The language activities mentioned in the study involve discussing and explaining ideas and feelings, developing an argument with reference to incidental learning of vocabulary, learning to

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read by extensive reading (Krashen 2004). The specifics of language use are not seen to be addressed, though it is notable that some of the lesson plans offered (e.g. Appendix IV: 217–220) begin to approximate such a stylistic approach. In fairness, the proposals and examples are in line with the stated objectives of the national curriculum, which is itself primarily oriented to more traditional ideas of literary study. And that is clearly the nub of a bigger problem which even Bloemert is only beginning to inch her way towards.

Conclusions and Prospect for 2027 I close by quickly highlighting some recurrent themes of my survey: (a) We still mostly have accounts of PS work related to English language. More is needed on other languages, though see Burke (2010) and developments in multi-, pluri- and translanguaging. (b) Literary linguistics as a broad principle of educational approach seems more widely accepted now than 13 years ago, but this chapter repeatedly notices that what exactly this lang-lit approach entails is barely informed by findings and proposals of PS, if at all. There is still a need to promote what we do more widely among relevant communities, though evidence of real steps forward is also reviewed here. (c) For ELT (L1 and EFL), the challenge is to show the relevance of PS with literary and other creative texts to form-focused learning, and to acknowledge the tensions (not necessarily incompatibilities) between critical-analytic readings of literary texts and more ‘response’-oriented approaches informed by agendas of intercultural communication, empathy, cultural studies and more humanistic approaches to literature and language pedagogy which tend to dominate at least in north European and U.S. uses of literature in ELT (Volkmann 2015; Delanoy et al. 2015; Bloemert 2019). (d) For all PS another issue part-tackled by Jones (2019) is whether literacy skills and proficiency, rather than speaking and listening, may be better impacted by a PS approach. Literacies of whatever

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kind are generally more conscious and offline than speaking, and so declarative knowledge may be expected to more easily inform procedural competencies, though even here evidence is not conclusive (Locke 2010). There is some suggestive but inconclusive empirical evidence in Jones (2019) that speaking skills and proficiency may indeed benefit from language-focused uses of literature. (e) A recurrent finding across many of the studies I have instanced is that PS needs to be activity based, meaning-oriented and task-driven. With real interaction with authentic problems and reading activities, real learning can be seen to take place from a PS orientation in pedagogical design. Finally, we may note that the claims of PS remain modest. This is not a catch-all panacea for teachers and students. It is one very useful tool to integrate into other usually better established pedagogies and curricular requirements. Despite all the work I have briefly surveyed, we see that a dozen has not been enough. If we want those involved in education to ‘buy into’ PS, ever more research and practice and connections need to be established between client groups and teachers, students at all levels, and policy and curriculum developers and beyond. If an early period of development for PS was the one off anecdotal ‘classroom report’, then succeeded by the theoretical arguments, we are now seeing ever more practical and empirically informed development of materials, training and education. The smell of baking bread will usually help sell your house, the estate agents tell us. The house of PS is smelling good!

References Ahmed, Furzeen, Marcello Giovanelli, Megan Mansworth, and Felicity Titjen (eds.). 2020. Teaching English language and literature 16–19. London: Routledge. Alter, Grit, and Ulla Ratheiser. 2019. A new model of literary competences and the revised CEFR descriptors. ELT Journal 73 (4): 377–386. Bland, Janice. 2013. Children’s literature and learner empowerment. London: Bloomsbury.

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Bloemert, Jasmijn. 2019. Getting off the fence: Exploring the role, position, and relevance of literature education in the teaching of English as a foreign language in Dutch secondary education. PhD dissertation, University of Groningen, Groningen. Boers, Frank. 2000. Metaphor awareness and vocabulary retention. Applied Linguistics 21 (4): 553–571. Burke, Michael (ed.). 2010. Pedagogical issues in stylistics [Special issue]. Language and Literature 19 (1): 1–128. Carter, Ronald. 2003. Language awareness. ELT Journal 57 (1): 64–65. Carter, Ronald. 2010. Issues in pedagogical stylistics: A coda. Language and Literature 19 (1): 115–122. Carter, Ronald. 2015 [originally published 2004]. Language and creativity: The art of common talk. London: Routledge. Cenoz, Jasone, and Durk Gorter. 2015. Multilingual education: Between language learning and translanguaging. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chen, I-Chen. 2018. Incorporating task-based learning in an extensive reading programme. ELT Journal 72 (4): 405–414. Clayton, Dan. 2013. ‘Not rigorous, just wrong’: Gove’s English language. Teaching English 3: 54–57. CoE CEFR. 2001. Council of Europe. https://rm.coe.int/1680459f97. Accessed 27 Jan 2021. CoE Council of Europe. Companion. 2018. https://rm.coe.int/commoneuropean-framework-of-reference-for-languages-learning-teaching/16809e a0d4. Accessed 27 Jan 2021. Cook, Guy. 2010. Translation in language teaching. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Crystal, David. 2008. Think on my words: Exploring Shakespeare’s language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cushing, Ian. 2018a. Suddenly I am part of the poem. English in Education 52 (1): 7–19. Cushing, Ian. 2018b. Stylistics goes to school. Language and Literature 27 (4): 271–285. Delanoy, Werner, Maria Eisenmann, and Frauke Matz. 2015. Learning with literature in the EFL classroom. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang. DfE. 2014. Department for Education. National Curriculum. English programmes of study. https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/nat ional-curriculum-in-england-english-programmes-of-study/national-curric ulum-in-england-english-programmes-of-study. Accessed 27 Jan 2021.

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Disney, Dan (ed.). 2014. Exploring second language creative writing: Beyond Babel . Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Edelhoff, Christoph. 1993. English among the other European languages. In English language learning in Europe: Issues, tasks and problems. In Best of ELTECS, British Council 1995; ELTECS Conference, Bratislava, 26–44. (PDF) The Role of Intercultural Competence in Foreign Language Teaching. Available from: Best of ELTECS | Teaching English | British Council | BBC. Accessed 26 Jan 2021. Ellis, Rod. 2016. Focus on form: A critical review. Language Teaching Research 20 (3): 405–428. Fialho, Olivia, Sonia Zyngier, and David Miall. 2011. Interpretation and experience: Two pedagogical interventions observed. English in Education 45 (3): 236–253. Fialho, Olivia, Sonia Zyngier, and Michael Burke. 2016. Empirical approaches to the study of literature in learning environments: An overview. In Scientific approaches to literature in learning environments, ed. Michael Burke, Olivia Fialho, and Sonia Zyngier, 1–16. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Flowerdew, Lynne. 2009. Applying corpus linguistics to pedagogy: A critical evaluation. International Journal of Corpus Linguistics 14 (3): 393–417. Fogal, Gary. 2015. Pedagogical stylistics in multiple foreign language and second language contexts: A synthesis of empirical research. Language and Literature 24 (1): 54–72. García, Ofelia, and Tatyana Kleyn. 2016. Translanguaging with multilingual students: Learning from classroom moments. New York: Routledge. García, Ofelia, and Wei Li. 2014. Translanguaging: Language, bilingualism and education. Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Garrett, Peter, and Josep M. Cots (eds.). 2018. The Routledge handbook of language awareness. London: Routledge. Gavins, Joanna. 2007. Text world theory. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Gilbert, Pam. 1989. Personally (and passively) yours: Girls, literacy and education. Oxford Review of Education 15 (3): 257–265. Giovanelli, Marcello. 2010. Pedagogical stylistics: A text world theory approach to the teaching of poetry. English in Education 44 (3): 214–231. Giovanelli, Marcello. 2018. The language of literature: An introduction to stylistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Giovanelli, Marcello, and Jessica Mason. 2015. ‘Well I don’t feel that’: Schemas, worlds and authentic reading in the classroom. English in Education 49 (1): 41–55.

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Goodwyn, Andrew. 2012. The status of literature: English teaching and the condition of literature teaching in schools. English in Education 46 (3): 212– 227. Hakemulder, Frank, Moniek M. Kuijpers, Ed. S. Tan, Katalin Bálint, and Miruna M. Doicaru (eds.). 2017. Narrative absorption. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Hall, Geoff. 2007. Stylistics in second language contexts: A critical perspective. In Literature and stylistics for language learners, ed. Greg Watson and Sonia Zyngier, 3–14. Hampshire and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hall, Geoff. 2014a. Pedagogical stylistics. In The Routledge handbook of stylistics, ed. Michael Burke, 239–252. Oxon and New York: Routledge. Hall, Geoff. 2014b. Stylistics as literary criticism. In The Cambridge handbook of stylistics, ed. Peter Stockwell and Sara Whiteley, 87–100. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hall, Geoff. 2015. Literature in language education, 2nd ed. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Halliday, Michael A. K. 1975. Learning how to mean. London: Edward Arnold. Hanauer, David I. 2015. Measuring voice in poetry written by second language learners. Written Communication 32 (1): 66–86. Iida, Atsushi. 2012. The value of poetry writing: Cross-genre literacy development in a second language. Scientific Study of Literature 2 (1): 60–82. Jeffries, Lesley, and Dan McIntyre. 2011. Teaching stylistics. Hampshire and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Johnson, Keith. 2014. Shakespeare’s English: A practical linguistic guide. London and New York: Routledge. Jones, Christopher. 2019. Literature, spoken language, spoken skills. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kaminski, Annett. 2019. Young learners’ engagement with multimodal texts. ELT Journal 73 (2): 175–185. Kerr, Philip. 2014. Translation and own-language activities. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kramsch, Claire. 2009. The multilingual subject. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Krashen, Stephen. 2004. The power of reading: Insights from the research. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Lindstromberg, Seth, and Frank Boers. 2008. The mnemonic effect of noticing alliteration in lexical chunks. Applied Linguistics 29 (2): 200–222.

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Locke, Terry (ed.). 2010. Beyond the Grammar Wars: A resource for teachers and students on developing language knowledge in the English/literacy classroom. New York: Routledge. Macrae, Andrea. 2016. Stylistics. In Knowing about language: Linguistics and the secondary English classroom, ed. Marcello Giovanni and Dan Clayton, 51–63. London: Routledge. Macrae, Andrea, and Billy Clark. 2014. Lang/Lit from A to BA: Integrating language and literature study at school and university. York: Higher Education Academy. McIntyre, Dan, and Brian Walker. 2019. Corpus stylistics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Modern Language Association Ad-Hoc Committee on Foreign Languages. 2007. Foreign languages and higher education: New structures for a changed world . https://www.mla.org/Resources/Research/Surveys-Reports-andOther-Documents/Teaching-Enrollments-and-Programs/Foreign-Langua ges-and-Higher-Education-New-Structures-for-a-Changed-World. Accessed 26 Jan 2021. Murphy, Sean, Jonathan Culpeper, Matthew Gillings, and Michael Pace-Sigge. 2020. What do students find difficult when they read Shakespeare? Problems and solutions. Language and Literature 29 (3): 302–326. Paesani, Kate. 2011. Research in language-literature instruction: Meeting the call for change? Annual Review of Applied Linguistics 31: 161–181. Paran, Amos. 2008. The role of literature in instructed foreign language learning and teaching: An evidence-based survey. Language Teaching 41 (4): 465–496. Paran, Amos, and Lies Sercu (eds.). 2010. Testing the untestable in language education. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Pope, Rob. 1995. Textual intervention. London: Routledge. Ranta, Leila, and Roy Lister. 2018. Form-focused instruction. In The Routledge handbook of language awareness, ed. Peter Garrett and Josep M. Cots, 40–56. London: Routledge. Ravassat, Mireille, and Jonathan Culpeper. 2011. Stylistics and Shakespeare’s language. London: Continuum. Sachar, Louis. 1998. Holes. London: Bloomsbury. Simpson, Paul. 2014. Stylistics: A resource book for students, 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Sinclair, John McH. 1991. Corpus, concordance, collocation. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Swain, Merrill, and Sharon Lapkin. 1998. Interaction and second language learning: Two adolescent French immersion students working together. Modern Language Journal 82 (3): 320–337. Van Gelderen, Amos. 2010. Does explicit teaching of grammar help students to become better writers? Insights from empirical research. In Beyond the grammar wars: A resource for teachers and students on developing language knowledge in the English/literacy classroom, ed. Terry Locke, 170–184. New York and London: Routledge. Van Peer, Willie, Frank Hakemulder, and Sonia Zyngier. 2012. Scientific methods for the humanities. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Viana, Vander, and Sonia Zyngier. 2016. Exploring new territories in pedagogical stylistics: An investigation of high-school EFL students’ assessments. Language and Literature 26 (4): 300–322. Volkmann, Laurenz. 2015. Literary literacy and intercultural competence: Furthering students’ knowledge, skills and attitudes. In Learning with literature in the EFL classroom, ed. Werner Delanoy, Maria Eisenmann, and Frauke Matz, 49–58. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang. Whiteley, Sara, and Patricia Canning. 2017. Reader response research in stylistics. Language and Literature 26 (2): 71–87. Widdowson, Henry G. 1975. Stylistics and the teaching of literature. Harlow: Longman. Willis, Jane. 1996. A framework for task-based learning. Harlow: Longman. Zyngier, Sonia. 2006. Stylistics: Pedagogical applications. In Encyclopedia of language and linguistics, ed. Keith Brown, vol. 12, 226–232. Amsterdam: Elsevier Science.

2 Pedagogical Stylistics and the Integration of Literary and Linguistic Criticism Violeta Sotirova

Abstract This chapter argues that stylistics and literary criticism should be integrated in the teaching of stylistics. The tensions between linguistic and literary criticism and their mutual rejection of the value of the other’s contribution to the study of literary texts are long-standing. Most stylisticians have attempted to show that stylistics has got a greater explanatory power than impressionistic critical evaluations of literary texts. However, this chapter argues that stylistic analysis can benefit immensely from the insight offered by a more historical and contextual approach to texts, which has traditionally been the preserve of literary criticism. The historical and cultural knowledge that we gain from criticism can illuminate stylistic meaning, just as significantly as linguistic analysis can illuminate critical interpretation. Through an exploration of Ezra Pound’s use of the present perfect aspect, the chapter shows that the cultural, historical and V. Sotirova (B) University of Nottingham, Nottingham, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_2

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biographical information that literary scholarship provides can enrich the linguistic analysis. Keywords Ezra Pound · Present perfect · Literary criticism · Intention · Biographical criticism · Pedagogical stylistics

Introduction: Stylistics and Pedagogy Throughout its history stylistics as a discipline has developed and sought to define itself always in close connection with pedagogical practice. From its roots in the work of Brumfit (1980, 1983), Brumfit and Carter (1986), Carter (1982, 1989a, b) and Carter and Long (1987), pedagogical stylistics emerges primarily as a concern with introducing literature into the language classroom and providing the tools for a systematic and rigorous, but also context-based, analysis of real and rich language examples that literary texts offer. But in native-speaker contexts, stylistics has also developed and interrogated its practices paying significant attention to its own use in the classroom. Pedagogical stylistics, thus, ‘is stylistics applied to classroom contexts or any other context that involves the objective of promoting the learning of how language works’ (Zyngier 2006: 226). It ‘aims at promoting students’ awareness of how language works formally and functionally so as to enable them to perceive the subtleties of linguistic choices present in a text and the effects that these choices produce in readers’ (Zyngier 2006: 226–227). This pedagogic awareness has, in part, been motivated by the need felt by stylisticians to think more carefully about ways of engaging their students, since the linguistic approach to literary texts that they teach is a priori perceived as more difficult and more technical (Short et al. 2007). This is probably why, as Stockwell remarks, ‘the seminal works of stylistics are typically cast in the form not of monographs but of textbooks’ (2007: 16). And this is probably the reason why quite a number of publications in the field of stylistics have a pedagogical focus (see for instance, McRae 2001; Watson and Zyngier 2007). The need for stylistics to examine its own pedagogic practices is also motivated by the more nebulous and implicit methodologies adopted by teachers of literature more generally, who, according to Zyngier and

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Fialho (2010: 14), ‘tend to see the learning of literature as a natural phenomenon which does not need any theoretical concern or empirical testing’. The more rigorous bent of stylistics necessarily involves paying more rigorous attention to its own practices, including pedagogy. This is witnessed in the substantial number of publications and special issues that have been dedicated to the field (Widdowson 1975; Carter and McRae 1996; Clark and Zyngier 2003; Hall 2005; Burke 2010; Jeffries and McIntyre 2011; Knights and Steadman-Jones 2011; Burke et al. 2012; Hall 2014). The development of pedagogical stylistics is broadly in line with advances in stylistics more generally. The more text-oriented and formalist approaches within stylistics in the 1960s and 70s are largely mirrored in pedagogical arguments of the period towards establishing the linguistic and text-based approach to literary texts in the classroom (Leech 1969; Freeman 1970; see Zyngier and Fialho 2015). The sociolinguistic and discourse turn brings a new focus to stylistic pedagogies towards the political and ideological contexts of text production (Fairclough 1989; Mills 1995), which Carter (2007) also traces back to the influence of thinkers like Bakhtin and Vygotsky more widely. In Zyngier and Fialho’s words (2015: 216), the further major trends in pedagogical stylistics can be identified as a movement ‘From a text-oriented through a more contextualized outlook’ towards ‘the 1990s witness[ing] the need for more student-centred pedagogies, which materialized in different approaches and strategies, such as re-registration (Carter and Nash 1990), textual intervention (Pope 1995), and literary awareness (Zyngier 1994)’. The self-reflective introspection that stylisticians have practised over the decades and the establishment of pedagogical stylistics as a subdiscipline of stylistics are testimony to the centrality of pedagogical concerns within the discipline of stylistics. Or, in Stockwell’s words, ‘this is a discipline that has always had exploration and pedagogy at its heart’ (2007: 16). The concern for how to teach stylistics in the native-speaker context has predominantly been articulated as an argument about the best ways of engaging students in a discussion of language, an argument about the importance of raising their awareness about the significance of language

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and making them more skilled at establishing the connections between interpretation and meaning on the one hand and linguistic expression on the other. Pedagogical explorations of how to practise stylistics in the classroom have predominantly focused on highlighting the significance of the linguistic approach to literature to students. Thus, when Simpson (1999) reports on the teaching of the narrative organisation of a passage from The Old Man and the Sea, he outlines the primary aim of his study as follows: ‘(i) to assess the contribution stylistics can make to the study of language at the macro-level and to the study of fictional narrative at the micro-level; (ii) to assess the value of stylistics to the critical evaluation and interpretation of literary texts’ (1999: 511). Excellent as they are in their pedagogy and stylistic practice, most existing studies that engage with the teaching of stylistics have the importance of language for understanding literature at their heart. Parallel to this linguistically oriented slant of pedagogical stylistics has been the argument about the very nature of stylistics as a discipline and its positioning in relation to its cognate disciplines.

The Discipline of Stylistics Stylistics as an interdisciplinary field of study has always been positioned between linguistics and literary criticism and theory with a somewhat ambivalent relationship to either. This ambivalence is most clearly manifested in the way that stylistics is practised, with a greater number of scholars taking insight from the study of language to explain and illuminate literary meaning and interpretation and a very limited number of scholars taking insight from literary theory or criticism to illuminate the stylistic analysis. The latter approach has always been more typical of those interested in earlier periods or in the historical study of literature. While linguistically minded stylisticians do draw on literary criticism, this tends to be done either with a view to providing a parallel insight into the interpretation of a text that backs up the results of the stylistic analysis or with a view to offering evidence or counter-evidence to existing literary interpretations. Thus, in his pedagogical stylistic study of Hemingway’s style, Simpson sets out explicitly to test some critical

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comments on the text through a more rigorous method that provides solid and retrievable linguistic evidence for possible interpretations and not what he calls ‘pseudo-linguistic evidence’ (1999: 517). As can be expected, some of the impressionistic critical evaluations of Hemingway’s style, when put to the test of a stylistic analysis, collapse, thus ‘consolidat[ing] the impression that the critical statements offered little in the way of concrete information about Hemingway’s use of language in the passage’ (1999: 522). The rich historical, cultural and biographical detail that literary criticism typically engages in uncovering, or the theoretical insight that literary theory can offer, is seldom used to engage in a real dialogue between the two disciplines, or even more controversially to throw light on a stylistic analysis that otherwise may have remained limited. This tension is reciprocal, with literary critics simply ignoring stylistics as a discipline and frequently showing overt hostility towards it. While linguists do not typically engage with the discipline of stylistics, as its object of investigation is literature, it is understandable that literary critics have objected to the legitimacy of stylistics, because it encroaches on a territory that is considered to be their preserve. We are all familiar with some of the most vociferous debates between stylisticians and literary critics that have shaped the history of stylistics as a discipline: the (in)famous Fowler-Bateson (1967, 1968) controversy or the Short et al. (1988) and Mackay (1996, 1999) debates. More recently, it has been cognitive poetics that has asserted its supremacy over the approach taken by literary critics. Gavins and Steen (2003) argue that cognitive poetics should be better placed to engage in the study of literature than other existing theoretical approaches, because it can bridge the gap between elitist literary works and ‘new art forms directed at new groups of audiences through new media’ by providing an explanation of ‘the resemblance and difference between these art forms and literature in terms of their psychological and social effects’ (2003: 1). Their most condemning verdict directed at literary criticism is that ‘the taxpayer’ ‘wants better justification for the spending of their money than an academic’s sheer individual interest in a particular text’ which results in ‘the standard academic practice of producing yet another interpretation of a text from the canon or, in more recent years, from outside

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the canon’ (2003: 2). Their view is that cognitive poetics provides this justification. Stockwell, too, finds the practice of criticism ‘improper and marginalising’ and he is right to lament the fact that ‘engagement with text, textuality and texture has largely disappeared from the profession’ (Stockwell 2012: 1). But in his attack on ‘literary scholarship’ for ‘becom[ing] an arid landscape of cultural history’ where the only ‘focus of concern’ is ‘contexts and biographies, influences and allusions, multiple edited textual variants of literary works and their place in social history’, he takes the further step of attributing a degree of irrationality to literary criticism when he says that: ‘Rational thought, discipline, systematicity, clarity of expression, transparency of argument, evidentiality and analytical knowledge have become the preserve of the few’ (Stockwell 2012: 1). Although we all recognise these qualities of critical writing as reminiscent of some of the excesses of post-structuralism, it is worth considering more carefully the position that stylistics decrees to criticism and particularly the way that this position can impact on our teaching of stylistics. While these two verdicts on literary criticism sound measured in comparison with Bateson’s ‘Would I allow my sister to marry a linguist? […] if I am honest I must admit that I would much prefer not to have a linguist in the family’ (Bateson, in Fowler and Bateson 1968: 176) and Barnett’s (cited in Simpson 2004) comparison of ‘the impact of Structural Linguists’ to ‘slow atomic fallout’, nevertheless I have been uneasy about such outright dismissals of literary criticism and like McIntyre (2012: 1) think that it is ‘unfortunate’ that ‘the relationship between literature and language […] has, for the most part, been an unhappy one’. What I propose to do here is take as a case study the teaching and study of a particular literary work, which has traditionally been the approach of stylisticians, but also focus on the use of a specific linguistic feature, and explore to what extent literary criticism, or its methods, can illuminate the meaning of linguistic structures, or at least to what extent stylistics needs the input from literary criticism in order to fully uncover the significance of a specific language choice. The choice of a linguistic construction, alongside the whole text, should hopefully prove the case of the importance of criticism for stylistics more forcefully, because it is

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more difficult to tie up a specific linguistic feature with literary critical interpretations and historical-contextual detail. I will present my analysis and my experience of teaching the text which employs this feature, and discuss its use more widely in the poet’s oeuvre. My classroom results will hopefully demonstrate the importance of a more integrative approach in relation to linguistic and literary criticism.

Case Study: Ezra Pound’s Use of the Present Perfect Even a casual reading of the early poems of Ezra Pound, collected in Personae (1909), Exultations (1909) and Lustra (1916) (Pound 1928), leaves the impression that the present perfect crops up quite frequently in Pound’s writing. While all of these examples bear witness to the poet’s predilection for this verbal aspect, there is a pivotal moment in his oeuvre when he brings out all of the evocative power of the present perfect in his depiction of his tour around Provence and the Languedoc. His poem ‘Provincia Deserta’ (Pound, 1928: 122–124) displays the most condensed use of the present perfect in his poetry. Provincia Deserta At Rochecoart, Where the hills part in three ways, And three valleys, full of winding roads, Fork out to south and north, There is a place of trees … grey with lichen. I have walked there thinking of old days. At Chalais is a pleached arbour; Old pensioners and old protected women Have a right there it is charity. I have crept over old rafters,

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peering down Over the Dronne, over a stream full of lilies. Eastward the road lies, Aubeterre is eastward, With a garrulous old man at the inn. I know the roads in that place: Mareuil to the north-east, La Tour, There are three keeps near Mareuil, And an old woman, glad to hear Arnaut, Glad to lend one dry clothing. I have walked into Perigord, I have seen torch-flames, high-leaping, Painting the front of that church; Heard, under the dark, whirling laughter. I have looked back over the stream and seen the high building, Seen the long minarets, the white shafts. I have gone in Ribeyrac and in Sarlat, I have climbed rickety stairs, heard talk of Croy, Walked over En Bertran’s old layout, Have seen Narbonne, and Cahors and Chalus, Have seen Excideuil, carefully fashioned. I have said: ‘Here such a one walked. Here Coeur de Lion was slain. Here was good singing. Here one man hastened his step. Here one lay panting.’ I have looked south from Hautefort, thinking of Montaignac, southward. I have lain in Rocafixada, level with sunset, Have seen the copper come down

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tingeing the mountains, I have seen the fields, pale, clear as an emerald, Sharp peaks, high spurs, distant castles. 55 I have said: ‘The old roads have lain here. Men have gone by such and such valleys Where the great halls were closer together.’ I have seen Foix on its rock, seen Toulouse, and Arles greatly altered, 60 I have seen the ruined ‘Dorata’. I have said: ‘Riquier! Guido.’ I have thought of the second Troy, Some little prized place in Auvergnat: 65 Two men tossing a coin, one keeping a castle, One set on the highway to sing. He sang a woman. Auvergne rose to the song; 70 The Dauphin backed him. ‘The castle to Austors!’. ‘Pieire kept the singing – A fair man and a pleasant.’ He won the lady, Stole her away for himself, kept her against armed force: 75 So ends that story. That age is gone; Pieire de Maensac is gone. I have walked over these roads; I have thought of them living. 80

Adamson (1999: 668) comments briefly on the poem’s distribution of verb forms: In [Provincia Deserta] Pound draws on the present perfect as part of a complex temporal layering which contrasts the eternal present of a story (which ‘ends’ but can always be repeated), the real-life existence of its protagonists (whose actions – won, stole, kept – are now over and fixed in a definite historical past that is cut off from the present), and his own attempts to relive the lost past, now themselves past, but alive in his memory as an affect and a kind of achievement.

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‘The complex temporal layering’ that Adamson refers to consists in: a) the use of the gnomic present tense to refer to geographical locations and permanent states (underlined): At Rochecoart, Where the hills part in three ways (lines 1–3)

b) the use of the past simple to denote the actions of Pound’s characters and signal the sections of the poem where the poetic speaker tells a story (underlined): One set on the highway to sing. He sang a woman. Auvergne rose to the song; The Dauphin backed him. (lines 46–49)

c) and the present perfect to capture the experiential value of his visit to the places that he talks about (underlined and emboldened): I have walked there Thinking of old days. (lines 54–55)

The overall distribution of verb tense and aspect is as follows: Present simple

Past simple

Present perfect

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I have used this text on my final year stylistics module at the University of Nottingham. When first presented with the poem, students typically say that they need some explanation as to the condensed use of proper nouns, in reference to people and to geographical locations. The referents of these proper nouns, particularly the names of people, are almost certainly not going to be familiar to most readers. Rather than providing the full explanation of the historical references densely populating the poem, I instruct students to read the text, paying close attention to the

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use of verbal forms. They are then given the more specific instruction of reading the poem again, identifying all verbs and their tense and aspect and discussing the pattern in which these are arranged. This approach is adopted on purpose: to see whether through a close analysis of the language of a text, rich in cultural references, some of the meaning can be gleaned through. Initial responses, after reading the poem closely, include the admission that the context and meaning are unclear because of the references to places and people. Then, in response to the use of tenses, the present, past and present perfect are identified and the pattern of linking the present perfect to the poetic speaker, i.e. always using it in conjunction with the first-person pronoun I , is also noted. Student responses as to meaning and interpretation of the text invariably acknowledge that without the cultural context of all the references it is difficult to ascertain the meaning, but that it is obvious that these places and people are of significance to the poetic speaker. When asked what the text is about, students usually say that it describes the poet’s journey to some places in France. And when asked if this is a narrative and why it does not use the simple past, students generally explain that the present perfect makes it sound more personal and more immediate and not so much as a narrative. A closer stylistic analysis of the poem reveals that these responses are largely correct. Pound’s text is carefully patterned to differentiate between gnomic present, outlining the situatedness of geographical locations, past simple in passages that tell the story of the past events, and present perfect that recounts the experience. What is odd is the choice of the present perfect for the entirety of Pound’s account of his journey. The default tense/aspect when recounting past experiences is the past simple and, certainly in this case, the past simple would have given the arrangement of events the sense of sequentiality, thus transforming them into a story about past experience. As Boyd and Boyd state (1977: 5): ‘the present perfect does not locate us at a point in a linear time sequence of other points; it encloses us within the time span of an event’. Yet, Pound opts not for the default narrative tense—the past simple—but for the present perfect:

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I have gone in Ribeyrac and in Sarlat, I have climbed rickety stairs, heard talk of Croy, Walked over En Bertran’s old layout, Have seen Narbonne, and Cahors and Chalus, Have seen Excideuil, carefully fashioned.

These particular lines involve an account of material actions—‘I have gone’, ‘I have climbed’, ‘[I have] walked’—which in a narrative would be sequentially ordered, but the present perfect here takes away from that sense of events in a sequence of which a narrative is composed. The impression created is that what is important is the fact that the poetic speaker has experienced this, the result and relevance of the events and actions to the present moment are highlighted as ‘alive in his memory as an affect and a kind of achievement’ (Adamson 1999: 668), but their narrativity is suppressed. The linguistic analysis can, thus, reveal significant aspects of the meaning of the text which students are also able to access with some further discussion of the semantics of the present perfect.

The Semantics of the Present Perfect Linguistic accounts of the perfect treat it as an aspectual category. In contrast to the past simple which ‘involves a point or period in the past that is exclusive of the present’, the present perfect ‘involves a period that is inclusive of the present as well as the past’ (Huddleston 2001: 76). This is why the present perfect ‘is well suited to situations beginning in the past and lasting through to the present’ (Huddleston 2001: 76). The examples from Pound do not fit under this category, but the ability of the present perfect to include in its time span a period beginning in the past and extending to the present, i.e. its continuative meaning (Nishiyama and Koenig 2010), has implications for its other semantic meaning—that of resultativeness. According to Huddleston (2001: 76), ‘the present perfect is often for past events related to the present by their recency and current news value’. Or, in other words, the choice of a time period inclusive of the present implies that the situation has some

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kind of relevance to the present—that it has what is commonly called ‘current relevance’ (Huddleston 2001: 77). Already Henry Sweet points out that ‘The perfect combines past and present time’ (1960 [1894]: 98; cited in Boyd and Boyd 1977: 4). Comrie (1998 [1976]: 52) also states that ‘the present perfect […] partakes of both the present and the past’. For Jespersen (1948 [1924]: 269; cited in Boyd and Boyd 1977: 4), the present perfect is ‘a retrospective variety of the present’ because it can be used with the adverb ‘now’. And Curme (1931: 359–360; cited in Boyd and Boyd 1977: 4) claims that ‘it is usually employed when the time is felt as not wholly past but still at least in close relations with the present’. These accounts of the present perfect stress the significance of the event to the present moment. It is probably because of this that Sweet (1960 [1894]: 98) concludes that the sentences ‘I came to see you and I have come to see you really express the same relations of time, but from different points of view’. The close link of the present perfect with point of view suggests that it is a powerful index of subjectivity. This is why when studying the poetic use of the present perfect in Wordsworth, Boyd and Boyd label it ‘the perfect of experience’ (1977). According to them, however, while the link of the perfect with the present is clearly visible in its continuative uses, ‘results are not always so tangible. Often what remains is present knowledge or present feeling’ (1977: 5). In Wordsworth, it is the perfect’s ‘power of recall’, its power of ‘redeem[ing]’ and ‘ma[king] present’ something that is lost (Boyd and Boyd 1977: 7) that really resonates with the poet’s aesthetic endeavour. What it allows him to do is re-experience the past and keep it ‘from being past’ (Boyd and Boyd 1977: 7).

The Full Significance of the ‘Perfect of Experience’ in Pound’s Text Pound’s predilection for the present perfect can be read through the semantic meanings of this aspect as outlined by linguists and in parallel to their stylistic mapping onto Wordsworth’s poetic uses provided by Boyd and Boyd (1977). The semantic power of the present perfect brings Pound’s poetic persona’s experience close to the present moment.

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Its consistent coupling with the first-person subject is indicative of the subjective overtones of this verbal aspect, particularly prominent in Pound’s text. The subjectivity of the account is further reinforced through the use of proximal deixis, aligned with the perspective of the poetic speaker: I have looked back over the stream I have said: ‘Here such a one walked. Here Coeur de Lion was slain. Here was good singing. Here one man hastened his step. Here one lay panting.’ I have walked over these roads

The spatial deictic references make the physical locations present for the reader. Why the whole experience is cast in the present perfect rather than the narrative past simple becomes clear in the final two lines: I have walked over these roads; I have thought of them living.

It is here that the poetic persona explicitly makes it clear why this temporal bridge between past and present is important to him. It is as if the grammar of the verbs indexes the strife of the poet to bring these characters and the places they had inhabited to life. The present perfect achieves what Boyd and Boyd (1977: 9) describe in relation to Wordsworth: it ‘allow[s] the past to haunt the present’, it ‘provide[s] a living link between past and present’ (1977: 6). But what is this past that Pound is so carefully trying to graft into the text and resurrect?

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The Historical and Cultural Significance of Pound’s Present Perfect This is the point at which I am going to come back to my initial question about the value of historicist and contextual analyses for stylistics and the teaching of stylistics. In a poem so densely populated with proper names as ‘Provincia Deserta’, even the best stylistician would need to make reference to the historical and cultural context that Pound is trying to evoke. As classroom experience of teaching the text indicates, students would recognise the geographical references as places somewhere in France, but beyond that they would not have the precise knowledge of their exact location or their historical significance. Most of the places named are only recognisable as located in France on linguistic grounds. Apart from Toulouse, it is unlikely that many people would know where the other places are and certainly not have heard of the little village of Rocafixada, for instance. That these places share a cultural history that is linked to the people named in the poem is not going to be general knowledge for most readers. The first useful information that we can get from critical accounts, as well as from Pound’s own critical writings, is that there is a biographical reason for his detailed knowledge of the places and the people he refers to. It is a well-known biographical fact that Pound studied Romance philology which in his day would have included the study of Provençal, or Occitan, the language of troubadour poetry. Pound’s engagement with the discipline of Romance philology left him disenchanted with the dry philological method of studying languages and literature which he laments in his essay ‘How to Read’. Most critics who write about ‘Provincia Deserta’ refer to Pound’s disappointment with the academic study of poetry and literature in general, and in particular with the study of Romance poetry, and point out that what he endeavours in ‘Provincia Deserta’ is not so much an expression of his ‘sense of history (not merely, that is a recreation of a moment in the past) but of his “historical sense” (through which several moments from the past are combined in the present, mingled in the consciousness of the poet-historian)’ (Longenbach 1987: 84).

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There is also a concrete biographical precedent for the personal experience narrated in ‘Provincia Deserta’—Pound’s walking tour of Occitania in 1912. In a book tellingly entitled Provence and Pound , Makin (1978: 23) writes that Pound ‘had a fairly intimate knowledge of this geography, and a lasting love for it’. Indeed, so carefully grafted is this knowledge onto the tissue of the poem that we can trace the poet’s journey on a map of what is nowadays southern France. And as Alexander (1998: 94) writes, ‘the mixture of love and war, historic romance and modern experience succeeds so notably here, […] because it is “fixed” in a landscape’. But although the geographical record of a physical journey is so evocative in ‘Provincia Deserta’, it does not provide all of the answers about the complex significances of the poem. The poem is not just a record of a journey through a beautiful landscape that appeals to modern visitors as well. The strong personal connection that the place and the people mentioned in the poem hold for Pound is witnessed in his many other poems on a Provençal theme and in his critical essays engaging with the culture of the troubadours, three of which are particularly telling: ‘The Tradition’, ‘Troubadours – Their Sorts and Conditions’ and ‘Arnaut Daniel’ (who is one of Pound’s best loved troubadour poets). Longenbach (1987: 82) sees the essay on the troubadours as ‘offer[ing] a prose summary of this story’. But it is in ‘The Tradition’ that Pound clearly states the significance of Occitan culture and poetry: The two great lyric traditions which most concern us here are that of the Melic poets and that of Provence. From the first arose practically all the poetry of the ‘ancient’ world, from the second practically all that of the modern [...] As it happens, the conditions of English and forces in the English tradition are traceable, for the most part, to the two traditions mentioned. (Pound 1968: 91)

The crucial place that Pound accords to the troubadour tradition of Provence is further witnessed in his positioning of major Italian poets who are considered the originators of the Western literary tradition— Cavalcanti and Dante—who according to him are direct inheritors of the

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Occitan tradition, so much so that Dante considered writing La Divina Commedia in Occitan. The biographical and historicist detail, I believe, does illuminate the full meaning of ‘Provincia Deserta’. The deserted province is not just a random place that fascinates Pound; its protagonists are not just romantic figures of past tales (‘Pieire de Maensac’) that ignite the imagination. Occitania is the geographical space, deserted as it may be, that was once home of a great literary tradition, the importance of which for Western culture goes mostly unacknowledged. It is the physical tangible counterpart to a tradition that Pound as a poet positions at the centre of Western literature and with which he wants to affiliate his own voice. At this point, it is also possible to turn my argument around and to say that, in spite of the rich contextual, biographical and historical detail that we can uncover using the methods and insights of literary criticism, the interpretation of this iconic poem would remain partial and tangential with statements only of the kind: ‘“Provincia Deserta” presents a movement into the past’ (Longenbach 1987: 85) and ‘“Provincia Deserta” is a new kind of Pound poem, narrative and direct; the relation between Pound and the Provençal world is emotional without being confused’ (Alexander 1998: 95). And although Alexander notices the importance of statements like ‘I have walked’ and ‘I have seen’, the lack of grammatical grasp of their importance is visible in his statement: ‘intensity is built up again through the repeated “I have”’ (1998: 95). Longenbach, too, circles around the grammatical choices in an impressionistic manner, but in spite of this manages to make an important point on Pound’s stylistic craft when he says that as ‘Provincia Deserta’ ‘enacts the process of “visionary interpretation”’, it ‘follows the shape of the “greater romantic lyric” typified by Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey”’, albeit that in Pound’s poem ‘the heart of the meditation is not personal insight or resolution but the imaginative penetration and recreation of history’ (1987: 81). The comparison with Wordsworth is telling, given that the literary effects of the present perfect have been specifically noted in relation to this poet. Longenbach’s statement is significant in another respect, too, in that it adds a new layer of meanings to Adamson’s interpretation of the present perfect in ‘Provincia Deserta’ purely as the perfect of ‘an affect and a personal achievement’.

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The full force of the present perfect, then, can be made explicit only through the uncovering of historical and contextual detail that, in the case of Pound’s ‘Provincia Deserta’, with its rich use of proper nouns, would not be available otherwise to the linguistically minded stylistician. The full significance of the poem, however, can only be gauged through uniting the linguistic analysis of the present perfect with the culturalhistorical context of Pound’s life and work and of the medieval world of the poem. ‘Provincia Deserta’ is thus not just a record of personal experience and achievement relevant to the poet’s present and it is not just a reliving of past experience outlining a visit to Provence. Its extensive use of the present perfect provides the temporal and aspectual bridge that brings together the cultural heritage of the troubadours and the Occitan counts of the eleventh and twelfth centuries and the poetic voice of the early twentieth century Pound. The physical revisiting of the geographical locations of the region is Pound’s attempt to evoke the culture through being in the places where it flourished; the grammatical choice of the present perfect—economical as it is—is the temporal mirror of that attempt to resuscitate the past of a tradition with which Pound wants to affiliate his poetic voice. The semantic connotations of the present perfect in the poem also tie in with Pound’s aesthetic and philosophical views of the art of poetry. In the section ‘Language’ in his essay ‘A Retrospect’, Pound (1968: 4) says: ‘Use no superfluous word, no adjective which does not reveal something’ and ‘the natural object is always the adequate symbol’. He also urges the poet to ‘Consider the way of the scientists rather than the way of an advertising agent for a new soap’ (1968: 6). Pound’s aesthetic ideal of an economy of words is best captured in his predilection for a grammatical construction that signifies the weight of personal experience and which, in the absence of affective adjectives and nouns that might convey evaluation and emotion more profusely, carries a lot of semantic weight in as subtle a way as possible. His method of precision is coupled with a belief in the power of the concrete object and his famous dictum ‘Go in fear of abstractions’ reinforces this belief (1968: 5). Even more interestingly, his scientific approach to the composition of verse extends to account for poetic tradition itself. In his words, ‘[T]he scientist does not expect to

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be acclaimed as a great scientist until he has discovered something. He begins by learning what has been discovered already’ (1968: 6). The present perfect in Pound’s poetry, then, can be further understood as an expression of his concrete aesthetics where not just the material object, but lived experience carries greater significance than rhetorical evaluation. It is also a strong index of Pound’s interest in the poetic tradition of Western literature that stretches as far back as the Medieval period and beyond the boundaries of English literature alone. Thus, the aspect that ‘partakes of both present and the past’ (Comrie 1998 [1976]: 61) is an apposite linguistic choice that is imbued not just with the semantic meanings that grammar can uncover, but also with historical, biographical and literary significances that literary criticism can bring to light. Therefore, the present perfect is not only bringing Pound’s own experience closer to him and the reader, but brings the whole poetic tradition of the troubadours to the present, makes it present, as a testimony to its cultural significance for anything that has occurred in Western literature since them. Thus, in this simple linguistic feature—the present perfect aspect—past and present can co-exist and be brought close together. The actual physical presence of the poet in the places which were once inhabited by his poetic heroes, his ability to refer to them as ‘here’ and as ‘these places’ also contribute to bridging the enormous temporal distance that separates him from them.

Linguistic and Literary Criticism in the Teaching of Stylistics The historical-contextual information that I have presented here is essential for a full understanding and a more nuanced interpretation of the poem. It is clear that the grammatical analysis alone would not have uncovered the full context necessary for developing a rich interpretation. The opposite is also true: without a full understanding of the semantics of the present perfect readers would not be able to explain how Pound manages to evoke the significance of the lost culture of the troubadours for present-day poets.

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The classroom experience of teaching the poem has consistently indicated to me that students are acutely aware of the significance of both methods in the study of literary texts—the literary and the linguistic. They need both of these approaches to be equally represented in the discussion of the text. To test my hypothesis of the importance of the historical-contextual method, I withhold the biographical and critical information in order to give students the experience of producing an interpretation based on the analysis of language alone. But students themselves raise the problem of the necessity, in this case, of accessing the historical and biographical context of the text. Although it is clear from the comments of literary critics that their interpretations remain partial without the stylistic insight into the language of the text, it is also clear from the discussions I have held with students that they recognise the need for a more integrative approach to the study of literature.

References Adamson, Sylvia. 1999. Literary language. In The Cambridge history of the English language, Vol. IV: 1776–1997 , ed. Suzanne Romaine, 591–690. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Alexander, Michael. 1998. The poetic achievement of Ezra Pound . Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Boyd, Julian, and Zelda Boyd. 1977. The perfect of experience. Studies in Romanticisim 16 (1): 3–13. Brumfit, Christopher J. 1980. Problems and principles in English teaching. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Brumfit, Christopher J. 1983. Teaching literature overseas: Language-based approaches. London: Macmillan. Brumfit, Christopher J., and Ronald Carter, eds. 1986. Literature and language teaching. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Burke, Michael, ed. 2010. Pedagogical issues in stylistics. Special issue. Language and Literature 19 (1): 1–128. Burke, Michael, Szilvia Csábi, Lara Week, and Judit Zerkowitz, eds. 2012. Pedagogical stylistics: Current trends in language, literature and ELT . London: Continuum.

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Carter, Ronald. 1989a. What is stylistics and why can we teach it in different ways? In Reading, analysing and teaching literature, ed. Mick Short, 161–177. London: Longman. Carter, Ronald. 1989b. Directions in the teaching and study of English stylistics’. In Reading, analysing and teaching literature, ed. Mick Short, 10–21. London: Longman. Carter, Ronald. 2007. Literature and language teaching: 1986–2006. International Journal of Applied Linguistics 17 (1): 3–13. Carter, Ronald. 2010. Methodologies for stylistic analysis: Practices and pedagogies. In Language and style: In honour of Mick Short, eds. Dan McIntyre and Beatrix Busse, 55–68. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Carter, Ronald, ed. 1982. Language and literature. London: Allen & Unwin. Carter, Ronald, and Michael N. Long. 1987. The web of words: Exploring literature through language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carter, Ronald, and Michael N. Long. 1991. Teaching literature. Harlow: Longman. Carter, Ronald, and John McRae, eds. 1996. Language, literature and the learner. Harlow: Addison Wesley Longman. Carter, Ronald, and Walter Nash. 1990. Seeing through language. Oxford: Blackwell. Carter, Ronald, Richard Walker, and Christopher Brumfit, eds. 1989. Literature and the learner: Methodological approaches: ELT Documents 130. London: Modern English Publications with the British Council. Clark, Urszula, and Sonia Zyngier. 2003. Towards a pedagogical stylistics. Language and Literature 12 (4): 339–351. Comrie, Bernard. 1998[1976]. Aspect: An introduction to the study of verbal aspect and related problems. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Curme, George O. 1931. A grammar of the English language: Syntax, vol. III. Boston: D.C. Heath. Fairclough, Norman. 1989. Language and power. London: Longman. Fowler, Roger, and Frederick W. Bateson. 1967. Argument II. Literature and linguistics. Essays in Criticism 17: 322–347. Fowler, Roger, and Frederick W. Bateson. 1968. Argument II (continued): Language and literature. Essays in Criticism 18: 164–182. Freeman, Donald C., ed. 1970. Linguistics and literary style. New York: Halt, Rinehart & Winston. Gavins, Joanna, and Gerard J. Steen. 2003. Contextualising cognitive poetics. In Cognitive poetics in practice, ed. Joanna Gavins and Gerard Steen, 1–12. London: Routledge.

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Hall, Geoff. 2005. Literature in language education. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Hall, Geoff. 2014. Pedagogical stylistics. In The Routledge handbook of stylistics, ed. Michael Burke, 239–252. London and New York: Routledge. Huddleston, Rodney. 2001. English grammar: An outline. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jeffries, Lesley, and Dan McIntyre, eds. 2011. Teaching stylistics. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Jespersen, Otto. 1948 [1924]. The philosophy of grammar. London: George Allen & Unwin. Knights, Ben, and Richard Steadman-Jones, eds. 2011. Special Issue: Stylistic analysis and pedagogic research. Language and Literature 20 (3): 191–351. Leech, Geoffrey. 1969. A linguistic guide to English poetry. London: Longman. Longenbach, James. 1987. Modernist poetics of history: Pound, Eliot and the sense of the past. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mackay, Ray. 1996. Mything the point: A critique of objective stylistics. Language and Communication 16 (1): 81–93. Mackay, Ray. 1999. There goes the other foot: A reply to Short et al. Language and Literature 8 (1): 59–66. Makin, Peter. 1978. Provence and Pound . Berkeley: University of California Press. McIntyre, Dan. 2012. Linguistics and literature: Stylistics as a tool for the literary critic. SRC Working Papers 1: 1–11. McRae, John. 2001. Reading beyond text: Processes and skills. Dialnet 24: 11–16. Mills, Sara. 1995. Feminist stylistics. London: Routledge. Nishiyama, Atsuko, and Jean-Pierre. Koenig. 2010. What is a perfect state. Language 86 (3): 611–646. Pope, Rob. 1995. Textual intervention: Critical and creative strategies for literary studies. London: Routledge. Pound, Ezra. 1928. Selected poems, edited with an introduction by T.S. Eliot. London: Faber and Faber. Pound, Ezra. 1968. Literary essays of Ezra Pound , edited with an introduction by T.S. Eliot. New York: New Directions Publishing. Short, Mick, Donald Freeman, Willie van Peer, and Paul Simpson. 1988. Stylistics, criticism and mythrepresentation again: Squaring the circle with Ray Mackay’s subjective solution for all problems. Language and Literature 7 (1): 39–50.

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Short, Mick, Beatrix Busse, and Patricia Plummer. 2007. Investigating student reactions to a web-based stylistics course in different national and educational settings. In Contemporary stylistics, ed. Marina Lambrou and Peter Stockwell, 106–125. London: Continuum. Simpson, Paul. 1999. Pedagogical stylistics and literary evaluation. Journal of Literary Studies 15 (3–4): 510–528. Simpson, Paul. 2004. Stylistics: A resource book for students. London: Routledge. Stockwell, Peter. 2007. On teaching literature itself. In Literature and stylistics for language learners: Theory and practice, eds. Greg Watson and Sonia Zyngier, 15–24. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Stockwell, Peter. 2012. Texture: A cognitive aesthetics of reading. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Sweet, Henry. 1960 [1894]. A new English grammar, logical and historical , Part 1. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Watson, Greg, and Sonia Zyngier. 2007. Literature and stylistics for language learners. Hampshire and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Widdowson, Henry G. 1975. Stylistics and the teaching of literature. London: Longman. Zyngier, Sonia. 1994. At the crossroads of language and literature: Literary awareness, stylistics, and the acquisition of literary skills in a EFLit context. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis. University of Birmingham. Available at https:// ethos.bl.uk/OrderDetails.do?uin=uk.bl.ethos.404637 Zyngier, Sonia. 2006. Stylistics: Pedagogical applications. In Encyclopedia of language and linguistics, vol. 6, ed. Keith Brown, 226–232. Amsterdam: Elsevier Science. Zyngier, Sonia, and Olivia Fialho. 2010. Pedagogical stylistics, literary awareness and empowerment: A critical perspective. Language and Literature 19 (1): 13–33. Zyngier, Sonia, and Olivia Fialho. 2015. Pedagogical stylistics: Charting outcomes. In The Bloomsbury companion to stylistics, ed. Violeta Sotirova, 208–230. London: Bloomsbury.

3 Pedagogical Stylistics in the Service of Democracy David I. Hanauer

Abstract Within the context of the ongoing crisis in democratic societies and as a form of societal intervention, this chapter develops a proposal for the implementation of pedagogical stylistics as a coursebased research experience (CURE). The central argument is that broadbased stylistic analyses of political discourse conducted within classroom settings and disseminated within public settings can fulfil a central societal role in supporting democratic processes in a time of crisis. Specifically, a stylistic-based CURE could enhance personal and societal agency and facilitate deliberation over political issues by focusing directly on the way language is used by politicians to coerce, manipulate, and persuade audiences. Keywords Scientific inquiry teaching · Pedagogical stylistics · Students as researchers · STEM courses · Critical discourse · Democracy D. I. Hanauer (B) Indiana University of Pennsylvania, Indiana, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_3

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Introduction What is the function of pedagogical stylistics in the twenty-first century? While democracy expanded during the last decades of the twentieth century, since the beginning of the twenty-first century this form of government has come under ever increasing attacks and criticism from within. Across the world, 71 countries have had decreases in democratic norms while the US, during the presidency of Donald Trump, had a sharp decrease in its democratic practices (Puddington et al. 2018). Countries such as Great Britain, the United States of America and Israel have all hollowed out their democratic commitments and have significant sections of their populations who actively express scepticism towards democratic processes. It is against this backdrop of an extended period of crisis in democracy that this chapter is written. This sense of the importance of applied stylistic studies in relation to political speech is very much in evidence in recent research. For example, Jeffries and McIntyre (2018) and Buckledee (2018) have analysed the Remain and Leave Campaigns in the Brexit context. Toolan (2018) and Simpson et al. (2018) have explored how wealth inequality is portrayed in news outlets. What these studies have in common is the willingness to bring a range of stylistic analytical tools to bear on linguistic representations within our politics and society. This is not a minor issue. The stakes concerning the understanding of language have never been higher. In fact, as will be argued below, our democratic systems depend on it. My argument, succinctly stated, is that educationally implemented, broadbased stylistic analyses of political discourse can fulfil a central societal role in supporting democratic processes at a time in which these very same democracies around the world are in major crisis.

The Crisis of Democracy Democratic politics in the twenty-first century is facing a series of challenges that threaten its existence (Crouch 2004; Ferrara 2013; Michelman 1997). While most people who live in democracies tend to think they are protected from transformation into other political systems,

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like any other linguistic term, the word “democracy” can be changed to encompass political structures and realities that are not necessarily so (Munck 2016). For example, in the UK, Brexiteers used the term to refer to a one-time referendum as an argument against having a second referendum on leaving the European Union; in the US in the middle of the Trump Presidency (2018), his supporters argued against impeachment on the basis that it was designed to overturn a democratic process. Even more blatantly and hypocritically, upon losing the election in November 2020, Trump and his supporters argued that the whole of the election process was fraudulent and that the election should be determined by state legislatures completing overturning the voters in each of these states. But these examples are just symptoms of a far more serious set of underpinning realities that bring the value of democracy into question for various sections of the public. A synthesis of reviews of the crisis facing democratic societies can be summarized as involving the following three core challenges (Ferrara 2013; Michelman 1997): (a) The Sense of the Reduced Relevance of the Individual Vote: Individuals in democratic countries are facing challenges to the perception that their individual vote is of significance. This sense of irrelevancy results from two interrelated aspects. First, the electorate of democracies has expanded to include a wide range of potential groups leading to a sense of disenfranchisement for particular voters. In this reality, situating one’s own vote as important and relevant potentially becomes more difficult. Second, democracies and the structures of power have been increasingly complex to follow and understand. As such, the individual is left with the feeling that their vote is meaningless to change any particular outcome. Furthermore, the increased complexity of democratic politics both in terms of the structures that power is made up of and the composition of the electorate has made the individual voter suspect that their vote is not meaningful or significant. This, in turn, raises questions about the core idea of democracy—that decisions are made by collections of individual participant citizens. This is a challenge to the personal interaction with the democratic system. If one feels that votes do not really

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count, the sense of a participatory democracy is lost and the value of other more autocratic political systems increases. (b) A Sense of Loss of a Coherent National Democratic Identity: Democratic countries across the world have undergone three different forms of diversification which interact with certain individuals’ sense of living in a coherent national entity. Processes of migration and globalization directed changes in the demographic composition of countries, causing a sense of alienation for certain more established sections of the population from the societies and national entities they have historically belonged to. The perception of the demographic composition as diversified has led some to question the value of an open democratic country. A second force is the diversity of a range of different ideological, religious and ethical positions on societal issues. This increased pluralism also contributes to the sense of a loss of national identity as if the presence of a range of different and differing ideas is an attack on the accepted historical values of the nation. A third force is the psychological influence of cross-national treaties, alliances and trade agreements. These aspects of globalization and increased legal, social and educational interaction between different nation states can once again for certain segments of the population bring into question the coherence of the single state. This is particularly true if the legal arrangements between states come into conflict with local ethics, ideals, law, or economic practice. The European Union, for example, intervenes on all these levels and as such can be seen by some as delegitimizing the nation states’ value. Together, the change in the perception of the demographic composition of the country, the increased ideological pluralism, and the presence of cross-national supra structures create an environment that for some involves a sense of loss of the coherence and singularity of the country that they historically knew. (c) The Loss of a Democratic Discursive Space for Debate: The core of a democratic system consists of reasoned public debate followed by democratic voting by individuals. Several forces and developments have greatly eroded this aspect of democratic practice. First, there is the influence of wealthy special interest groups and individuals. Rather than an equal voice for all constituents in the country,

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those who can contribute more to political parties and actors have greater power to direct decision-making and control the degree of public exposure to particular ideas through heavily funded marketing campaigns. Rather than a democratic debate over the issues under concern and a decision based on democratic principles, those who have greater wealth can make decisions which support their own limited interests. Second, the complexity of democratic decisionmaking has obscured how decisions are actually made. At any given time, it is unclear what the “will of the people” actually is. The constant polling of people does not clarify the situation. Quite the opposite, it develops a perception of the flux and change of what people want and believe, leaving a general sense of ambiguity and distrust in the democratic process. Thirdly, the structural basis for a nationwide public debate has been dismantled through the presence of new media. Individuals have access to a wide range of news and information sources which are increasingly biased towards a pre-existing set of the receiver’s beliefs and opinions. Social media algorithms direct information of interest based on the analysis of personal digital histories creating a situation in which each individual is repeatedly bombarded by the same pre-existing ideas that they held in the first place. Instead of debate, we have a situation of reinforcement and exaggeration of existing ideas. Finally, the need for ratings has driven news networks and politicians to present shorter and more exaggerated soundbites directed at specific audiences. Together, these different forces have eroded the presence of any serious public democratic debate on issues of significance to the general public. Evidence for this set of underlying challenges to the democratic system is clearly present within the different strands of current political discourse. A few examples will suffice here to exemplify the ways in which these challenges are translated into political methods of persuasion. In relation to those who supported the Leave campaign in the UK, the construction of the European Union as undemocratic and unrepresentative was crucial (Weißbecker 2017). For Leave voters, the EU is considered a “remote and unelected bureaucracy” and a “mock parliament” which is “opaque” in its operations (Weißbecker 2017, p. 7).

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In contrast, leaving the EU would allow once again “democratic selfgovernment” in the British Parliament with full control over the laws governing all aspects of British life (Weißbecker 2017, p. 7). These characterizations of the political situation of the UK in the EU from Leave politicians echo the core concerns of loss of identity and sovereignty combined with a sense of a loss of the power of an individual’s vote. Combined with these concerns over the value of one’s vote in an EU context was the overriding concern with the actual composition of the UK. The Leave campaign argued for the need to control the influx of immigrants and specified that immigration had hurt people’s jobs, wages and quality of life (Wadsworth et al. 2016). Under the heading of “taking back control” and making sure that the English got “their rights” before giving any rights to “foreigners”, migration was the centre piece of Brexit Leave discourse (Outhwaite 2019). Importantly, an analysis of the anti-immigration discourse in British newspapers reveals the undertones of English nationalism and possessiveness of English culture that is directly part of anti-immigrant sentiment (Lavary 2019). Descriptions of the overtaking of whole areas of big cities by foreigners were a constant theme of these newspaper supporters of the Leave campaign (Lavary 2019). Clearly, the concern over the national identity and culture is inherent in these anti-immigrant positions. In the US context, Donald Trump’s campaign and presidency was characterized by several core features, primary of which was the transferal of all significant official communications to his micro-blogging social media account Twitter (Eddington 2018). Trump’s use of Twitter, his parallel campaign of delegitimizing all other news outlets, and his self-positioning as an anti-establishment candidate and president, constructed a situation in which those who supported him felt a direct relationship with a single man who supposedly represents their fears and values. In this scenario, Trump supporters felt their vote counts, bringing out individuals who in past US elections had not voted at all. Furthermore, the message of Trumpism consisted of a yearning for an illusionary, nostalgic past of simpler times, foreign policy isolationism and extreme anti-immigrant bias (Eddington 2018). These messages were directly tied to the sense of a lost national identity and cultural past. Trump countered and addressed the crisis of a coherent national entity at the same

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time as he actively attempted to destroy any option of a public democratic discursive space for debate. Trump’s rise to power and hold on government was premised on his ability to disrupt the discursive options of public debate through his use of Twitter.

Language and Politics As can be seen in the brief review above of the crisis of democracy and its examples in US and UK politics, language and communication have a particular role to play. Democracy is a form of government in which the individual’s perception of self, community, state, values, and reality are supposed to direct the political outcomes of the nation state. As such, the meaning making of an individual and collections of individuals is meant to play a direct role in government. It is against this context that language is crucial because it is through language that meaning is made. As argued by Chilton and Schaffner (1997), politics cannot be conducted without language. It is the basis for the construction of social groupings and shared action. More specifically within the various social groupings of a national entity, it is through language that struggles over power are manifest, justified, negotiated, applied and acted upon (Chilton 2004; Chilton and Schaffner 2002; van Dijk 1997). On both the macro level of political discourse and the micro-level of everyday politically directed interactions, it is through language that influence, coercion, opposition, and resistance between groups, ideas and ideologies is enacted (Chilton 2004; Muntigl 2002). In a seminal work, van Dijk (1997) points out that political language is highly contextual and reflects the frameworks within which it is used. Political language is formative for systems, institutions, organizations, actors, processes, and actions. While the components of language used are not unique to politics (as they are drawn from the broader linguistic system), this does not mean that there are no characteristic linguistic forms in political language. Basic research into the language of politics has found underpinning forms that are prevalent. A primary characteristic was defined by van Dijk (1995) and is termed the Ideological/Political Square. The ideological square is a schematic discourse

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structure in which a core distinction is made between US and THEM and biased argumentation is utilized so that everything done by US is positive and everything done by THEM is negative. In the ideological square, one’s own positive actions are emphasized and negative actions deemphasized; the exact opposite is enacted on the opposition with positive actions deemphasized and negative actions emphasized. The ideological square is a basic and prevalent discourse structure of political linguistic interaction. Political discourse also tends to use a specific type of temporal cause and result argument. In political discourse a basic argument is that the future will be better than the present (van Dijk 1997). Linguistically, the present is described in negative language and the future is in positive language. For Conservative politics the past is also presented in positive language. The rhetorical aim of this argument is to convince the listener of the need for a change and, as such, support for the candidate and party. Unsurprisingly in relation to the first two characteristics, political language tends to be evaluative as it promotes particular points of view, positions, policies and understandings. Since this is often done in conjunction with the ideological square, political language tends to be polarizing, biased, and contrived. As part of this process, specific choices are made so that the linguistic system can emphasize or deemphasize particular aspect of an issue. This relates to word choice, activated schema, chosen figurative tropes and any other linguistics components which fulfil the persuasive functions of political discourse (van Dijk 1997). Furthermore, political language tends to involve high frequencies of modal verbs because actors or organizations are interested in enacting a series of directives such as orders, commands, advice, and accusations (Lycan 1994). This emphasis on what “needs” to happen and what “should” be done, results in high usage of modal verbs. This collection of linguistic features works in conjunction with linguistic statements differentiating between US and THEM, blaming THEM for the negatives in the present, describing the US as the solution for a better future if the specified directives are followed. It is important to note that within this analysis, political discourse is inherently biased towards the position held by the political speaker.

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In the operationalization of political linguistic analysis, several methodological approaches have been developed. Reisigl and Wodak (2001) propose the following five guidelines that should be considered as a basis for analysis: 1. Nomination studies the ways in which individuals and groups involved in political discourse are classified and named and the ramifications of defining someone of a group in this way (for example, domestic terrorists, communists etc.). 2. Predication explores the positive or negative traits, qualities or features that are assigned to each of the social actors who appear in the political discourse. 3. Argument schemes investigate the arguments presented by political actors to justify or delegitimize claims made. 4. Perspectivation specifies the perspective or point of view from which nominations, predications and arguments are made. 5. Mitigation/Intensification explores the ways in which political language intensifies or mitigates the nomination, predicates, and arguments that are made. As seen in Reisigl and Wodak (2001) work, this set of analytical guidelines is particularly effective for investigating the usage of racism in political discourse and the ways in which an ideological square is manifest along nationalist and ethnocentric political positioning. Other approaches are more open to a broader set of linguistic levels of analysis. For example, in an early manifestation of political language analysis, Burkhardt (1996) proposed looking at lexical, semantic, syntactic, text, pragmatic, and semiotic levels of language used in any political, linguistic context. Politicians and political groupings aim to gain power, influence, and authority through language (Blommaert and Bulcaen 1997; Reisigl and Wodak (2001). At its core, political language is persuasive and attempts to build coalitions between individuals so as to achieve its social, political aims. As argued by Chilton (2004), political language has the goal of convincing its recipients to adhere and believe in an ideological position so that particular policies and actions can be endorsed and implemented.

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Accordingly, analysing and understanding the ways in which political actors are using language is important as it exposes the way in which persuasion is being enacted and allows critical interaction and evaluation to emerge supporting a more content directed deliberation.

Stylistically Based CURE and Political Discourse While there is debate over the required depth of democratic processes into government, decision-making and political outcomes, there is core agreement between political scientists that the basic element of any democracy is that free, fair, and equitable elections open to all members of society are the basis for forming a decision-making government. Subsumed within this core element is the idea of a decision-making voter evaluating the candidacy, positions, character, and policies of various political groups. While this conception of a voter is highly idealized and ignores the intersectionality of various demographic variables such socio-economic status, ethnicity, gender, race and geographical location on voting responses, it is also clear that education is central for such a voter. Making a political decision on who or what to vote for requires a deliberative process which in itself is preconditioned on access to political discourse and the ability to interpret political language (Curato et al. 2017). Since the ability to analyse language is a learnt behaviour, education has a role to play in supporting democracy. However, this role is not unproblematic. While the relationship between levels of education and the presence of democracy has been empirically validated (Marshall et al. 2003), it is less clear what in education actually facilitates this relationship (Glaeser et al. 2007). Furthermore, all education is not equal in promoting and supporting democracy. A core criticism that has been levelled is that many established educational institutions have a very specific concept of what it involves. Westheimer (2019) has criticized this type of democracy education as “a mostly watered-down notion of civics that emphasizes good character and blind patriotism over critical thinking and engaging with

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multiple perspectives” (p. 4). As such, it is important to specify what aspects of education could play a role in actually supporting democracy. Large-scale data looking at education and democracy suggests two important aspects. In a meta-analysis of data, Glaeser et al. (2007) test a model that suggests that the positive statistical relationship between education and democracy resides in the ability of education systems to increase civic engagement. In an influential review of the field of deliberative politics, Dryzek et al. (2019) report that when the appropriate conditions for deliberation over issues and policies are present, individual and group’s positions can change, becoming less extreme and polarized. The assumption that all politics is identity politics, that facts are of no significance, and that individuals have lost the ability to evaluate positions is countered by the empirical evidence of deliberative politics (Dryzek et al. 2019). As such, when individual reasoning is enhanced, it can overcome initial party and identity driven positioning and explicit demagoguery. The conditions for deliberative politics have several components. First, the discussion of political issues needs to be meaningful in the sense of clearly addressing the actual issues under consideration without the spin, contortion, and manipulation of political discourse. Second, deliberation emerges when quality information and expert testimony are present. Third, that the discussions involve a wide range of non-politicians and should be conducted in a civil manner. What the research from deliberative politics shows is that when these conditions are met, individuals are very capable of making informed decisions on issues, policies and politicians within a democratic system. So, what is needed from an educational system that promotes and supports democracy is a pedagogy that enhances engagement and facilitates deliberation. Recent developments in STEM inquiry teaching when integrated with pedagogical stylistics could offer a way of directly supporting democracy through the enhancement of civic engagement and deliberative practice. The methodological tradition of stylistics is important here. Stylistic analysis emerged out of a sense that interpretations of language based on explicit linguistic analysis needed to be, as Carter (2010) has stated, “open, evidenced and retrievable” (p. 68). This

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tradition stands in contrast to other approaches which offer more anecdotal, subjective interpretations of meaning within which it is difficult to map the relationship between the interpretation and the text. The approach outlined here is close to Burke’s (2014) concept of stylistics as a “kind of linguistic-forensic literary discourse criticism” (p. 3) with the analyst seen as a person who uses their expert knowledge of language systems in order to explicate language-based messages within the social and political arenas. The breadth of stylistics covers all defined linguistic, textual, and discursive systems and increasingly technological advances in computational linguistics as well, which means that a wide range of approaches are available for the analysis of any form of linguistic message. As such, what stylistics offers is a way of approaching political messaging and explicating the way specific forms of language are being used for purposes of persuasion, manipulation, coercion and influence. Within the context of the current proposal, the aim of stylistic analysis is to open the option of a debate on issues and policies beyond the manipulation of language by political actors. But this core systematic aspect of stylistics is not enough to solve or seriously address the crisis that democracies face. While analyses of political discourse by experts are to be valued, it lacks a very important component in order to really support democracy—extensive societal engagement with political discourse and broad dissemination of the results of these stylistic studies. It is in relation to these features that current developments in STEM education are relevant. Over the last 15 years there has been a movement in science education towards the transformation of all introductory laboratory courses into networked, interconnected authentic research experiences (Auchincloss et al. 2014; Hanauer et al., 2017; Graham et al. 2013). These types of experience are characterized by students involved in scientific activities that contribute to outcomes which are widely disseminated within disciplinary and societal frameworks (Auchincloss et al. 2014; Hanauer and Hatfull 2015). The research experience is not siloed in the university setting but rather extends and has relevance to real world issues and the knowledge is distributed as such. For example, instead of a traditional laboratory course directed at learning a set of described procedures, students are involved in a laboratory course that checks the

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quality of the water in the city and reports results directly to the press and the municipality. Knowledge generated by the class is used for actual world outcomes. These types of courses have been termed Course-Based Undergraduate Research Experiences (CURE) and have been shown to greatly increase student engagement. Within the context of undergraduate science education in the US, three different versions of CURE have been developed: the short-term research experience (SRE), which consists of a month-long module within an existing course dedicated to a real world project; a courselong research experience (CURE) in which a whole course is directed to the development of scientific knowledge; and the Integrated Research and Education Community (iREC) in which a series of networked and connected schools and classes are involved in the same scientific project and share information between themselves (Hanauer et al. 2017, 2018). What is important about these research experience models is that in all cases they make connections between the research that is actually conducted and the real world. Course-based research experiences start with the specification of a real world, disciplinary problem and functions by designing a system through which quality research can be conducted by relatively novice researchers. This is similar to crowd-sourcing models of citizens’ science in which a protocol that is written for novice researchers is provided and used by a wide range of people who are beyond the institution where the research is being done. This approach is particularly suited to situations in which additional manpower using relatively simple but reliable systems of analysis can generate data that can be used. For example, the Hubble Asteroid Project1 involves downloading images from the Hubble Telescope and using a protocol for visual analysis for identifying asteroids. In this project, in order to extend the ability to find asteroids, citizen scientists volunteer to use the established protocol, thus enabling a far larger number of asteroids to be identified. Core to designing a course-based research experience are the following components: (1) the development of analytical tools and procedures that are systematic, learnable and useable; (2) a social or disciplinary 1

https://www.zooniverse.org/projects/sandorkruk/hubble-asteroid-hunter.

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research question that could benefit from additional manpower; (3) ways of disseminating outcomes back into disciplinary contexts and the community (Auchincloss et al. 2014). In this sense, stylistic analysis aimed to explicate political discourse has the potential to make a valuable research experience for students and a serious contribution to the community. Firstly, the methods of stylistics are systematic and teachable. The various handbooks already have protocols for research into texts and discourse (Burke 2014; Simpson 2003, 2004). An instructor could make specific decisions concerning exactly what type of stylistic analysis would be appropriate and have materials readily prepared to provide instruction. Second, political discourse is pervasive and of importance to many students concerning local, national, and international issues. It should be unproblematic for an instructor to find political questions and associated linguistic products that would benefit from a stylistic approach. The polarized nature of most current issues in democratic society means that different positions could be studied and addressed. Thirdly, the stylistic studies of political issues have the potential to generate interest beyond the classroom and institution. Public meetings presenting these analyses and combined with explicit public debate should be viable. In addition, academic and lay publications should result from class investigations of political discourse. Particularly important are local blogging with direct commentary on the political issues. It is clear that a CURE based on stylistic methodology can be constructed and that is would be an interesting class for both students and faculty. However, as stated in the introduction to this chapter, the proposal presented here is that a CURE dedicated to the analysis of political discourse has the potential to protect democracy in this period of crisis. Key to this idea is the importance of enhancing deliberative political debate at this moment of polarization. As seen in the research on the conditions for enhancing deliberative debate, it is important to neutralize extreme language within a safe setting and to allow a discussion of the actual political issues. When this happens, actual democratic debate can emerge and polarization is decreased (Dryzek et al. 2019). Stylistic analysis has the ability to explore how an issue is being constructed, what is being emphasized or deemphasized and how

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language is used to manipulate and situate the respondents. Furthermore, and equally important, the actual stylistic investigation of political language gives agency to the student-researcher and the people who hear the results. Classes of students conducting stylistic analyses of political utterances and sharing these with friends, family, and the public involve a direct increase in personal and societal agency. Investigations of this type in CURE settings reverse the power structure by revealing how politicians are using language to manipulate their listeners and readers. The explicitness and systematicity of stylistics make any claims about the ways in which issues are constructed explicable and repeatable. Rather than a shouting match, a primary focus on how the positions are actually constructed and then a discussion should promote deliberation. Public interaction in writing and in person should further enhance the influence of these stylistic analyses. The idea is to take back political debate from politicians and make it once again a democratic process in which citizens deliberate over the options and make informed decisions on the different aspects of their lives. A CURE dedicated to the analysis of political discourse that involves public dissemination and discussion of results could enhance political deliberation. Having an integrated network of such classes across a wide range of educational institutions could have an even larger effect on addressing the current crisis of democracy.

Conclusion The proposal presented here is that broad-based stylistic analyses of political discourse conducted within classroom settings and disseminated within public settings can fulfil a central societal role in supporting democratic processes in a time of crisis. There are already examples of this type of work being conducted, such as Shafer’s (2013) description of classroom-based analyses of political ads preceding an election, or Lazere’s (2015, 2019) proposal for a critical writing classroom addressing the underpinning politics of racism in the US political system. What the current proposal adds is a more systematic approach to the educational

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design, the systematicity of the analysis of political discourse and the importance of societal dissemination. As reviewed in this chapter, democracy is currently in crisis in a range of countries across the world and interventions of various types are required to enhance democratic debate and an informed citizenry. A CURE based on stylistic methods has the potential to make a serious contribution by generating engagement and enhancing the deliberative political process. Both are necessary in countering the lack of a discursive political space and a direct sense of loss of agency which is present within democratic countries. In this sense, stylistics can make students more politically aware and this can have broad societal impact.

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4 Pedagogical Corpus Stylistics: Teaching Style and Register Variation to EAP Students Marcus Bridle and Dan McIntyre

Abstract In this chapter, we report the outcomes of a short course designed to empower students to investigate style and register variation for themselves using the principles of corpus stylistics. We begin by introducing students to the concept of foregrounding and to a userfriendly interface for exploring the British National Corpus (BNC). Students then use the corpus to complete a series of worksheets aimed at identifying the norms associated with an academic register. Tasks are focused on the use of personal pronouns, contractions, initial coordinating conjunctions, absolute referents and slang/informal/idiomatic items. Following this, the students are asked to use the BNC to support M. Bridle (B) Waseda University, Tokyo, Japan e-mail: [email protected] D. McIntyre University of Huddersfield, Huddersfield, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_4

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their writing of a short research paper. Based on the outcomes of our study, we suggest that on a short course and with limited training, restricted use of the BNC interface and concepts of foregrounding may be of value in enabling students to identify basic patterns of appropriate language use.

Introduction Undergraduate students in Japan taking English for General Academic Purposes (EAP) courses are faced with the difficulties of improving both their general language proficiency and increasing their understanding of language which is regarded as appropriate in an academic context. Unlike grammar, academic register does not have a clear set of descriptive rules that govern its use, but it does have a set of norms which are adhered to, to a lesser or greater degree depending on discipline, by the academic community. Some of these norms are relatively simple to teach and to adopt, such as avoidance of contractions (the ‘don’t’ of the high school essay should become a formal ‘do not’). Others, however, are more problematic for learners new to the genre and this is largely because it is difficult, without cultural or discipline specific knowledge, to identify what constitutes an academic word or phrase. Textbooks are replete with advice such as ‘do not use slang or other informal language’. This is helpful only if a learner knows how to identify these offending words. Other dogmatisms, such as ‘avoid phrasal verbs’ and ‘avoid the use of personal pronouns’ add to the confusion when they inevitably do appear in published, peer-reviewed academic texts. Admittedly, these generalisations are useful because it is impractical to attempt to provide exhaustive lists of acceptable academic features. Their inconsistencies, however, prompt the question of how best to equip students to recognise and use language consistent with an academic register. In this chapter, we report the outcomes of a short practical course designed to empower students to investigate style and register variation for themselves using the principles of corpus stylistics (the application of stylistic methods in the analysis of corpus data; see McIntyre and Walker 2019 for a full explanation). The course proceeds on the assumption that

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a corpus may offer one way of allowing students to check lexical items for use within academic contexts independently of instruction or advice. We begin by showing students a non-academic text which foregrounds language items and patterns which are, in the context of academia, deviant (Mukaˇrovský 1964). We hypothesised that by investigating the function of these through the english.corpora.org interface to the BNC (Mark Davies’s online corpus processing environment for searching the British National Corpus) and investigating the analysis of frequency of use and concordances within the academic context subdivision, students would be able to (a) develop their knowledge of academic register and (b) be equipped with a tool they could use alongside dictionaries and other online sources (e.g. thesaurus.com) to help write independently of the classroom. We introduced students to the BNC interface, providing instruction in (i) how to generate and interpret frequency lists, (ii) use the chart function to determine usage variation and (iii) use the collocation function to examine semantic preference. We then required our students to analyse the other sections of the target text by themselves. Our aim was to determine how many of the language items they managed to identify as non-academic (in stylistics terms, students were looking for linguistically deviant features). Once the students had done this, we gave them a short text that was academic in form but not in language and asked them to convert it to academic register, using corpus analysis to support their work. We then assessed the students’ success in doing this. What we argue in this chapter is that combining analytical approaches from corpus linguistics with theoretical principles from stylistics has the potential to benefit non-native EAP students’ acquisition of knowledge about style and register variation. We begin with a brief overview of the nature of pedagogical stylistics and foregrounding before moving on to a summary of the overall goals and general content of EAP courses. We then provide some background on the use of corpora in the language classroom before going on to describe the study we carried out and the results we obtained.

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Pedagogical Stylistics There is a long tradition of pedagogical research in stylistics. Some of this work has concentrated on the business of teaching stylistics itself (e.g. Breen and Short 1988; Simpson 2007), some on how stylistics can be used to teach literature (e.g. Widdowson 1975; Short and Breen 1988) and some on how the principles of stylistics might be deployed in teaching generally (i.e. beyond the core concerns of stylistics; see, for example, McIntyre 2003, 2011). McIntyre (2011) refers to the first approach as the pedagogy of stylistics, reserving the term pedagogical stylistics for approaches which seek to apply stylistic principles in the development of general pedagogical methods. There are understandably fewer of the latter kind of studies, given the primary interest of stylisticians, though McIntyre (2003) discusses how foregrounding theory might be employed in any pedagogical situation as a means of directing students’ attention to particularly important elements of course content. One area in which the methods of pedagogical stylistics might be brought obviously to bear is general language teaching. What follows in this chapter is an attempt to exploit the theoretical concepts of deviation and foregrounding as pedagogical tools for students (specifically those learning English for Academic Purposes) to use to support their own learning.

Foregrounding The concept of foregrounding originates in the visual arts, where the most salient element of, say, a painting is inevitably whatever happens to be in the foreground. The background, by contrast, is less salient and functions to make other elements stand out. An element of an image may be foregrounded by virtue of its being larger, brighter, more colourful, etc. than any other part of the picture. As an example, consider Van Gogh’s 1888 painting Café Terrace at Night (vincentvangogh.org/cafeat-night.jsp). The foregrounded element of the painting is the terrace, which is bathed in warm yellow light in contrast to the cold blue and

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black of the street beyond. Consequently, the eye is drawn to this part of the picture first; and significantly, this is where we find the majority of the people in the picture. The relevance of all this to language is that just as one part of a painting may stand out against a background, so too might one element of language stand out against the norms of the rest of the text. This was first proposed by Jan Mukaˇrovský (1964), who noted that literary texts deviate from what he called ‘the standard language’. For example, the title of the Dylan Thomas poem ‘A grief ago’ is lexically deviant on the grounds that the word grief does not fit the paradigm for the phrase ‘A _____ ago’; we would expect a countable noun related to time rather than an uncountable noun related to emotion. Consequently, Thomas’s lexical choice is foregrounded against the norms of language (see Leech (1969) for more on this example and the nature of foregrounding generally). Shklovsky (1988) argues that deviant language has a defamiliarising effect, causing us to think harder about the significance of a foregrounded item, which is imbued with meaning as a consequence of being foregrounded. Subsequent work showed that linguistic foregrounding was not confined to literary writing. And van Peer (1986) provided empirical evidence for the cognitive reality of foregrounding, elevating it to the status of a theory with predictive power. Since the early work of pioneers such as Jan Mukaˇrovský, Viktor Shklovsky and Roman Jakobson, foregrounding has occupied a central place in stylistic theory. Nonetheless, work that draws on foregrounding theory has tended to focus on foregrounded items themselves rather than the background constituted by Mukaˇrovský’s notion of the ‘standard language’. This is principally because identifying linguistic norms is difficult without recourse to statistics about language use. We may intuitively be able to identify aspects of lexis or grammar as foregrounded against the norms of common usage, but determining what these norms actually are is difficult to do reliably. This is made harder in cases where our intuitions about foregrounding concern functional rather than formal elements of language; style rather than syntax, for example. What corpus stylistics offers is a means of identifying norms by drawing on the insights to be gained from the analysis of linguistic corpora. Our supposition in this chapter is that by providing students with the tools to be able to

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identify linguistic norms using corpus stylistic techniques, we empower them to ensure that their writing is appropriate for the text-type they aim to produce.

EAP Courses English for Academic Purposes (EAP) courses are a common component of university programmes. Typically, they are offered to international students attending an institution in English speaking countries before they begin their major programme of study (pre-sessional courses), or during their studies as supplementary support courses (in-sessional programmes). It is becoming increasingly common, however, to find these types of programmes established in countries where the L1 of the majority of the country’s population is not English, as universities around the world recognise the role of English as academia’s international lingua franca. In Japan, for example, it is the norm for students at undergraduate level to take mandatory English classes regardless of their main area of study. This is particularly true of those universities which have active study abroad programmes and/or which have validated content courses taught in English. The aims, construction and content of EAP courses vary widely, though they can be broadly placed into one of two categories: ESAP (English for Specialised Academic Purposes) and EGAP (English for General Academic Purposes). ESAP courses aim to equip students with the language knowledge and skills they will need for a particular area of study. ‘English for Engineering’, for example, would include subjectspecific vocabulary and assignments that would differ greatly from a course entitled ‘English for Midwifery’. These courses are often taught by English teachers with a background in the relevant subject area and are likely to have been designed by, or in close conjunction with, the relevant department. It is EGAP courses, however, which constitute the bulk of academic English instruction, particularly at both undergraduate and pre-sessional post-graduate levels. These courses aim to equip students with what Widdowson (1983) termed linguistic ‘capacity’. That is, they

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cover a broad variety of non-specialised areas with the aim of equipping learners with the ability to respond to a range of academic contexts. Despite there being as many potential designs for EGAP courses as there are institutions, there are a number of features which are common to most programmes. The first is an emphasis on writing; learner texts, in the form of essays, reports, research papers, theses and exam responses still form the core of assessing student success within universities (Alexander et al. 2008; Bruce 2011). The second commonality is that, within writing, instruction emphasises the importance of rhetorical and organisational features rather than the language itself. Focusing on structure is an expedient way of addressing the general academic needs of a large body of students (Archibald 2001; Bruce 2011; Cho 2003; Swales 2005). When courses are short term in nature, perhaps lasting for a semester or less, there is also the ingrained belief that rhetoric and structure can be learnt and improved, whereas improvements in individual learner language ability are often seen as improbable or at least difficult to measure (Archibald 2001; Basturkmen and Lewis 2002; Cho 2003). A third feature shared by many EGAP courses is the goal of fostering independent academic competence. This goes beyond the language per se and is a drive to both encourage learners to develop a critical disposition towards materials and ideas and to provide them a sense of autonomy by helping them develop independent study skills which will help them operate in future academic contexts (Alexander et al. 2008; Banarjee and Wall 2006; Fletcher 2004; Gillett 2011; Perez-Parades and CantosGomez 2004; Jordan 2002). Instructing learners to become competent in the production of prescribed, written rhetorical features, whilst at the same time encouraging them to become effective, independent researchers and writers, could be seen as contradictory. Indeed, there is criticism that certain rhetorical writing models, such as the common 1-3-1 essay pattern, are reductive, misrepresentative of real academic writing and potentially harmful in terms of long term academic achievement (Abbuhl 2011; Griffiths 2016; Macbeth 2010; Shi and Liu 2016). Furthermore, the lack of focus on the language itself and its improvement has been noted as potential issue in addressing the learners’ perceived individual

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needs (Burgess and Etherington 2002), the more general goals of English instruction (Hartshorn et al. 2010), and the need for accurate language use within academia (Turner 2004). Reconciling these different needs within the context of what are often short courses is a challenge which should not be ignored, and one way of catering for both individual learner language needs and equipping students with a tool they can use independently of the classroom is to train students in corpus use. The study that we carried out shows specifically how corpus use from a stylistic perspective, combined with some of the principles and approaches of corpus stylistics (McIntyre and Walker 2019), can be incorporated into an EGAP syllabus which caters for students with no explicit interest in literary texts, stylistics or linguistics itself. In this way, our study demonstrates the value of a pedagogical stylistic approach to academic language teaching.

Corpora in the Language Classroom Corpus linguistics as a methodology for language study has been firmly ensconced in the mainstream for some time now. Indeed, Sinclair (1991; see also Zyngier 2016) sees corpus linguistics as significantly more than a methodology, arguing for its status as a sub-discipline of linguistics. However, its application in the language-learning classroom remains contentious, as we outline in this section. It has been suggested that the cultivation of independent learning and study skills can be aided by emphasising explorative, inductive learning (Nunan 1998). In the ‘organic approach’, the role of the teacher is removed from that of the traditional fount of knowledge and instead the materials themselves (e.g. the language) are used to transmit information via a process of noticing, theorising and testing on the part of the learners themselves. The positive link between inductive learning and learner autonomy underlies much of the theory of the application of Data Driven Learning (DDL) as originally expounded by Johns (1991) and has therefore influenced the exploitation of corpora in the classroom. Research suggests that using corpora and concordances as the means to initiate inductive learning places the learner at the centre of the research

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process and encourages not only language skills but reasoning and analytical skills which are transferable to other areas of study (Benson 2001; Harmer 2001; Stevens 1995; Thurston and Candlin 1998). In terms of language aspects, corpus data allows learners to access language which is potentially more authentic than that provided in traditional classroom materials. Issues of context and co-text, through the investigation of corpora and Key Word In Context (KWIC) queries can be investigated and this can enhance student awareness of the language they are studying (Sinclair 1991; Thurston and Candlin 1998; Willis 1990). Several studies have illustrated successful mechanisms for using corpora within the classroom. The majority of these employ corpora as reference tools (Hyland 2009), akin to more traditional resources such as dictionaries, to examine particular linguistic aspects, such as learner errors. In most cases, the results have been positive with regard to improved, quantifiable language use in the short term. For instance, Watson-Todd (2001) demonstrated that students could identify patterns of language use from concordances and use these patterns to successfully modify their own writing drafts. Gaskell and Cobb (2004) also recorded accurate rates of error correction on student drafts of between 60 and 80% after corpus consultation whilst Chambers and O’Sullivan (2004), Gilmore (2009) and O’Sullivan and Chambers (2006) have also provided evidence that learners were able to successfully correct errors based on the consultation of corpus and concordance data. Bridle (2019) demonstrated that corpus use could be incorporated into an EAP syllabus as a reference tool and could, in the case of certain error types, be potentially more effective than other sources in aiding the correction of individual learner errors. Set against these potential benefits are the well documented and very real limitations and difficulties of employing corpora. The large amounts of data in corpora present linguistic difficulties for many students and processing can increase the cognitive load for learners to a point where it becomes too much work (Lee and Swales 2006; Sun 2007; Thurstun and Candlin 1998). Frankenberg-Garcia (2005) and Yoon and Hirvela (2004) have all noted that student reaction to using corpus data is negative because it simply takes too much time. The interface employed is

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also often an issue with Gilmore (2009), Harmer (2001) and Mueller and Jacobsen (2015) noting that this in particular discouraged successful learner use. Other issues may act as a barrier to the use of corpora within an actual course. All of the above studies which showed positive results required a period of training for their learners, none of which was less than 90 minutes and, in some cases, consisted of multiple training sessions. For many practitioners and syllabi, finding this sort of time to indulge a potentially beneficial tool which may only be employed by particular types of students (Boulton 2009; Cresswell 2007; Turnbull and Burston 1998) is unrealistic. An additional issue, and one that is particularly pertinent to the topic of this chapter, is that, as Ruegg (2018) points out, students from East Asia are currently more familiar with traditional methods of information transmission (i.e. from teacher to learner) and much less familiar or comfortable with inquiry based learning. Furthermore, many practitioners of EAP have themselves had no experience of, or training in, the use of corpora, making success unlikely (FrankenbergGarcia 2012; Harmer 2001; McCarthy 2008). Even when they have some relevant experience or knowledge, not all welcome the idea of relinquishing their control over the rights and wrongs of language use (Hunston 2002). This can make it difficult to incorporate corpus use into a programme where there are multiple teachers (i.e. the majority). In addition, there can be practical problems to solve, such as the necessity of reliable internet access and student access to IT. Whilst these factors are perhaps less of an issue than they were in the past, they are not inconsiderable. The potential benefits of corpus use need to be weighed against the potential difficulties of incorporation into a real course. The objective is not necessarily impossible to achieve, however. Our study shows (i) how a limited number of functions of a corpus interface can be applied in order to meet a limited number of useful requirements, (ii) how using principles from stylistics can facilitate students’ grasp of corpus searches and (iii) how this approach can be effectively managed on a course with a very low number of contact hours.

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Academic Language and Style The difficulties of using corpora in the language classroom are arguably increased when the purpose is for stylistic instruction. There are at least two reasons why this is likely to be the case. First, such a situation relies on the EAP teacher being familiar with the principles, methods and concepts of linguistic and/or literary stylistics. Given the relatively small number of stylistics courses worldwide, this cannot be taken for granted. (N.B. Courses in rhetoric are much more common, particularly in the US, though it is rare to find such courses incorporating research insights from stylistics specifically). By the same token, it is not necessarily the case that experts in stylistics are familiar with the realities of the EAP teaching context. Nonetheless, in our view it is desirable to try and incorporate insights from both stylistics and corpus linguistics into the language classroom, given the potential each has for improving students’ use of academic language. The term ‘academic language’ actually covers a wide range of items. Some will interpret it as technical vocabulary associated with a specific discipline, others as the items contained within Coxhead’s (2000) Academic Word List, whilst for others still it is a range of norms, not rules, generally adhered to by the academic community. Within this community are sub-groups which in turn have their own norms; the use of I and we might be acceptable in methodology sections of research papers whereas its use in expressing writer stance might be considered inappropriate. Whether language is ‘academic’ or not, therefore, is decided by the context of its readership, which can vary greatly. Learners may also have a conception of academic language, if they are aware of it at all, as something complex and difficult to both read and write. Bruce (2011: 96) claims that one of the primary difficulties facing EAP students is that they have a distinct ‘vocabulary deficit’. Hinkel (2004) suggests that, eventually, this is something which will affect their overall achievement as content lecturers are more likely to assign lower grades when a lack of written proficiency is conspicuous. Though there is no one ‘academic language’, there are conventions which tend to be accepted across many disciplines and in many written, academic contexts. McCarthy and O’Dell (2008: 10) describes it as being

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‘formal, neutral, clear, precise’; Nation (2008) also identifies it as being formal. Recognising how these particular qualities manifest themselves in the language is precisely the problem learners have when they enter academia. What constitutes ‘formal’ and what does not is not necessarily immediately obvious. There is also the argument that ‘formal’ (if it is defined as Latinate, for example) is potentially at odds with the ‘clear’ element of language. McCarter and Jakes (2009) note that if students, however good at English they might be, have not been instructed over a long period of time as to what is formal, they are likely to find adapting their informal language to an academic context difficult. They further note that this issue is likely to occur repeatedly in particular areas of discourse, such as providing opinions or in hedging. These issues are compounded by the variability of the language included in textbooks and materials commonly employed in EAP classrooms. Returning to the example of personal pronouns, in his guidelines to academic writers, Bailey (2018) notes that their use in expressing a writer’s stance is an illustration of ‘poor style’ (p. 162), a sentiment echoed by De Chazal and Rogers (2017, p. 158). In contrast, students using textbooks by Oshima and Hogue (2014) and Folse et al. (2015), both of which explicitly target university students, will be exposed to numerous examples of personal pronouns being used to express opinions in written examples which purport to be academic in style. It is not difficult to see how these ambiguities and inconsistences might confuse learners, particularly at an early stage in their academic career, and potentially affect their ability to acquire and produce the type of language required. Corpus data created from academic texts is, therefore, a potentially useful tool which students can use to mitigate these problems.

Method In order to test the potential for using corpus stylistics for improving students’ awareness of style and register variation, we carried out a study at Waseda University, Japan, using the english.corpora.org interface to the British National Corpus (BNC). The selection of software was based

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Fig. 4.1 BNC interface (english.corpora.org)

on the need for it to be freely available and accessible on student devices and for it to have an interface user-friendly enough to be both learned and used within the timeframe of a class by learners who were not necessarily linguists. For these reasons, we discounted interfaces such as IntelliText (Stephenson 2011) and BNCweb (Hoffman and Evert 2006), which allow for the examination of multiple corpora simultaneously, the uploading of sub-corpora and self-tagging of tokens. Whilst freely available, we considered these to be overly complex for the purposes of the learners in question. We chose english.corpora.org (Davies 2004) because of its simple and uncluttered interface, a factor which Krishnamurthy and Kosem (2007) have indicated is important for successful student use. Figure 4.1 shows the interface. Basic functions can be performed with a short series of clicks and minimal text input, and results are displayed in a variety of ways which include tabulated figures, concordances (Fig. 4.2), genre-derived frequency charts (Fig. 4.3) and colour-coded Key Word In Context (KWIC) displays.

Participants and Course The participants (n = 26) were all first year undergraduate students in their first semester of an English Degree Programme in Political Science at Waseda University. Students were of mixed nationalities (Japanese,

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Fig. 4.2 Concordancing facility (english.corpora.org)

Fig. 4.3 BNC interface—chart view (english.corpora.org)

Chinese, Taiwanese, South Korean) and had a range of educational backgrounds; some had received all their education in mainstream school and in their mother tongue whilst others had attended international schools where the principal language of instruction was English. In order to enrol on the course, students needed a minimum TOEFL score of 85 (IELTS 6.5; IELTS is a test of English as a foreign language and stands for International English Language Testing System). The reality was a population with a wide discrepancy in English experience, knowledge and

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productive ability, which is not an unfamiliar scenario on EAP courses and is, arguably, one which will be increasingly common as [Japanese] universities market themselves to foreign stakeholders. The context of the study was an eight-week long mandatory Academic English programme focusing primarily on writing. This was comprised of fifteen 90-minute lessons delivered twice weekly (a total of 22.5 hours of contact time). The goals of the course were to familiarise students with the fundamental aspects of academic writing in order to help them successfully operate during the rest of their degree programme and were centred around basic organisation, paraphrasing and summarising skills, researching, citing and referencing skills and an introduction to academic style. Text production consisted of an initial, short (500 word) essay in the first two weeks with the remainder of the course focused on the production of a short research paper (1000–1500 words) on a topic of the student’s choice.

Timetable Fit of Corpus Lesson At the outset of the course, the students produced a draft of an argument essay. Lessons 1 and 2 therefore involved discussion of the topic area and input on the basic rhetorical components of argumentative essays (introduction/argument/counterargument/rebuttal/conclusion). At this point, there was no explicit language instruction and the students produced the first draft of the essay before Lesson 3. This was scheduled as an ‘Academic Workshop’ where the teacher was free to adapt to the needs of the class. The drafts of the essays showed a number of treatable language errors which were a result of inappropriate register: • • • • •

Inappropriate use of personal pronouns Use of contractions Inappropriate use of initial coordinating conjunctions Use of absolute referents Use of slang/informal/idiomatic items

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All of the drafts displayed two or more of these error types, with 23 of 26 submissions showing repeat instances of the same error type. Treatment of these issues became the aim of Lesson 3 and the language focus of this study.

Lesson The lesson had the following aims: • To introduce students to the stylistic concept of foregrounding • To help students understand the conventions of academic register mentioned above • To ensure students have a working knowledge of simple functions of a corpus interface • To ensure learners are able to apply the functions of a corpus interface to help them understand and use elements of academic register All the above were in keeping with the aims of the course and the lesson was conceived partly as a way of addressing the imbalance noted in section ‘Foregrounding’ between a focus on structure and rhetoric and the lexical needs of students. The students were first trained to search the BNC using the english. corpora.org interface and as a class were encouraged to discuss the results of their findings with the researcher (teacher) observing the comments and eliciting feedback before summarising the norms. The lesson then concluded with a short exercise in the form of a worksheet which asked the students to repeat the various techniques employed in the class as individuals with other language items to see if they could uncover (a) a general, academic convention and (b) demonstrate use of the BNC to identify and replace non-academic items. Table 4.1 shows the lesson staging, summarising the focus and task employed at each stage, with notes on instructions provided to students.

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Table 4.1 Summary of 90-minute lesson Stage focus

Activity

Identification of non-academic source through non-linguistic features

Students briefly examine a newspaper article and identify formatting (layout, font, colour), use of pictures and presence of advertising as indications of a non-academic source Students are told that the language used in academic writing also has particular norms. It is possible to assess whether language items might be academic or not observing its frequency of use within an academic context Students are shown the basic interface (Fig. 4.1.), how to read a concordance (Fig. 4.2) and the chart function (Fig. 4.3). Teacher guide search for personal pronoun use, followed by student investigations of personal pronouns, initial coordinating conjunctions and contractions. Discussion Teacher guides search for synonyms of ‘gaffe’ followed by student investigations of other informal language items. Discussion Students independently complete worksheet Task A (identification of non-academic use of indefinite pronouns and formulation of a generalisation for the norm of use) and Task B (identification of non-academic language and possibility of substitution using the BNC synonym function)

Introduction of ‘academic register’ and stylistic foregrounding

Introduction to the english.corpor a.org interface to the BNC, frequency and chart function

Introduction to the english.corpor a.org BNC synonym function

Testing phase: worksheet Tasks A and B

Results Having outlined what we asked students to do, in this section we present the results obtained from the various tasks.

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Table 4.2 Comparative frequencies of target language items (initial classroom tasks) Category

Item

All

Newspaper

Academic

Personal pronouns

you* your we our I* can’t don’t isn’t but and so gaffe* swap hoard

6614.92 1325.98 3468.56 923.1 8581.98 297.57 923.34 172.04 937.24 625.05 294.07 0.3 6.24 1.85

1797.56 511.16 2757.96 859.13 4356.12 213.73 452.49 85.13 1709.47 684.09 176.76 1.43 10.51 1.82

685.64 198.87 2372.48 699.92 1580.26 25.5 63.92 12.91 670.25 185.04 143.95 0.07 1.3 1.04

Contractions

Initial coordinating conjunctions Informal language

Items marked with an asterisk indicate those that were used in the initial, teacher-led instruction to familiarise students with the interface

Lesson Table 4.2 describes the frequency of items (per million words) examined during the class, with the frequency of items across all contexts compared to those in the newspaper and academic subdivisions. They clearly display the relative infrequency of items in the academic subdivision when compared with the contexts of newspapers. Items marked with an asterisk indicate those that were used in the initial, teacher-led instruction to familiarise students with the interface. Other items were investigated independently by the students. Table 4.3 presents similar information, this time detailing the language which was used on the worksheet. The students examined this language independently of the teacher and each other.

Classroom Observations The teacher-led class tasks resulted in students using the BNC to compare the frequency of use of the pronouns I , you and our in the

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Table 4.3 Comparative frequencies of target language items (worksheet task) Category

Item

All

Newspaper

Academic

Task A—Indefinite pronouns/

anything only way no denying everybody everywhere chummy stupid switch runaway worried cheery

271.7 17.33 0.95 58.25 30.44 0.32 30.5 31.65 2.57 43.2 1.68

185.26 21.31 0.76 38.22 27.23 0.48 14.52 32.96 8.98 71.37 2.58

114.6 13.11 0.65 12.2 17.02 0 4.37 19.11 1.43 12.2 0.07

Task B—Inappropriate language

‘academic’ subdivision against the frequency in the newspaper subdivision, as displayed in Table 4.2. The students used the ‘chart’ function to gain an initial impression of frequency without examining concordances. They were very quickly able to summarise that these items are less frequent in academic writing than in newspapers. Drawing on the concept of foregrounding introduced in the preparatory lesson (see section ‘Foregrounding’), the students were able to suggest that academic language might use I , you and your less frequently because of a need to display less subjectivity and that this is because it relies more on fact and evidence than opinion, and that newspapers might be more likely to make use of a spoken register. In the next stage, the students followed the same process independently of the teacher to examine we and our. Comparison of the frequency of these items in the Newspaper and Academic subdivisions shows a less marked contrast than for I , you and your and therefore at this point concordances were introduced as a possible means for understanding why. Students examined the concordances for both pronouns and were able to generalise from the examples, reporting that the use of we and our in academic concordances did not tend to refer to generalisations such as ‘our environment’ or ‘our society’, but instead tended to be specific in their reference to particular studies and researchers (‘we employed four measures’, ‘our study shows’). In final feedback, the students agreed that personal pronouns are less common in academic

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writing unless they refer to specific studies which have been undertaken. A further note made was that this meant that, as their own writing on the course did not require empirical study, they were unlikely to be using personal pronouns and should instead employ other patterns of establishing writer stance, in particular. The next two stages followed the same exploratory pattern. The students were able to use the chart functions to make an immediate generalisation about the use of initial coordinating conjunctions and contractions and then examine use within an academic context by referring to the concordances. In the case of both categories, examination of the concordances resulted in the students identifying that the academic contexts of use for these items included reported speech from spoken sources such as trials or interviews , but that these were distinguishable from the rest of the sentence (through speech marks, for example) and as such distinct from the writing itself. The next stage involved the teaching of the synonym function. Firstly, gaffe was identified through the chart function as non-academic. None of the students had actually seen the word gaffe before and did not know what it meant. Using the synonym function allowed them to understand the meaning of the word and investigation of the alternatives allowed them to suggest an academic equivalent. The testing phase involved the students working independently to identify a norm of academic register through the observation of the chart function and concordances (Task A) and to identify non-academic words using the BNC and suggest alternatives using the synonym function (or suggest why no synonym could be found) (Task B). Table 4.4 records the success rate of identification of non-academic items in Tasks A and B and the portion of students finding an alternative word for non-academic items in Task B.

Observations: Task A On the whole, the students were able to identify the non-academic words. In the case of no denying, some noted their surprise that, whilst frequency was lower than in other subdivisions, comparatively the

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Table 4.4 Student responses to worksheet tasks

Category

Item

% students identifying item as inappropriate

Task A—indefinite pronouns/

anything only way no denying everybody everywhere chummy stupid switch runaway worried cheery

73.15 84.7 88.6 84.7 84.7 100 100 84.7 53.9 38.5 84.7

Task B—inappropriate language

% students finding a synonym in the BYU-BNC N/A

88.6 88.6 77 34.6 34.6 57.5

frequency was quite high. Some students reported on their observances of the concordances, noting for example that within academic contexts this item could be found ‘used for emphasis but a bit absolute’ and as a phrase which collocated with an opinion being given. Similar observations were made for ‘only way’—nearly 85% of students identified this as being ‘non-academic’ in register, but some hedged their observations with notes from the concordance, stating that the use of the phrase is too absolute but ‘suitable when there are explanations’. Fewer students were able to provide an accurate generalisation from the examples given, although the majority (just under 70%) came to similar conclusions: • All these words and phrases are absolute. Either the word or phrase indicates one thing, or it covers everything. Terms such as anything, everybody and everywhere are spoken. These words can be used in academic writings but only with other phrases which can make it more formal and objective. • When writing academic essays, it is better if we choose precise words to describe what we want to say. • Vague expressions are too strong. To avoid these, the writer should use examples or more specific explanations.

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Table 4.5 Task B alternative language items found (bold indicates comparatively higher frequency within the BNC academic context subdivision) Inappropriate item Chummy Stupid Switch Runaway Worried Cheery Alternatives suggested by students

friendly silly close ridiculous intimate foolish absurd reckless

change preserve control keep shift divert convert

hit huge fugitive escape

concerned outgoing happy jolly joyful

The 30% of students who did not identify the norm either did so by not providing a note or, in the remaining cases, explaining not entirely accurately that the words were not academic because they belonged to spoken language. This highlights an issue which may easily be encountered from an overreliance on the chart function without reference to the concordances themselves. The students were able to speculate about ‘what’ was academic or not, but not necessarily able to ascertain ‘why’.

Observations: Task B Table 4.5 shows the words the students chose to replace the informal items they had identified. Only absurd , change, preserve, control and concerned have a frequency which is comparatively high in the academic subdivision of the BNC when compared to the newspaper subdivision. Before further examination of specific items, it is important to note that 38% of the students made the comment that, whilst they had found synonyms within the BNC and had submitted these on the worksheet, they did not feel that these were appropriate in an academic context. Examining the chart function for the alternatives to chummy, stupid and cheery had also prompted the response that perhaps the short text itself which was on the worksheet was not the type of statement which should be employed in academic writing. Some of the choices illustrate a problem encountered by the students using the corpus to look for appropriate synonyms. Runaway is a prime

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example of this. The context was ‘the runaway effects of global warming’. In this case, runaway is close in meaning to uncontrollable or escalating. However, the examples offered as replacements by the students include hit and huge. Huge is arguably closer in meaning but an unusual collocate, whereas hit is a synonym of ‘runaway success’ and is entirely inappropriate. These point to the dangers of students relying on the frequency lists for synonyms without further investigation of concordances to ascertain the contextual appropriateness of an item. Why the students were simply submitting from the list of synonyms, and not consulting the related concordances, will be discussed below.

Summary of Survey Results and Subsequent Student Writing All of the students responding to the survey (n = 22) reported that they used the BNC to check their draft argument essay (the text which had been used to initially identify the range of errors to examine in the study) before submitting a final version. 90% reported that they had used the BNC in drafting and revising their longer research paper but the majority had rated it as only ‘occasionally useful’. Attitudes towards the effectiveness of the BNC interface were rather ambivalent when it came to specific applications. Whilst 54% claimed the BNC enabled them to identify inappropriate language, only 46% felt it had helped them to find appropriate alternative language with only 37% students reporting that it had been of use when paraphrasing or summarising texts. After the session, the students had the opportunity to revise the drafts of their short essays. In their second drafts, all but one of the students had corrected errors in personal pronoun use, contractions and the use of indefinite articles and there had been many attempts to address instances of slang and idiomatic language. This does not prove that the corpus itself had been more or less effective, but does suggest that the use was appropriate at this stage and served to raise awareness of the target language. Student research papers, submitted at the end of the course and produced independently of the teacher and the classroom, showed a similar improvement in academic register.

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Discussion As the broad purpose of this study was to explore how concepts of foregrounding and the use of the BNC can be employed in the context of an actual lesson, it seems appropriate to first address the lesson goals and discuss how effectively these were met. To reiterate, these goals were: • To introduce students to the concept of foregrounding • To help students understand some of the conventions of academic register • To ensure learners had a working knowledge of simple functions of a corpus interface • To ensure learners were able to apply the functions of a corpus interface to help them understand and use elements of academic register The chart function served as a convenient introduction to the concept of foregrounding, providing as it does a visualisation of the basic concept. The students demonstrated that they were able to use this feature without issue and the observations of the teacher guided tasks and results from the worksheets suggest that it enabled them to understand several language norms found within academic English (restricted use of personal and indefinite pronouns, coordinating conjunctions and contractions). The students were able to make basic analyses of concordances to speculate about and understand these aspects of academic register and subsequently produced texts in which this register was evident. In short, the goals of the lesson were achieved. This positive outcome is in keeping with other studies which have shown that, given the appropriate training for the task, using a corpus as a reference tool has, at least in the short term, potential benefits for students in terms of raised awareness of linguistic patterns and the ability to address errors (Bridle 2019; Chambers and O’Sullivan 2004; Gaskell and Cobb 2004; Gilmore 2009; Hyland 2009; O’Sullivan and Chambers 2006; Watson-Todd 2001). Restricting the application of the corpus to particular queries, and therefore limiting the complexity of interaction with the interface, allowed the session to be completed within the

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timeframe of a short course syllabus, and may have mitigated issues experienced by students in studies by Gilmore (2009), Harmer (2001) and Mueller and Jacobsen (2015). The results also suggest, however, that even with these limits employed, familiar barriers to successful use of the corpus, and concordances, in particular, were experienced by the students. As noted in the results, the chief obstacle to the implementation of the corpus data in a productive sense (i.e. using its examples of language to subsequently produce text) seems to be in the reliance on only frequency data and an unwillingness to analyse concordances. The additional time that this takes and the increased cognitive loading that this incurs on students have been widely and regularly reported (Frankenberg-Garcia 2005; Lee and Swales 2006; Sun 2007; Thurston and Candlin 1998; Yoon and Hirvela 2004). The above implies that, on a short course and with limited training, restricted use of the BNC interface and concepts of foregrounding may enable students to identify basic patterns of appropriate language use but be of less tangible help in allowing them to deal with areas requiring a more rigorous analysis. If this is the case, the criticism that might be raised is that such basic patterns of appropriate language use could be provided to students through other means; in the case of the lesson examined here, it would have been a straightforward matter for the instructor to provide the students with a set of rules e.g., ‘avoid all use of personal pronouns’, rather than spending the time allowing them to hypothesise about the language. Doing so, however, would seem to undermine the students in two ways. Firstly, it was established earlier that the conventions of language use within academia are subject to change according to an array of different needs and contexts. A set of oversimplified rules are therefore not necessarily helpful in the long term. Secondly, the use of a corpus places the student in the role of the researcher. This approach is in keeping with the wider aims of fostering independence and study skills amongst EAP students (Alexander et al. 2008; Banarjee and Wall 2006; Fletcher 2004; Gillett 2011; Perez-Parades and Cantos-Gomez 2004; Jordan 2002).

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Conclusion In this chapter we have summarised and discussed the results of an approach to teaching style and register variation to EAP students in Japan. Our procedure combined the theoretical concept of foregrounding from stylistics with the general methodology of corpus linguistics. We introduced the students to some basic analytical methods available in a user-friendly interface to a general language corpus (the BNC) in order to allow them to investigate for themselves the extent to which aspects of their language use deviated from the norms associated with an academic register. Our study provides some support for the notion of combining stylistic and corpus linguistic approaches and, particularly, for the practice of empowering students to use corpora for themselves. Based on our results, and the discussion in Sect. 4.8, we suggest that the approach would be worth extending beyond the particular student group that we worked with. Finally, the corpus stylistic method advocated in this chapter offers, to our mind, two particular advantages. First, it empowers students to discover for themselves how their target language functions in particular discourse types. Second, in cases where the students’ corpus use is less successful, it provides insights into those areas of the language curriculum that are best tackled using non-corpus methods.

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Part II Cognitive Perspectives

5 The Principle of Moments Peter Stockwell

Abstract This chapter offers a redefinition of text in terms of its moments and momentum. Beginning with assumptions about the experiential and readerly basis of the nature of a text, the discussion draws on earlier work in text linguistics and discourse analysis which argued for the centrality of dynamism in stylistic analysis. An example of an analysis of moments is offered from Romeo and Juliet. The ways in which the reader’s experience of moments is perceived as narrative momentum is schematised into a principled model which can be used for classroom exploration. This draws partly on Sinclair’s proposed notion of prospection, as well as later insights from cognitive poetics. The result is a working model of moments and momentum that is briefly illustrated with a passage from an Evelyn Waugh novel. The chapter claims that experiential matters of textuality such as pragmatic knowledge, memory, feeling, and anticipation are also the proper domain of linguistics and P. Stockwell (B) University of Nottingham, Nottingham, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_5

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also that discourse and readerly experience are at the heart of a stylistic exploration.

Redefining a Text In almost all disciplines and scholarly fields, the object of analysis is welldefined and commonly understood. Perhaps alone of all scholarly areas, those working in the general field of English studies have disputed the definition and description of its main feature: text. Intuitively, it is easy to pick up a book, point to a poem, or select an excerpt from a novel, sermon, political speech, advert, or leaflet to discuss, and treat each of these as a text, but of course, each of these is different in varying ways. A haiku and War and Peace are both texts, and so are an advertising slogan and a travel guide to a country, or graffiti and the Bible. A text cannot be defined by its length, nor its breadth of subject-matter, nor its height in cultural importance. It is essential to define the term, not simply for theoretical reasons, but because the nature of the understanding determines how any particular text is explored in a classroom—and the teaching of texts is crucial to the study of English language and literature. The theoretical framing is in a continuous relationship with the practical exploration. The meaning of text has been an area of discussion particularly over the last half-century. The most simple and intuitive characterisation would be that it is a collection of sentences (or perhaps we should say utterances, since not all texts are written). Of course, a sentence can consist of a simple clause, or chained clauses, or strings of words that are meaningful but not fully syntactically formed as clauses—oh yes. And though texts can be spoken or written, there is a general sense that there is more writtenness associated with them than spokenness (which makes the exclamation at the end of my previous sentence seem all the more oddly placed). In linguistics, text and discourse have been seen as the highest two levels of the rank-scale: from phonology/morphology, through lexis, syntax and semantics, to text and discourse (Halliday and Hasan 1985). In this view, texts are collections of sentences organised by a text grammar, and discourse is what a text becomes when it is considered

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in its social setting of use. In this sense, text is to discourse as sentence is to utterance (see Fowler 1991; de Beaugrande 1980). Crucially, a text is defined semantically rather than only by its structure or form (Halliday and Hasan 1976). In the Hallidayan tradition, the textuality of a text is importantly defined by its cohesive features, such as lexical repetition and parallelism, conjunction, ellipsis, and co-reference within a sentence (Halliday and Hasan 1976; Halliday and Matthiessen 2014). Its perceived coherence is a readerly experience of the effects of cohesion (Thompson 2004: 179). It should be clear that underlying these notions is the idea that a text is organised rather than random: a structured array of chunks (sentences/clauses/utterances) rather than simply a disordered collection. For a set of sentences to be a text, there has to be structure and identifiable, meaningful relationships between the parts. Specifying the nature of these relationships can fall towards one of three sources: the text itself has the essential property of orderliness; ordering is built in by the intention of the author; or a sense of order is perceived by the reader. In this chapter, I base my argument on the cognitive linguistic principle that all three of these sources of order are ultimately readerly. This, in turn, means that only an understanding of how readers read texts can allow us to understand what texts are, their meaning, status and effect in the world, and how we can use this knowledge to teach all types of texts. It has become orthodox in English studies to take an expansive view of text that includes any extended meaningful object: a novel, a speech, a movie, a map, a painting, a sculpture, for example. Most usages, though, include a sense that the meaning has to be encoded in language, though what language encompasses here ranges from the literal (lexis and grammar) in a novel or speech to the more metaphorical sense of a symbol or pattern (as in a painting or sculpture). One way of resolving this spectrum is to say that a text is an object that can be read: a meaning can be derived from it (see Wilson 2012). This allows us to distinguish between the physical object of the text and the interpreted object that is read (the poem, or the image, or the work). This distinction is made by Barthes (1977) and McGann (1991). In effect, both take a readerly view of text: they do not deny its material existence, but argue that our

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only way of thinking and accessing it is by reading. Reading text, here, involves decoding, constructing, and interpreting it. This raises a problem, of course, in that humans are spectacularly adept at seeing patterns and constructing meanings where none ‘actually’ exist. This would mean that there is nothing that is not a text, since even a genuinely random collection of words can be resolved into perceived patterns. This is the basis on which ‘found poetry’ or much surrealist writing appears meaningful, even when the reader knows the randomised circumstances of its assembly (Hollander 1975; Stockwell 2016). In short, our only possible experience of a text is unavoidably through the mesh of consciousness and perception. This does not deny the existence of its concrete materiality—on the contrary, it presupposes it. However, it means that our exploration of the notion of text in theory and in practice needs to be cognitivist. I have found that a useful differentiation in my understanding is offered by Ingarden’s (1973) distinction between autonomous and heteronomous objects. An object is autonomous if it exists independently of being observed: material objects in the world, of course, but also some abstract concepts that still exist in a way independent of consciousness, such as the sphericality of a ball, or the notion of a musical note (see Ingarden 1973; St˛eszewski 2004). By contrast, a heteronomous object requires human consciousness for its existence: abstractions such as liberty or capitalism are the obvious examples. Superordinate concepts can often be regarded as heteronomous in relation to their concrete elements. So, cars and buses are autonomous objects, but traffic is heteronomous; fields, woods, and rivers are autonomous, but the countryside is heteronomous; can we say the same about books and literature? Books exist in the world as autonomous objects, even books manifesting on screen-readers—but literature is a heteronomous object. In this way, the materiality of text is autonomous (there is print, and words, and grammatical structures, even though our patterning of these is framed by different perspectives), but what Ingarden (1973) called the literary work is heteronomous. It requires an observing consciousness, and it cannot be discussed without attention being paid to that readerliness. If the literary work in this sense is an object in the process of cognitive construction, then it is also a dynamic and constantly updating online

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phenomenon. Many in text linguistics and discourse analysis have been calling for our analytical descriptions to be more dynamic for several decades now (see, for example, Eikmeyer 1983; Brown and Yule 1983; Birch 1989), but I feel we have never quite managed a convincing and systematic achievement in this regard. This chapter represents an attempt to address this requirement, taking as its central principle a recognition that a reading of a text is a series of moments through time. What might an analysis of an excerpt of language look like that pays proper attention to the readerly, dynamic, and constant protean constructedness of text, one that takes the heteronomous nature of the literary work into practice? Analysis is, of course, constrained by the fact that I have to move in sequence, and although a mere close reading, or a recorded stream of impressions, or thinking aloud while reading would cosmetically capture this movement, none of these procedures are sufficiently rigorous nor generalisable. Analysis is not the same as reading, and the aim here is to represent what happens in the movement through a text, not to imitate it. One approach might be to break the movement across a text down into a series of snapshots, like movie frames. There are versions of this in, for example, some Text World Theory analyses that present the different configurations of mental text-worlds at different points (see Giovanelli 2013; McLoughlin 2016; Emmott 1997). Other disciplines of discourse analysis have been similarly concerned with addressing the notion of discourse in flux: qualitative sociolinguistics (Hall and Bucholtz 1995; Johnstone 2000), participant and action research in ethnography (Blommaert and Dong 2010; Blommaert 2013), nexus analysis (Scollon 1998; Scollon and Wong Scollon 2004), and mediated discourse analysis (Scollon 2001), for example. These, of course, necessarily still pause the state of readerly knowledge into static moments. How can we understand the fluxed nature of reading—perhaps to disrupt the linear constraints by moving back and forth across the text and its levels? This starts with a moment analysis.

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Teaching Moments As an initial example, here is an analysis of the different moments that can be selected as the focus of interest around the most famous of all metaphors, juliet is the sun. (Conventionally, the metaphor is written in small capitals like this to indicate that it is the concepts that are being invoked, rather than the words themselves.) The words which bring this conceptual mapping between juliet and the sun together are in fact the actual uttered words: ‘Juliet is the sun’, from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (II.ii.3). The scene itself appears prominently in teaching plans and guides to the classroom discussion of Shakespeare’s play. In these materials, the vast majority present an explanation of what the words of the scene mean, and then consider thematic issues such as character development and the extended use of light and dark metaphors across the play (see, for example among a huge availability of teaching resources and guides, Hunt 2000; O’Brien 2006; DeCourcy et al. 2007; Lampert 2008). I am aware, for this illustration, that I have selected a text that is written to be performed in real time, though the play is also commonly read. For our purposes here, the fact that this is a dramatic playtext is useful for the discussion of readerly and audience experience across time. The closest analytical focus is on the clause itself, ‘Juliet is the sun’. This will be a striking metaphor for almost all readers and audience members, and even those familiar with the play will be anticipating it as a key phrase, so it is perhaps even enhanced for them. The metaphor cues up a conceptual mapping between the target domain, juliet, and the source domain, the sun, such that familiar aspects of the source (lovely warmth, dazzling beauty, the source of clear sight and life) are used to configure our conceptualisation of the new, target notion of juliet. We do know that Juliet is a person, though, so non-plausible properties of the source that would violate the conceptual integrity of juliet are not mapped (the sun is 93 million miles away, billions of years old, an active ball of nuclear fusion, and source of electromagnetic waves, for example) (see Lakoff 1990; Stockwell 1999).

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The clause itself is what I have termed a visible metaphor, since both source and target domains are explicitly lexicalised in the text (Stockwell 1992). Such metaphors are the most direct and authorially assertive (the author, at this level, is Romeo): the ‘A is B’ form represents the strongest utterer commitment to the validity of the metaphor. Of course, the reader and audience arrive at this moment following a textual preparation in the previous lines in which the metaphor is relatively invisible (that is, one of the domains is not as explicitly lexicalised): But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun!

The first line here is an entirely textually invisible metaphor: the domain juliet is not present on the surface of the text. The sentence could have been uttered literally about a light seen through a window. The metaphor underlying this invisibility is of course altered in the next line, ‘It is the east’. ‘It’ here would normally co-refer to the thematic topic of the previous sentence: the ‘light’. But of course, it actually picks up the situational co-reference of ‘yonder window’. The window is the east, and Juliet, seen through the window, is the rising sun. Since the audience’s attention is co-located with the observing speaker (Romeo), we are perceptually positioned in alignment with his consciousness, so we see what he sees, at the same moments as he perceives them. The moment of his revelation is prepared by being dimmed down and quietened, both by the contrastive conjunction and by the semantics of ‘But soft’. The rest of that line is syntactically organised so that it could be either an exclamation (‘what light!’) or a question (‘what light?’)—either way, it anticipates an elaboration or answer that immediately follows: ‘It is the east and Juliet is the sun!’ The double ‘A is B’ form of the two related metaphors in this line reinforces their impact. Romeo’s perception begins quietly and he is then struck by what he sees. There is a neat iconicity here, in the sense that the linguistic patterning enacts the meaning. The move from dimness, to an invisible metaphor, to the vaguer less concrete directional metaphor ‘It is the east’, ending in the fully realised visible concrete metaphor ‘Juliet is the sun’,

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plus the exclamation mark, enacts the process of revelation step-by-step as Juliet’s beauty literally and metaphorically dawns on Romeo. Of course, moving further out in our tracing of the moments in this scene, these two lines occur on the page like this: Scene II. Capulet’s Garden. [Enter Romeo.] Romeo: He jests at scars that never felt a wound. [Juliet appears above at a window.] But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun! (Romeo and Juliet , II.ii.1–3)

The audience’s (and reader’s) attention is aligned with Romeo, as suggested above, because of this prior sequence. He moves and speaks, drawing our attention, and Juliet appears but is silent, just at the moment that Romeo gestures both verbally and, presumably, bodily towards her. Though the first line ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?’ is locally a thoroughly invisible metaphor, nevertheless the audience’s awareness of Juliet undermines this to an extent. It is likely that Romeo’s utterance here is referentially orientated towards Juliet, so the metaphoricity is already being prepared. Furthermore, the previous single line on Romeo’s arrival can also be read as a literal utterance or, more likely as an invisible metaphor with a proverbial feel (proverbs, like allegories, are invisible metaphors): ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound’. We are being subtly prepared for the later striking metaphor even here, but our reading of this as a metaphor at all, in spite of its invisibility, arises because of the previous scene that we as readers and audience have just come from. Act II, scene i, just prior to this scene, involves Romeo appearing just before his friends Benvolio and Mercutio, uttering the lines,

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Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out (Romeo and Juliet , II.i.1–2)

and then leaping over a wall. The rest of that scene comprises the two friends calling out to Romeo and engaging in teasing banter about the madness of his love. The scene ends with Benvolio saying: Go, then, for ’tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. (Romeo and Juliet , II.i.41–42)

Romeo’s line in the next scene rhymes with this: ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound’. (The rhyme of ‘wound’ with ‘found’ was in flux in 1595 though it does not rhyme in twenty-first century English: Crystal 2005). This splicing across the two scenes offers different readings of the text, depending on whether we consider it as a performance with the audience sharing the unity of time with Romeo or whether we treat the text more novelistically as a recapitulation, as I will explain. In many performances, Romeo leaps over the wall in the first scene and then eavesdrops silently on Benvolio and Mercutio from the garden on the other side. There is no scene shift at the end, because the two friends simply exit and Romeo then from the other side of the wall speaks his first line of the next scene and looks up at the window. Here, the text is a consistent and unified temporal progression, in which Romeo hears the banter aimed in his direction, and the referent of ‘He’ in ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound’ is Benvolio. The rhyming link across the two scenes supports this connection. However, if we read the text novelistically, and with our modern experience, the two scenes can be interpreted as a temporal recapitulation: in other words, they happen in the same duration of time. Romeo leaps the wall at the beginning of Act II scene i, and is instantly at the point in time in scene ii in which he sees Juliet. In this reading, the speeches of scene i and scene ii happen at the same time, but we read one first and then the other one. Here, the ‘He’ of ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound’ is self-referentially Romeo, who is in the process of being wounded in love. If this seems a fanciful interpretation, it is possible to

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read Romeo’s opening lines of scene i in different literal and metaphorical configurations to support the reading: Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out

is usually glossed in all the teaching notes as meaning: can I go on when my emotions are here; turn back and find the object of my love again. ‘Dull earth’, in this gloss, refers metaphorically to Romeo’s own body. However, if we read ‘dull earth’ literally as the turning world, Romeo is resetting time in order not to go forward but to repeat the duration of the scene. This is what we get in reading scenes i and ii as occurring in parallel. Understanding these two possible readings requires us to see the passage as two different types of text: one performative and one novelistic. Each offers different referents of ‘He’ in ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound’, but—moving out a further level—our appreciation of the two possibilities allows us to encompass both of these in order to read ‘He’ generically and the sentence as a proverb applying to all. Moving ahead of the excerpt, the lines after ‘Juliet is the sun’ are: Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! (Romeo and Juliet , II.ii.4–10)

Romeo now engages with his commitment to the metaphor by addressing the sun, contrasting its fairness with that of the moon. Almost all classroom notes continue to read this as the sun (Juliet) being contrasted with Romeo’s former love, Rosaline (the moon). Indeed, Rosaline has been compared with the moon earlier in the play. The metaphor in this excerpt appears invisible (neither Juliet nor Rosaline are mentioned explicitly), but of course the strong commitment to

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the metaphor just prior to this means that surely every reader reads this metaphorically. And the metaphorical mapping is sustained in the conventional personifications of sun and moon: agency in the verbs ‘kill’, ‘wear’, ‘cast’; emotional attribution in the epithets ‘envious’, ‘sick’, ‘pale’, ‘grief ’; direct personal address forms ‘Arise’, ‘who’, and ‘thou’. So committed is Romeo to the validity of the metaphor that by the end the Juliet/sun mapping has become identical—to the extent that the form of source/target expression is reversed: ‘It is my lady’ is now the sun is juliet. This operation at the metaphorical level is what allows Romeo to deliver his next few lines in the scene as if to Juliet but without her actually hearing him until much later. His addressivity at this initial point is directed into his imagined metaphorical world, rather than the actual person on the balcony. Juliet’s first utterance brings his attention back to her own real identity, but echoes the possible ambivalences we have just experienced: ‘Ay me’, which can be heard (but not read) as meaning ‘Oh my!’, ‘I – me’, or ‘eye me’. Normally a stylistic analysis would focus on one key aspect of text. Here, different aspects are attended to as they appear important in the flow. By working back and forward through the text—rather than the steady progression of a reader or audience—we can use the analysis to step away from the reading in order to see its workings. This is an analysis based on moments, but its objective is to identify how these moments fit into the momentum. This, crucially, involves casting your analytical and imaginative mind into the positions of reader/audience, Romeo, Benvolio, Mercutio, and Juliet. The shells of analysis can be further explored outwards from this passage to the rest of the scene, and also to the rest of the play, to Shakespeare’s other tragedies, and his other plays, and from there to other plays and other literary works.

Teaching Discourse as Momentum The patterns across language outlined above in Romeo and Juliet are matters of discourse, not simply text. Although, of course, I had to draw on matters of technical descriptive labelling in the analysis, the account itself is aimed at illuminating what readers are doing moment

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by moment across their experience of the text. This includes an account of how different moments are experienced across the reading so that we can understand different aspects are regarded by different readers as being more or less prominent. However, although it is possible for analytical statements to be wrong, readers cannot be wrong. What readers notice and experience is what we should be accounting for, as precisely and faithfully as we can. This goes beyond simply noticing bits of language in a text, however. As McCarthy and Carter (1994) argue, mere language awareness or intuitive close reading in the classroom are not good enough: what is needed is proper linguistic knowledge of text as a prerequisite for teaching the analysis of discourse. The consequence of treating text as discourse—situated, culturally positioned, and experienced by a reader—is a requirement for a revised set of practices. A discourse-based view of language involves us in looking not just at isolated, decontextualized bits of language. It involves examining how bits of language contribute to the making of complete texts. It involves exploring the relationship between the linguistic patterns of complete texts and the social contexts in which they function. It involves considering the higher-order operations of language at the interface of cultural and ideological meanings and returning to the lower-order forms of language which are often crucial to the patterning of such meanings. A discourse-based view of language also prioritizes an interactive approach to analysis of texts which takes proper account of the dynamism inherent in linguistic contexts. (McCarthy and Carter 1994: 38)

Fitting the analytical moments into the overall experience is how we understand the reader’s experience of textual momentum: it is the dynamic grammar of discourse. In a highly influential book, Trust the Text, prepared and edited by Ron Carter, the corpus and discourse linguist John Sinclair (2004) proposed a new way of regarding textuality in terms of its discoursal features. Sinclair revisits the definitions of cohesion and coherence, briefly mentioned at the start of this chapter, from a discourse perspective. He defines a text as the sentence that the reader is currently reading, which involves that reader’s experience of what has

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come before and what is anticipated to come next. He notes that when a reader arrives at a sentence in the middle of a text, the text assists the sense of coherence with the prior sentences by displaying encapsulation. This involves a readerly retrospection of what has gone before, drawing on textual features that Sinclair calls logical acts and deictic acts. Logical acts are broadly similar to the textual features of cohesion (lexical repetition, parallelism, conjunction, and other logical markers); deictic acts involve co-reference not to earlier parts of the text (anaphora) but to the reader’s current memory of those prior parts of the text (Sinclair 2004: 83–86). Importantly for our purposes here, we can draw on Sinclair’s further discussion of what creates coherence, in order to understand discourse momentum in practical, teachable terms. The reader’s retrospective experience that constitutes the text is joined by aspects of the current sentence that Sinclair suggests create prospection. In his words, “Prospection occurs where the phrasing of a sentence leads the addressee to expect something specific in the next sentence. Prospection is a major feature of text and discourse structure” (Sinclair 2004: 88). The prototype of prospection is the question, which anticipates that the following text will supply an answer or gesture towards a response of some sort. Another obvious cue for prospection is what Sinclair (2004: 88–89) calls attribution. This is where the text introduces or signals that a person is about to be quoted or their thoughts are about to be presented or represented next: all pre-quotatives such as ‘She said…’, ‘Their argument was…’, ‘The idea behind the proposal…’ would be examples of attribution. Sinclair also includes advance labelling as a form of prospection. These look like examples of forward-facing textual and compositional deixis (Stockwell 2020: 54), where elements are set up for later elaboration. A final element of prospection, that Sinclair (2004: 89– 90) does not seem to provide a term for, is where a sentence is interpreted as invoking a new topic, and there is a reasonable expectation that this topic, set up as a theme, will be elaborated later on (see Mauranen 1993). Clearly, identifying novel topicality in this way is evaluative: there is “a recognition that creation and perception of text structure is not exact or fully determined, but is subject to the process of interpretation” (Sinclair 2004: 95). However, there are stylistic signals that topicality is about to

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shift, such as explicit discourse markers as compositional deictic elements (‘moving on’, ‘the next point to make’, ‘let me introduce a new idea’), or by a phrase from a new and unfamiliar domain being introduced. Sinclair’s initial suggestions have been taken up particularly in the fields of pragmatics (see Moreno 2003) and corpus stylistics (see Busse 2020: 48–50), in order to operationalise a dynamic, process-based view of discourse. There is psychological underpinning by Gilbert and Wilson (2007). Toolan (2008, 2009), in particular, develops the proposal in order to explore ‘narrative progression’, setting out eight further textual parameters for prospection, with an emphasis on the focusing and persistence of character. For example, he points to the importance of non-factive verbs as prospective anticipations attributable to a character: “know, think, seem, appear, suspect, expect, want, need, see, look, wonder, believe, and realize” (Toolan 2008: 111). Summarising all of these schemes, we can see that with some further augmentation it can serve as the basis for a schematic of the textual moment, and an analysis that implements it can serve as an account of textual momentum in readerly experience (see Fig. 5.1). In particular, I have drawn in considerations that have been discussed within cognitive poetics, such as ambience, text-world shifts and switches, and discourse dominion from cognitive grammar (see Stockwell 2020 for an overview). I have added and reconfigured some categories here. There are parallels but an asymmetry between retrospective encapsulation and prospection, because prior elements are known so the current component completes given knowledge, whereas future components are anticipatory and as yet incomplete. For encapsulation, it is clear that quotative attribution can work backwards as well as forwards. Furthermore, the readerly sense of a sustained and consistent tone and atmosphere (collectively, ambience: see Stockwell 2014, 2017, 2020: 201–203) is a feature that will be built up from prior reading. The same applies to a sense of the genre or text-type that has been established. For prospection, I have similarly broadened out the possible anticipatory categories. Attribution includes any elements that configure the mind of a character for imminent subsequent enrichment. The presence of any signals of alternativity is likely to cue up an expectation that these ontological shifts will happen, and that a reader will shortly be returned to the textual here-and-now; a negation

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Fig. 5.1 Components of the textual moment

similarly raises an expectation of a contrastive statement to follow (these components draw on Text World Theory; see Werth 1999; Gavins 2007). Lastly, it would be a default expectation that the existing ambient setting (tone and atmosphere) and genre assignment would persist through the current sentence and beyond. I have previously suggested that the cognitive grammatical notion of dominion (see Langacker 2008: 513–515; Stockwell 2009: 177–183, 2020: 201–203) can be used to understand consistency of ambience and register. The basic principle of Sinclair’s insight remains central: text is defined as the current readerly moment, because the reader’s accumulated experience is an essential and non-separable part of the linguistics of the current moment. This reclaims pragmatic, contextual, social, and cognitive knowledge and capacity for inclusion as linguistic matters, rather

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than as extraneous context. The schematic set out here is merely a heuristic for exploring which aspects of the current sentence in focus are responsible for generating encapsulation and prospection. This offers an account of textual momentum. What would a discussion on the teaching of moments and momentum look like? It would need to treat the text as a process rather than an object, and recognise the readerly shifts from moment to moment. This would require us to, as Sinclair (2004) insists, “trust the reader”. Whatever interpretations, feelings, and effects the reader in front of us claims to be experiencing are there to be discussed—but this is done on the basis of linguistic knowledge. The exploration needs to be dynamic, temporal, processual, and must trace the movement across the reading of the text. For illustration only of some of the components of momentum, here is the opening of a novel: Mr Sniggs, the Junior Dean, and Mr Postlethwaite, the Domestic Bursar, sat alone in Mr Sniggs’ room overlooking the garden quad at Scone College. From the rooms of Sir Alastair Digby-Vane-Trumpington, two staircases away, came a confused roaring and breaking of glass. They alone of the senior members of Scone were at home that evening, for it was the night of the annual dinner of the Bollinger Club. The others were all scattered over Boar’s Hill and North Oxford at gay, contentious little parties, or at other senior common-rooms, or at the meetings of learned societies, for the annual Bollinger dinner is a difficult time for those in authority. It is not accurate to call this an annual event, because quite often the club is suspended for some years after each meeting. There is tradition behind the Bollinger; it numbers reigning kings among its past members. At the last dinner, three years ago, a fox had been brought in in a cage and stoned to death with champagne bottles. What an evening that had been! This was the first meeting since then, and from all over Europe old members had rallied for the occasion. For two days they had been pouring into Oxford: epileptic royalty from their villas of exile; uncouth peers from crumbling country seats; smooth young men of uncertain tastes from embassies and legations; illiterate lairds from wet granite hovels in the Highlands; ambitious young barristers and Conservative candidates torn from the London season and the indelicate advances of debutantes; all that was most sonorous of name and title was there for the beano.

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(Waugh 1928: 1–2).

This is the beginning of Evelyn Waugh’s first published novel, Decline and Fall . As an opening, there is little encapsulation to be done, although the first sentence encapsulates the characters of Sniggs and Postlethwaite as if they already existed and had a past life, and similarly Scone College is presumed, and the definite article in ‘the garden quad’ encapsulates its prior existence. These are all examples of apparent encapsulation, common in narrative fictions that begin in medias res. As the reader moves into the story, several of these world-building elements are bundled up and encapsulated, rendering a coherent setting. There are very many of these, for example: ‘two staircases away’ is a cohesive tie by ellipsis of ‘away from Mr Sniggs’ room’; ‘They alone’ creates an anaphoric link with the two men; ‘of the senior members’ establishes information about their characters; ‘that evening’ is an anaphoric reference to the time of the first two sentences, and ‘it was the night’ co-refers to that evening; even the ‘for’ in ‘for it was the night’ is a logical connector that establishes cohesion. There are very many such cohesive ties enforcing encapsulation throughout the second paragraph as well, which can be explored in more detail than is possible in this chapter. The key questions to ask in order to explore a passage like this are: • • • • •

how is a sense of place established? how are people introduced and characterised? how is the tone established? how does the text accumulate the story in your mind? how does the narrative move?

In terms of prospection, there are many ways in which these key areas can be addressed. For example, ‘overlooking the garden quad at Scone College’ is a topicalisation that places the location of the action for the entire chapter that follows. The ‘confused roaring and breaking of glass’ sets up a causal action that is likely to be explained shortly, and indeed this is satisfied by ‘the annual dinner of the Bollinger Club’. The thematisation and topicalisation of ‘There is tradition’ anticipate the potted history of the club that follows, drawing the reader through appalling

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events and objectionable people. ‘For two days they had been pouring into Oxford:’ looks cataphorically (the colon is prototypically cataphorical) towards the list of character-types that follow, each introduced in a syntactically parallel pattern: ‘Xs from Y’, until the final item replaces ‘from Y’ with ‘torn from the London season and the indelicate advances of debutantes’. The establishment of the pattern and then its disruption creates the bathetic humour. The tone is set up by the location and by drawing on a reader’s possible cultural associations of 1920s Oxford university, the ‘Bollinger Club’ (clearly an amalgam of Bolinger champagne and the crudely disguised Bullingdon Club), and maybe even Scone College (John Balliol, founder of Balliol College, was the father of another John who was crowned King of Scotland at Scone in 1292). The tone of the narrative mind is also established and sustained. The exclamation, ‘What an evening that had been!’ is comically aligned with the presumed viewpoint of the attendees at the Club. The elevated and witty register throughout is undercut by more colloquial interjections such as this one, and the final switch from the register of ‘sonorous of name and title’ to ‘beano’. The prospection from this last point of the excerpt clearly points to the narrative moving on next to an account of this year’s events in the rest of the chapter. As an opening, the momentum established by this passage is highly effective, I think, in building up the world, characters, tone, and plot of the narrative, and drawing a reader’s attention into the story. Individual readers can report how their own focus is shifted and moved, moment by moment, across the passage, using the simple schematic set out above as a means of scaffolding their own analysis.

Review of Principles An approach of the sort outlined in this chapter has several notable implications, both in practical terms and theoretically. First, I have offered a practical means of undertaking a moment analysis and building it into an analysis of momentum. For necessary succinctness here, I presented two analyses in summary, rather than operationalising them step-bystep for immediate classroom use. Furthermore, the schematic set out in

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Fig. 5.1 has not been exhaustively applied in this chapter. It is my hope that further work and applications can be drawn from the ideas initially presented here. Second—and related to this practical potential—some knowledge of linguistics is essential for undertaking this sort of analysis; mere language awareness or close reading will not do. Such knowledge needs to be disciplined, systematic, and coherent, so that students and teachers alike can undertake these sorts of discussions at ease with an assured and common currency of concepts and terms for the features they are describing. Third, the approach set out in this chapter reclaims matters of pragmatics, participant knowledge, experience, memory and feeling, and issues of context as being within the compass of the discipline of linguistics. This is an important point. For too long in the history of the field, contextual matters such as these have been bracketed off from a sense of a self-defined “core linguistics” that has been unreformedly structuralist (see Harris 2002). In fact, issues of form and meaning, communicativeness and significance, interpretation and feeling are inextricably part of language, and separating these out simply generates an object of investigation from what is left that is partial and indeed non-viable as an object of study. I align myself with the ethos set out by McCarthy and Carter (1994), quoted near the beginning of this chapter, that the proper analysis for linguistics is to view “language as discourse”. Ron Carter would often say (in personal communication with me) that all linguistics was applied linguistics. The fourth implication of my argument here is a consequence for my own field of literary linguistics and stylistics: thinking about how to place discourse and process centrally in stylistic analysis offers a useful corrective to all of us. Texts viewed as discourse are necessarily dynamic and protean objects, and require a corresponding analytical approach. Sometimes our models and frameworks for analysis become fossilised and static, and we do need to remind ourselves constantly that language itself is not like that. Fifth, there is a practical methodological consequence of the approach taken in this chapter: whatever readers say about their own reading is worth discussing, treating seriously, and being trusted as the starting point for textual analysis. Even if a reader’s view of their own experience seems to be at odds with an analytical view, the reader’s perspective still

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needs to be explained and understood. If that explanation also involves those readers, in ways for example that might invite them to revise, re-evaluate, or reinforce their own views, then that too would be a pedagogic success. Reading does not happen in a single moment, but also as part of a process, a series of moments, and an experience of momentum. Finally, then, this approach redefines what a text is, away from a static structured object, but centrally towards a view of textuality based on the principle of moments.

References Barthes, Roland. 1977. Image, music, text, trans. and ed. Stephen Heath. London: Fontana. de Beaugrande, Robert. 1980. Text, discourse and process. Norwood: Ablex. Birch, David. 1989. “Working effects with words”—Whose words? Stylistics and reader intertextuality. In Language, discourse and literature: An introductory reader in discourse stylistics, ed. Ronald Carter and Paul Simpson, 257–273. London: Unwin Hyman. Blommaert, Jan. 2013. Ethnography, superdiversity and linguistic landscapes. Bristol: Channel View Publications. Blommaert, Jan, and Jie Dong. 2010. Ethnographic fieldwork: A beginner’s guide. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Brown, Gillian, and George Yule. 1983. Discourse analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Busse, Beatrix. 2020. Speech, writing, and thought presentation in 19th-century narrative fiction: A corpus-assisted approach. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Crystal, David. 2005. Pronouncing Shakespeare. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DeCourcy, Delia, Lyn Fairchild, and Robin Follet. 2007. Teaching Romeo and Juliet: A differentiated approach. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English. Eikmeyer, Hans-Jürgen. 1983. Procedural analysis of discourse. Text 3 (1): 11– 37. Emmott, Catherine. 1997. Narrative comprehension: A discourse perspective. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Fowler, Roger. 1991. Language in the news: Discourse and ideology in the press. London: Routledge. Gavins, Joanna. 2007. Text world theory. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Gilbert, Daniel T., and Timothy D. Wilson. 2007. Prospection: Experiencing the future. Science 317 (5843): 1351–1354. Giovanelli, Marcello. 2013. Text world theory and Keats’ poetry. London: Continuum. Hall, Kira, and Mary Bucholtz, eds. 1995. Gender articulated: Language and the socially-constructed self . New York: Routledge. Halliday, Michael A.K., and Ruqaiya Hasan. 1976. Cohesion in English. London: Longman. Halliday, Michael A.K., and Ruqaiya Hasan. 1985. Language, context, and text: Aspects of language in a social-semiotic perspective. Geelong: Deakin University. Halliday, Michael A.K., M.I.M. Christian, and Matthiessen. 2014. An introduction to functional grammar, 4th ed. London: Hodder. Harris, Tony. 2002. Linguistics in applied linguistics: A historical overview. Journal of English Studies 3: 99–114. Hollander, John. 1975. Vision and resonance: Two senses of poetic form. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hunt, Maurice, ed. 2000. Approaches to teaching Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. New York: Modern Language Association of America. Ingarden, Roman. 1973. The literary work of art: An investigation on the borderlines of ontology, logic, and theory of literature, trans. George G. Grabowics, from the 3rd edn of Das literarische Kunstwerk, 1965; after a Polish revised translation, 1960; from the original German, 1931). Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Ingarden, Roman. 1986. The work of music and the problem of its identity. Trans. Adam Czerniawski, ed. Jean G. Harrell. Berkeley: University of California Press. Johnstone, Barbara. 2000. Qualitative methods in sociolinguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lakoff, George. 1990. The invariance hypothesis: Is abstract reason based on image-schemas? Cognitive Linguistics 1 (1): 39–74. Lampert, R. Brigham. 2008. Advanced placement classroom: Romeo and Juliet. Waco: Prufrock Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 2008. Cognitive grammar: A basic introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Mauranen, Anna. 1993. Theme and prospection in written discourse. In Text and technology: In honour of John Sinclair, ed. Mona Baker, Gill Francis, and Elena Tognini-Bonelli, 95–114. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. McCarthy, Michael, and Ronald Carter. 1994. Language as discourse: Perspectives for language teaching. London: Longman. McGann, Jerome J. 1991. The textual condition. Princeton: Princeton University Press. McLoughlin, Nigel F. 2016. Into the futures of their makers: A cognitive poetic analysis of reversals, accelerations and shifts in time in the poems of Eavan Boland. In World building: Discourse in the mind , ed. Joanna Gavins and Ernestine Lahey, 259–276. London: Bloomsbury. Moreno, Ana I. 2003. The role of cohesive devices as textual constraints on relevance: A discourse-as-process view. International Journal of English Studies 3 (1): 111–165. O’Brien, Peggy. 2006. Teaching A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Romeo and Juliet, and Macbeth. London: Simon & Schuster. Scollon, Ron. 1998. Mediated discourse as social interaction: A study of news discourse. New York: Longman. Scollon, Ron. 2001. Mediated discourse: The nexus of practice. London: Routledge. Scollon, Ron, and Suzie Wong Scollon. 2004. Nexus analysis: Discourse and the emerging internet. London: Routledge. Shakespeare, William. 1595. The most excellent and lamentable tragedie, of Romeo and Juliet. Performed: London. Sinclair, John McH. 2004. Trust the text: Language, corpus and discourse, ed. Ronald Carter. London: Routledge. St˛eszewski, Jan. 2004. Roman Ingarden’s theory of intentional musical work. Muzikologija 4: 155–165. Stockwell, Peter. 1992. The metaphorics of literary reading. Liverpool Papers in Language and Discourse 4: 52–80. Stockwell, Peter. 1999. The inflexibility of invariance. Language and Literature 8 (2): 125–142. Stockwell, Peter. 2009. Texture: A cognitive aesthetics of reading. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Stockwell, Peter. 2014. Atmosphere and tone. In The Cambridge handbook of stylistics, ed. Peter Stockwell and Sara Whiteley, 360–374. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stockwell, Peter. 2016. The language of surrealism. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Stockwell, Peter. 2017. Poe’s Gothic ambience. In Edgar Allan Poe across disciplines, genres and languages, ed. Linda Barone and Alfonso Amendola, 7–23. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Stockwell, Peter. 2020. Cognitive poetics, 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Thompson, Geoff. 2004. Introducing functional grammar, 3rd ed. London: Hodder. Toolan, Michael. 2008. Narrative progression in the short story: First steps in a corpus stylistic approach. Narrative 16 (2): 105–120. Toolan, Michael. 2009. Narrative progression in the short story: A corpus stylistic approach. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Waugh, Evelyn. 1928. Decline and fall . London: Chapman & Hall. Werth, Paul. 1999. Text worlds: Representing conceptual space in discourse. London: Longman. Wilson, Adrian. 2012. What is a text? Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 43: 341–358.

6 Cognitive Grammar in the Classroom: A Case Study Marcello Giovanelli and Chloe Harrison

Abstract Recent studies in stylistics have identified how Cognitive Grammar offers an innovative model for analysing texts. Like other cognitive-linguistic models, Cognitive Grammar is premised on the idea of embodiment, emphasizing that the way we physically interact with the world around us impacts on our production and reception of language. Though it presents a plausible model of discourse that is psychologically grounded, Cognitive Grammar’s notorious complexity and theoretical origins have meant that few studies have highlighted its potential as a pedagogical grammar in L1 contexts. Combining an analysis of the pedagogical affordances of the model with research on reframing theoretical M. Giovanelli (B) · C. Harrison Aston University, Birmingham, UK e-mail: [email protected] C. Harrison e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_6

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models of grammar for the classroom, teacher knowledge and crossphase collaboration, this chapter explores and reflects on the process of (re)conceptualizing Cognitive Grammar as a pedagogical resource in secondary English teaching.

Introduction In recent years, Cognitive Grammar (Langacker 2008) has emerged as one of the most genuinely innovative and useful analytical methods in contemporary stylistics (for example, Stockwell 2009; Harrison et al. 2014; Harrison 2017; Giovanelli et al. 2018; Nuttall 2018; Browse 2019; Giovanelli et al. 2021). Despite, however, offering a psychologically plausible model of discourse and being, in our opinion, genuinely intuitive, Cognitive Grammar’s notorious complexity and theoretical origins have meant that very few studies have highlighted its potential as a pedagogical grammar in L1 contexts. This lack of coverage is perhaps surprising given its growing currency in L2 studies (for example, Holme 2009; Llopis-García 2010; Kermer 2016). In this chapter, we examine the potential for using ideas from Cognitive Grammar in an L1 context by outlining a recent project where we worked with a group of UK secondary school teachers across two workshops held at Aston University in 2019. The workshops focused on collaborative work and the shared designing of teaching and learning materials for the secondary classroom, which were published as a free downloadable PDF of learning activities. Our chapter is structured in the following way. First, we discuss the potential pedagogical affordances of Cognitive Grammar and consider issues related to the reframing of theoretical models of grammar for the classroom, teacher knowledge and cross-phase collaboration. Then, drawing on a case study approach, we examine the impact of the project on the working practices of three of the teachers who participated. Our data were generated from a post-project questionnaire that was used to create a set of narratives outlining how the participants perceived their experience of Cognitive Grammar, the ways in which they integrated it into their teaching, its affordances and challenges, and its impact on their professional identities. In our final

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section, we offer some closing summative reflections on our own experience as university academics collaborating with schoolteachers and on the process of (re)conceptualizing Cognitive Grammar as a pedagogical resource and producing learning materials.

Cognitive Grammar as a Pedagogical Grammar Although the main premise of Cognitive Grammar is actually very intuitive, some of its ideas can be hard to grasp. Indeed, we have sometimes encountered a resistance to it from our own students, as well as from other academics. One criticism often aimed at the theory is that it is too complicated and therefore may be difficult to use in learning contexts. For example, Pihlaja (2019: 65) argues that Cognitive Grammar may appear ‘notoriously difficult to read and understand’, and Heath (2014: 276) suggests that ‘its idiosyncratic notation and terminology that leave some readers cold’. These comments, however, seem at odds with the potential affordances of Cognitive Grammar, most notably its psychological plausibility and its fit more broadly within the generalization and cognitive commitments (Lakoff 1990: 46) that emphasize continuities across the language system and between language and cognition more generally. As a theory within a broader ‘enterprise’ (Evans 2009: 246) of cognitive linguistics, Cognitive Grammar models language as usagebased, situated and embodied. usage based, situated and embodied and often draws on spatial and visual analogies. ln particular, the notion of construal (Langacker 2008), which refers to the inherent meaningfulness of the arrangement of conceptual content through specific lexico-grammatical choices, provides a clear meaning-orientated theory of grammar that we believe has significant pedagogical merit. An example of how Cognitive Grammar might provide useful insights beyond the scope of other grammars can be seen in how it conceives the active and passive voice, dealt with in more traditional grammars as a simple transformation that switches around the subject and object of the clause.

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1. The soldier killed the enemy 2. The enemy was killed by the soldier 3. The enemy was killed In Cognitive Grammar, Sentence 1 in the active voice draws attention to or ‘profiles’ (Langacker 2008: 66) both parts of the scene: the agent responsible for the action (the soldier); and the patient affected by the action (the enemy). In the active voice, attention is further distributed across each of these participants so that one is the primary focus of attention (the trajector) while the other is backgrounded (the landmark). In Sentence 1, the status of trajector is thus assigned to the soldier. In Sentence 2, however, the trajector-landmark alignment is re-arranged so that the trajector/subject is now the patient. Sentence 3 only profiles part of the overall action so that the agent is now removed or defocused. These grammatical reconfigurations can be explained using a natural and intuitive metaphor (the focusing of attention) but they also, crucially, are meaningful: Sentence 1 foregrounds agency, while Sentence 2 backgrounds it and Sentence 3 removes it altogether. Clearly then, these alternative construals can be assessed with regard to what they emphasize to a speaker/listener as important and what they downplay. In our own teaching, time and time again we each have found that using the attention analogy to explore this grammatical phenomenon has greatly improved students’ understanding of the inherent ideology behind language choices, allowing them to interpret texts critically and indeed transfer these ideas across to use in their own writing. These characteristics, unlike more traditional, or even functional models of language, foreground the cognitive, the social, and the experiential equally, and thus have affordances for the classroom at all levels. Potentially then, Cognitive Grammar could be as useful as the various manifestations of functional grammar that have proved to be valuable tools in the classroom, both in the explicit teaching of grammar and more generally as part of a programme of language awareness for secondary school students (see Christie 2010; Hancock et al. 2010; Myhill et al. 2012; Rose and Martin 2012; Giovanelli 2014 for an argument regarding the value of cognitive-linguistic approaches in the classroom

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more broadly). We also believe that Cognitive Grammar offers opportunities for a more nuanced and conscious meta-reflection about language both for teacher and student. In this way, it is close to offering what Halliday, writing about the affordances of his own systemic functional grammar, terms ‘grammatics’, ‘a way of using grammar to think with’ (Halliday 2002: 416; see also Giovanelli 2014; Giovanelli and Mason 2015 for the notion of a ‘cognitive grammatics’), and coheres with Carter’s (1982: 8) point that linguistics has value in offering a ‘foundation for classroom language teaching’ to support language awareness more broadly. Our belief in the value of Cognitive Grammar, both as an explicit method for analysis and as a theory of language that supports language awareness for our students more generally, motivated us to write our undergraduate textbook Cognitive Grammar in Stylistics: A Practical Guide (Giovanelli and Harrison 2018), the first extended pedagogical resource on Cognitive Grammar for the L1 classroom. In it, we aimed to present the key concepts, ideas and methods within Langacker’s theory in a more accessible way than had been previously done (see Giovanelli et al. 2021 for an overview of and reflection on the writing process). We launched our book at an international symposium held at Aston University in September 2018, which attracted the world’s leading scholars working in Cognitive Grammar in stylistics and eventually led to an edited collection (Giovanelli et al. 2021). We were surprised at the time that the event also attracted schoolteachers many of whom, after seeing the event and book advertised on social media, expressed an interest in Cognitive Grammar, and some of whom attended the event itself. We believe that it may have been the case that those teachers were attracted to the conference due to the reach of social media, or the perceived usefulness of an event in which ‘grammar’ was mentioned. It may even have been because two of the papers focused on the use of Cognitive Grammar in secondary school settings. This provided us with the motivation to think about what we could do in terms of running an event that was more directed towards secondary teachers. We were aware, however, that our own commitment to using Cognitive Grammar in our undergraduate classes and in seeing its potential value in a broader educational sense would not automatically translate to

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the theory being useful for younger students and their teachers. And we were also aware that the history and practice of grammar teaching generally in English secondary schools has been complex, problematic and connected to various and often competing ideological and professional stances (Hudson and Walmsley 2005; Clark 2010; Giovanelli 2014). In fact there is, of course, no straightforward way of translating a complex theory of language like Cognitive Grammar into an operational set of classroom activities. Generally, the process by which an academic subject becomes actualized as a school one is part of a complex process of recontextualization that relies on the interplay of top-down policymaking and curriculum design, and bottom-up teacher-led curriculum enactment and practice, what Bernstein (1991) calls ‘pedagogic discourse’. There is a body of emerging work where researchers have worked with practitioners to adopt cognitive-linguistic principles in their teaching (Giovanelli 2010, 2014, 2016a, 2017; Cushing 2019, 2021; Cushing and Giovanelli 2019) although most of these have been on a relatively small scale and have been successful because teachers are hand-picked to suit the research design and thus are motivated and willing participants. We address this issue of working with teachers directly in the next section of this chapter.

Working with Teachers: Knowledge, Identities and Partnerships A challenge when working with secondary English teachers in some aspect of language study is the fact that, in England, the majority of teachers tend to have academic backgrounds in English literature rather than English language (Giovanelli 2016b) which in itself is viewed as a better preparation for teaching the English curriculum (Blake and Shortis 2010). In addition to this imbalance in status, a relative lack of time offered to genuinely useful language work on PGCE programmes (the postgraduate certificate of education teaching qualification) and the rise in England recently of more school-based teacher training outside of universities have meant that language awareness content for would-be secondary English teachers has remained patchy (Bluett

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et al. 2004; Giovanelli 2016b). Indeed, the problem is made more acute by the fact that there is a clear and embedded ‘compartmentalization’ (Giovanelli 2020: 3) of English into ‘language’ and ‘literature’ in compulsory secondary education in England, which is underpinned by the assessment system where ‘language’ and ‘literature’ are offered discretely at GCSE (16 years old) and A-level (18 years old). Although there is a combined A-level in ‘English language and literature’, in reality, this may be taught as separate parts by specialist teachers rather than being presented and delivered as an integrated whole (Clark et al. 2015). This identity of ‘subject English’ has its roots in longstanding divisions in higher education (see Williamson 2009) so that English teachers may have also experienced this language-literature split in their own undergraduate programmes. In turn, English graduates often come into secondary teaching with their own ‘personal subject construct’ (Goodwyn 2010: 71) which is related to the emotional and transformational effects of reading and discussing literature (see also Goodwyn 2002, 2010; Ellis 2003), largely in either the Leavisite tradition as civilizing and self-developing, or else within the parameters of more postmodern concerns such as cultural materialism, new historicism and various critical theories. Aside from those who have attended a small selection of institutions, both language work and the integrated study of language and literature may be largely missing from their experience and are therefore unlikely to be a natural part of their own ideas around what English teaching could and should be. One consequence of the landscape described above is a perpetuating cycle of a lack of linguistic training which may have undesirable effects in terms of teachers’ awareness of their own abilities to work with students on language topics and may cause anxiety in the classroom and a threat to subject identity. For example, Sangster Anderson, and O’Hara (2013) demonstrate that beginning teachers often misjudge how much linguistic knowledge they have, while Watson (2012) highlights the despair teachers from non-linguistic backgrounds may feel when asked to teach grammar. Teachers in the latter study spoke of their anxiety and fear around subject knowledge, a sense of boredom when teaching language topics compared to literary texts, and even a concern that they would pass their own anxieties and dislike of grammar

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on to their students and so affect enjoyment of the subject. Similarly, Cushing (2018) highlights how some teachers in his study used particularly unpleasant metaphors to express their own negative stance on grammar teaching. A common example was conceptualizing grammar as a disease illustrated in comments such as ‘Grammar is like a virus that has spread’ and ‘it’s like the subject is diseased with grammar’ (Cushing 2018: 176). Other studies have, however, presented a more positive picture, demonstrating that teaching English language may have a beneficial impact on both teachers’ classroom practice and on their professional identities. In a series of interviews with seven teachers, all from nonlinguistic backgrounds, who reflected on their experience of teaching A-level English Language for the first time, Giovanelli (2015) demonstrates that although participants may have initially felt anxious and threatened both personally and professionally, teaching English language provided them with a valuable set of experiences. For many of them these experiences marked the start of a new emerging—and positive—identity as a teacher of English language and literature more broadly. The potential threat to identity means that any researcher-practitioner work needs to be carefully considered. For example, Giovanelli (2016a) outlines how he worked with one teacher over a period of several months to examine ways in which that practitioner might introduce some ideas from cognitive linguistics into her classroom teaching both explicitly, and in Carter’s (1982) sense to provide a foundation for classroom practice more broadly. Giovanelli explains how researcher and practitioner discussed readings from academic literature and possibilities for lessons and reflected on a range of pedagogical practices (see also Giovanelli 2017; Cushing and Giovanelli 2019) over that time, sharing expertise and co-constructing knowledge. A similar approach is taken by Cushing (2019), who draws on design-based research (Anderson and Shattuck 2012), a partnership-based model geared towards developing meaningful intervention strategies and teaching ideas through researcher-practitioner collaboration which is non-hierarchical and embedded within iterative conversations about classroom practice. Such models of partnership therefore point towards a more inclusive and enabling set of working parameters that researchers in higher

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education and practising teachers might have. Indeed, Gravani (2008) highlights the importance of cross-phase partnership where knowledge production is understood as a shared activity rather than one based on information being given to a teacher in a ‘top-down’ fashion, described by van der Aalsvoort and Kroon (2015) as a model of ‘transmission’ where academics are positioned as knowledge generators and teachers merely as translators of that research. Instead, a partnership model offers what John and Prior (2003: 172) term ‘new forms of discourse communities, where teachers can share their own knowledge of classrooms, children, subjects and pedagogy with researchers’. In practice, finding this balance may be difficult but we were determined to work with teachers and to draw on their expertise in domain-specific (i.e. secondary) pedagogy in order to contextualize and generate new insights around the potential of Cognitive Grammar for the classroom. We saw our role then as one part of an overall process of collaborative work that extended across the workshops—and indeed into the final e-book that was published—rather than simply providing some input and then leaving it to teachers to work out how to use this material on their own.

The Cognitive Grammar in the Classroom Project The two workshops were made possible due to internal funding from Aston University, awarded to support developing interdisciplinary and collaborative partnership research, which allowed us to run the days without an attendance charge and include lunch and refreshments so as to create a friendly atmosphere. We advertised the days on social media and through our own networks. We targeted the workshops both at those who were enthusiastic teachers of language already and at those who wanted to develop their knowledge and skills. Given that Cognitive Grammar would be new to almost all who attended, we encouraged participation from a wide range of attendees with different levels of experience. We were able to advertise up to thirty places, all of which were taken very quickly.

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We decided to run two days to allow for the explanation of some key concepts in Cognitive Grammar (Day 1) and then for teachers to return to us once they had had a chance of working with these concepts in their own school and classroom contexts (Day 2). Although the Day 1 content was therefore largely theoretical rather than pedagogical in orientation, we constantly encouraged the teachers to discuss with us and each other how these ideas about language might be actualized as classroom activities. We were keen for them to relate Cognitive Grammar principles to broader phenomena such as representation and point of view, which would be topics in teachers’ own everyday contexts within examination specifications and the different varieties of texts (literary, non-literary, media, drama and film) they would use in the classroom. We also wanted to encourage reflection on Cognitive Grammar as an explicit kind of ‘cognitive grammatics’ in the Hallidayan sense that we described earlier in this chapter. During Day 1 (April 2019), we covered the following topics. • An introduction to cognitive linguistics and Cognitive Grammar: embodied cognition, usage-based linguistics and the relationship between grammatical form and meaning. • Construal: to explore this concept we drew on visual analogies and Langacker’s own ‘stage model’ (Langacker 2008: 356) for describing how language is used to focus attention on some aspect of a scene. We then explained some of the construal phenomena (specificity, prominence and perspective). • Reference points and action chains: discourse coherence and clause structure. • Grounding and modality: definiteness and subjectivity in language. The workshop was very successful, and we were genuinely surprised at the positive responses we received.1 Feedback from participants included: • The concept of Cognitive Grammar was transformed from the complex to an easy to follow format […] a fantastic day and chance to develop my pedagogy

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• Well presented, fresh ideas—provided lots of scope to be adapted for the classroom—will bring a new perspective to lang and lit analysis • Thank you. Loved it. Really made me think about language • Can’t believe how much I’ve learnt in one day! So grateful for this event. Thank you! • A chance for me to learn lots of new analytical approaches and terminology for both lang and lit texts • A brain workout! […] a fascinating day • Five hours of English CPD—unheard of!2 At the end of Day 1, we invited teachers to return to us for Day 2 (July 2019) to share what they had covered in the classroom. Twelve teachers in total were able to attend this second session where they gave short presentations outlining what they had used with their classes, including ideas for lessons, resources and examples of student work which then formed the basis for discussion and reflection during the rest of the day. Six of those teachers then wrote up their classroom activities to form the resource Cognitive Grammar in the Classroom (Harrison and Giovanelli 2020), which was published by Oxford University Press and made freely available as a PDF on their website.

Methodology The analysis section of this chapter outlines narratives drawn from case studies to examine in more detail the ways in which three of our teacher participants reacted to and learnt from their experiences as part of the project. We used a multiple case approach (Miles and Huberman 1994), which allowed us to capture a range of perspectives on the project and process but, given the space constraints of this chapter and to allow us to examine the richness of each of the cases in an appropriate level of detail, we restrict our attention here to three single participants. The process was as follows: each participant was provided with a questionnaire which asked them a series of questions about their teaching background; their confidence in their ability to teach English Language; how they implemented ideas from Cognitive Grammar in their classroom teaching;

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and, finally, their thoughts and reflections on the process. The following sections bring together the participant responses. Each participant has been anonymized (P1, P2 and P3).

Case Study 1 Teaching Background The first teacher (P1) in our study had been teaching for a total of seven years previously. P1 had studied for a degree in English literature, with modules in creative writing, and had experience teaching both literature and language at GCSE and A-level. Her motivation for attending the sessions was, specifically, to develop her knowledge of grammar: P1 noted that she did not have much confidence in teaching grammar and observed that while she felt she had knowledge of the ‘basic rules of grammar’, she felt compelled to revise and revisit the content numerous times before teaching lessons. Through these workshops, P1 was hoping for some guidance on ‘practical exercises’ that could be carried out with students in the classroom. P1 also stated that she sought new ways of exploring the application of grammar for both creative writing and literary study, opening up the implementation of Cognitive Grammar ideas across the curriculum.

Reframing Cognitive Grammar for the Secondary English Classroom P1 trialled Cognitive Grammar lessons with a Year 9 top set group (comprising a range of middle and high ability students) who lacked confidence in their ability to carry out linguistic analysis. Specifically, these students struggled with discussions of the effects of language choices on the reader and audience, and instead tended to feature spot linguistic phenomena such as metaphors and similes. P1 observed that the GCSE mark scheme emphasizes the effect of language choices on readers3 and therefore identified that addressing these problem areas was a priority. To help bridge this gap between linguistic form and literary

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effect, P1 decided to focus on the Cognitive Grammar concepts of trajector and landmark relationships and specificity, which she considered to be easy to identify in the text and yet had clear interpretative significance within the literary contexts studied. She also decided to draw on containment schemas and clausal types and patterns with particular classes. P1 introduced the terminology in stages so the students could become familiar with the ideas and concepts before their application. She also modelled some example analyses before asking the students to carry out independent activities and applied these activities across poetry, prose and creative writing classes. Details of the teaching plans are outlined below.

Poetry The first Cognitive Grammar classroom activity was adapted for a GCSE scheme of work on identity. For each poem, the students were asked to first carry out some basic stylistic analysis: they were instructed to identify which language choices were being foregrounded, and then to highlight any recurring patterns or examples of deviation throughout each text. After this initial analysis, the students were further asked to explore choices of specificity: how changes and elaborations in lexical choice related to the main themes or central labels of the poem. For example, the students carried out an examination of the connotations of shifting labels (‘terrorist’, ‘freedom fighter’, ‘hostile militant’, ‘child’, ‘son’) in the poem ‘The Right Word’ by Imtiaz Dharker, and were given additional questions to orientate the discussion towards a consideration of the effect. These questions included prompts such as: What images are created? What is the narrator’s viewpoint or perspective? Pairing the close analysis with language with some more general questions about themes and narrative voice enabled students to return to wider implications, functions and interpretive effects of these language choices in context.

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Drama For this class, P1 focused on containment schemas in an extract (one the students had previously studied) from Romeo and Juliet . The students were guided through an analysis of the schemas through being asked, firstly, to identify the use of prepositions in the text, and whether there were any descriptions of physical and/or mental boundaries. This analysis was then replicated, along with a consideration of clause types (stative, dynamic, cognitive) in an extract from the play Journey’s End .

Creative Writing Finally, for the Creative Writing group, P1 set up some questions that asked students to consider a series of writing ‘starter’ activities: • Determiners and specificity—Students were given a picture as a stimulus and the vocabulary necessary to understand the task. They were then asked to describe the scene using ‘the’, ‘a’ and specific names. Then answer the following: – – – –

Which technique gives the writing greater specificity? Which one gives less specificity? What is the effect? Which one should you use in creative writing?

This instruction, for example, combined concepts of construal to encourage students to think about the representation of perspective as prompted by a visual image (which in turn echoes some of the visual analogies of construal operations as referenced in the original theory [Langacker 2008: 55]). These prompts encouraged students to consider how such descriptions might be encoded in writing through particular language choices and ‘techniques’, such as particular choices determiners, which can alternately elicit greater schematicity or specificity.

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Reflections On the implementation of Cognitive Grammar concepts in their discussions, P1 observed that the students were ‘a little unsure’ at first, but felt ‘more at ease’ once they had become comfortable applying the terms, and had thought about ‘how it impacted them as readers’, specifically. After completing the workshops and carrying out these classroom exercises, P1 similarly noted an increase in self-assurance in her own abilities. She commented on the fact that conventionally there had been a focus on ‘being able to say what an adverb was rather than the way in which it was used’ (which evokes another negatively framed metaphor for describing grammar, grammar is a rule book, which Cushing identifies in his [2018] study). Thinking about grammatical constructions in this way, however, had enabled her, in her own words, to move ‘away from the traditional, prescriptive thoughts of grammar and [instead] consider different elements to it and how it can be useful for developing how students respond to a text’. P1’s successful application of concepts from Cognitive Grammar for both creative writing and literature teaching led her to conclude that the theory could be employed usefully for ‘students in all aspects of the English curriculum’. Finally, P1 described how her experience helped develop her sense of teacher identity in a positive way. She felt that they had become a ‘specialist in these ideas’ and that she had the confidence to develop her own ‘discussions of literature and language in greater depth’, on the one hand, and was able to ‘offer more ideas to students and colleagues’ alike, on the other. P1 described how this had manifested in her teaching by identifying how some of the classroom applications, such as the ‘starters’ in the creative writing scheme of work, had been implemented by students and colleagues alike. Though acknowledging this positive transformation, she nevertheless noted that there was an ongoing ‘issue of a lack of confidence’ among the other teachers which prevented these ideas from being utilized more widely.

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Case Study 2 Teaching Background The second teacher (P2) in our study had also been teaching for a total of seven years. P2 previously studied an undergraduate course in English and History, and had taught a combination of literature and language at secondary level, predominantly within key stages three through to five. She had also taught A-level English Language and Literature for three years. P2 identified a new and ongoing interest in stylistics, but also noted that she had limited confidence in teaching grammar and that she needed support and time to carry out detailed research before implementing it in a classroom context. P2 said that she wished to improve her grammar knowledge and awareness as she worried that her knowledge was lacking and that students were becoming comparatively more proficient in this area.

Reframing Cognitive Grammar for the Secondary English Classroom In a similar way to P1, P2 implemented Cognitive Grammar for teaching across the curriculum. Unlike P1, however, she used Cognitive Grammar activities across a range of year groups and for a range of topics: she incorporated the concepts in a Key Stage 4 literature class (second year of GCSE study), a Year 7 Creative Writing Class exploring a Gothic writing scheme, and a Year 8 class studying Romeo and Juliet . P2 also isolated particular concepts from construal (specificity and granularity) and explored clause structures (dynamic and stative verbs). For the Key Stage 4 literature class, P2 wanted the students to develop ‘a clearer argument in their essays’, and for the Year 7 Creative Writers she hoped to encourage and ‘to develop methods of zooming in and zooming out for descriptive detail’. Finally, for the Year 8 Romeo and Juliet group, P2 expected the students would be able to demonstrate how clause and verb profiles highlight wider thematic concerns of the text, such as, for example, the representation of conflict in particular scenes.

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P2 modelled analyses for all three groups before setting up specific tasks and activities, as outlined in sections ‘Year 11 (Key Stage 4) Literature Class’, ‘Year 7 Creative Writing’,and ‘Year 8 Romeo and Juliet’.

Year 11 (Key Stage 4) Literature Class This class was focused on the students’ own writing choices, rather than on observing a linguistic phenomenon within a literary text. P2 planned to move away from the ‘PEE’ (Point, Evidence, Evaluation) formula for paragraphing, which the students had been using for a while and had become ‘disaffected’ with. In order to implement ideas about granularity and specificity in this class context, P2 did not refer back to ‘specific terminology for Key Stage 4’, but instead ‘focused on the exam specification wording’. The plan was for the class to write a few paragraphs together as a group, exploring how synonyms can be used to create more specific or schematic statements. The instructions were that ‘[s]tudents would state a point using an adjective and then consider synonyms to create a clear argument’. As a result of this exercise, P2 observed that a number of students developed their thesis statements through the task, and clear progress was made in their approaches to their essays after the session. Such an approach could be said to encourage students to move away from a more rigid outline for writing and instead invite greater reflection on the meaning of central thesis statements, and on how these can be developed and more fully specified across a discussion.

Year 7 Creative Writing In this creative writing class, students were provided with a number of extracts to discuss. The aim was for the students to explore the linguistic choices which create atmosphere and mood in Gothic writing, and, consequently, to encourage them to move between macro- and microdescriptions in their own writing. This zooming-in structure equipped the students with a clear model for developing and capturing the textuality of atmosphere more successfully.

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Year 8 Romeo and Juliet For the Year 8 class on clause types and verb profiles, P2 discussed the agency and energy attached to verbs in order to explore representations of conflict, and how verbs function interpretively when profiled in relation to different characters. The modelled examples considered the representation of conflict in Romeo and Juliet , in particular. The clause types and verbs were included throughout their conflict-themed essay at the end of the scheme, which P2 described as ‘a success’.

Reflections P2 noted that, since undertaking the classroom activities, the students implemented these strategies successfully and effectively in their work. P2 also described how she felt more confident in teaching grammar and that it was something she now felt prepared to discuss more spontaneously, rather than having to undertake advance detailed preparation. P2 observed how this felt particularly ‘empowering’ as a teacher, and that she had now been able to implement these ideas across all of her classes. Again, P2 argued for the application and awareness of grammar constructions for all secondary English teaching.

Case Study 3 Teaching Background The third teacher in our study (P3) had been teaching for eighteen years, mostly in secondary education, although she also had some experience in further education teaching. P3 undertook a Combined Studies B.A. (Hons.) with English as a major, and with Drama and Media Studies. She had taught across both areas of English, but had more extensive experience in teaching the combined A-level English Language and Literature course, in particular. Despite her background, P3 noted that she had never been confident teaching grammar as her knowledge of

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the subject was largely ‘self-taught’, but that teaching the new A-level Language and Literature course ‘required some really specific grammar teaching’. P3 was attracted to take part in the workshop as it offered free subject-specific CPD, which she identified as being scarce but valuable for ongoing development.

Reframing Cognitive Grammar for the Secondary English Classroom P3 implemented concepts from Cognitive Grammar with an AS class4 who were in the run-up to their AS examinations. The class was a group who ‘were studious and conscientious on the whole and there were useful overlapping subjects such as Media Studies and Film Studies’. Like P1 and P2, P3 also explored aspects of the construal model, specificity and ambiguity, alongside an exploration of trajector-landmark relationships framed through the more traditional stylistics foregrounding model. P3 noted that these concepts were selected for this class because they were ‘logical’ and easy for the students to grasp, especially when illustrated through examples with which the students were already more familiar. P3 introduced the students to the key terms by providing clear explanations of each concept, using diagrams and a cinematic analogy, in particular. Diagrams are frequently used in Cognitive Grammar to represent, heuristically, how we conceptualize units of language, and can be a useful tool for illustrating grammatical concepts. Additionally, drawing on analogies has shown to be helpful in grammar teaching: Roche and Suñer (2016: 91), for example, discuss how grammatical metaphor can be used to adapt linguistic ideas to learners’ mindsets by translating concepts to more everyday situations and contexts. P3 used a cinema analogy of camera movement and close-ups/a wide-angle lens to explain specific and schematic construal operations. Drawing on the visual system is a useful touchpoint for Cognitive Grammar, and indeed is referenced in the original explanations of the model by Langacker’s stage metaphor to describe attentional processes in linguistic construction (see also Giovanelli et al. 2021: 230–233 for further discussion of diagrams and illustrations in Cognitive Grammar).

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The text under consideration in the AS class was an extract from Frankenstein, which had been used as part of a previous exam paper. The focus of this extract was on building up the setting and on the Gothic sublime (see also existing research which has explored the stylistic representation of atmosphere through Cognitive Grammar analysis, e.g. Harrison 2019; Harrison and Nuttall 2019). The task involved, firstly, breaking down the exam question and then asking students to carry out a foregrounding analysis of the text considering the use of definite and indefinite articles and the accompanying levels of specificity or schematicity in the language choices. P3 observed that the students were ‘very receptive’ to the task, and that ‘for some, it made the analysis more “concrete” and added more depth and purpose to their analysis’.

Reflections Like the previous participants, P3 acknowledged that after the class they were much more confident and that they had been able to be more explicit in how they taught grammar in the classroom. P3 also observed that this process had also helped to normalize the teaching of English language and grammar, in particular, in literary analysis, and that this had consequently helped underpin the importance of language study as a central feature of teaching English in the secondary classroom more generally.

Conclusion: Reconceptualizing Cognitive Grammar as a Pedagogical Resource The applications and reflections of these three case studies have underscored some of the key affordances for the application of Cognitive Grammar in the secondary English classroom. They have consequently highlighted how central concepts from the model can offer intuitive, effective and interpretation-focused ways of exploring the subject across the curriculum and exemplified a model for academics working with teachers more broadly.

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Professional Identity and CPD Following their engagement in the workshop series, and having created and road-tested these teaching materials at all levels of secondary English, all three teachers noted a marked increase in confidence in grammar teaching. Such observations demonstrate the inherent value in subjectspecific CPD that has the potential to help equip teachers with a range of ‘practical’ (P1) tools for teaching English in different contexts. At the same time, it seems these experiences potentially enable teachers to build positively on their professional identity, conferring expert or ‘specialist’ (P1) status in these areas.

Concept Accessibility The case studies have highlighted how key concepts of the Cognitive Grammar model work successfully as accessible sites of entry into the framework, despite the complexity of some of its theoretical concepts. For example, and as outlined in section ‘Cognitive Grammar as a Pedagogical Grammar’, construal operations form a cornerstone of the theoretical model, yet the teaching resources described here outline how central aspects of these operations (such as elaborative relationships and image schema templates) can be isolated to form part of clear, focused and effective text analyses.

Text Production These classroom activities suggest that Cognitive Grammar aligns particularly well with approaches to writing production, including essay construction (P2) and creative writing (P1; P2). Previous research in Cognitive Grammar for applied text analysis has emphasized how it can be used to account for both the production and reception of a communicative event, which represent similar, but potentially ‘experientially distinct’ (Nuttall 2019: 222) processes (Hart 2011; Harrison 2017). This makes it a highly useful model for exploring both writer choice and reader effect and consequently forms a bridge between the two sites of

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text production and reception, an interaction which has a longstanding history in traditional stylistic analyses (e.g. text intervention exercises).

Alignment with Existing Stylistic Frameworks The observations of these case studies have shown how it can be beneficial to pair the teaching of these grammatical concepts with existing stylistic frameworks, such as foregrounding, as these approaches can offer students a practical and accessible ‘way into’ the text. P1’s classroom exercise on poetry, for example, started by asking students to identify unexpected patterns or deviations within the text, which consequently allowed them to explore how these foregrounding processes were achieved more specifically.

Decompartmentalization of Language and Literature The case studies have all noted how Cognitive Grammar analyses encourage students to consider both linguistic form and associated literary or textual effect. This is not only helpful in addressing some of the GCSE schemes’ assessment objectives, as observed, but also invites English students, teachers and researchers alike to return to and consider the nuances and fundamental importance of discourse contextualization. This emphasis on the study of language in context underscores the central usage-based ethos of the model: a key notion that we believe helps to decompartmentalize the division between English language and literature. Through examining how readers process linguistic choices and patterns in specific contexts, a Cognitive Grammar analysis can demonstrate how linguistic choice and interpretative or literary significance are inseparable and interconnected in the study of English.

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Partnerships with Teachers As discussed in section ‘Working with Teachers: Knowledge, Identities and Partnerships’, an enabling model of academic-practitioner collaboration occurs through a partnership model where teachers’ own experiences and expertise are viewed as important and useful. In the project we have described above, it is clear that our ethos for the workshops allowed teachers to work with and make connections between Cognitive Grammar concepts in the context of their own working practices and classrooms. This was important to them in terms of ensuring that they took ownership over the direction of the recontextualization and felt that they were in control of the activities they presented to their classes. One additional point we would like to raise is that reconfiguring a complex theory of language like Cognitive Grammar for the secondary classroom will inevitably mean that readjustments to the theory itself are required to fit its new (i.e. pedagogical) purpose. In our project, we did not feel slavishly tied to the theory and, in the course of our work, witnessed teachers adapting its concepts in ways that made them workable for their classrooms. We believe in the guiding principle that any method should allow students to say something meaningful about the texts to which they apply it; that is, pedagogical concerns should always outweigh the theoretical ones for practical application in the classroom. This is illustrated in some of our teachers’ work, for example in aligning Cognitive Grammar to concepts from media and film studies and, more generally, in choosing discrete parts of the model which they believed would be best suited to their contexts and would best benefit their students.

Notes 1. The event was so successful that we decided to run an online version during the Spring/Summer 2020 COVID-19 lockdown. Over 300 teachers from across the world signed up and took part in the online workshop. 2. The participant is commenting here on the fact that in England, teacher CPD (continuous professional development) has tended to

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be generic or else geared towards preparation for assessment (often run by examination boards). There are genuinely few opportunities for extended and free CPD events that are English-specific. 3. The second assessment objective for Section A: Reading in the AQA GCSE English Language Mark Scheme from November 2018, for example, is listed as: ‘Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views’. 4. In England, an AS is a standalone qualification that is taught alongside the first year of an A-level course.

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7 A Text-World Pedagogy for Young Stylisticians Ian Cushing

Abstract The adjective ‘young’ in the title of this chapter is used in two ways: in its literal sense, referring to the age of readers, and in a metaphorical sense, to refer to teachers and students who were new to stylistics. This chapter describes a three-year project in which secondary English teachers in the UK were first trained in principles from cognitive stylistics (specifically Text World Theory), and then collaborated with researchers on the design and delivery of a text-world pedagogy, which they delivered to their own groups of young students (age 12– 13). Drawing on data from classroom discourse, I examine the textual traces of the pedagogical principles in order to uncover how participants used text-world concepts to engage with, describe and experience fictional worlds. For teachers, the text-world pedagogy provided an accessible starting point for bringing stylistics into the classroom, resonating with their own beliefs about what constituted ‘good’ English teaching, I. Cushing (B) Edge Hill University, Lancashire, UK e-mail: [email protected]

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and allowing them to reconceptualise the divisions between language and literary studies.

Introduction In Teaching to Transgress, bell hooks (1994) describes a set of pedagogical strategies which seek to affirm and validate the experience of students and their own voices. She argues for a classroom which insists on ‘[…] their right to speak, in multiple ways on diverse topics. This pedagogical strategy is rooted in the assumption that we all bring to the classroom experiential knowledge, that this knowledge can indeed enhance our learning experience’ (hooks 1994: 84). Although writing from a very different discipline to that of stylistics, hooks here speaks to ways in which pedagogical stylisticians must construct classroom spaces where their students are positioned as real readers who have a right to draw on their own unique lived experiences, sets of knowledge and ideas. This chapter explores some of the concrete ways in which these kinds of pedagogies were enacted in a secondary school in London, with a particular focus on how teachers and young readers might draw on knowledge from cognitive stylistics as a way of thinking and talking about texts. Here then, both teachers and students are positioned as stylisticians themselves, as critical researchers of literary discourse and their own reading experiences. Specifically, my interest in this chapter is on Text World Theory as a branch of cognitive stylistics, and the development of what I will call a ‘text-world pedagogy’. A brief overview of Text World Theory is provided in the following section, with a particular focus on its applications in schools. A description of the principles of the text-world pedagogy follows this, with the second half of the chapter describing data which was generated from a project where I worked closely with secondary school English teachers, training them in aspects of cognitive stylistics over a period of 18 months. Following this, I discuss classroom discourse where teachers and students were engaging in cognitive stylistics, exploring some of ways in which students and teachers were ‘being stylisticians’ and using text-world concepts in classroom activities.

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Texts, Worlds and Stylistics in Schools Text World Theory (Gavins 2007; Werth 1999) is a cognitive stylistic framework which describes the ways that ‘participants’ (readers, writers, speakers and hearers) respond to and construct mental representations (or ‘text-worlds’) when processing discourse. All text-worlds are built within a ‘discourse-world’, defined as the ‘situational context surrounding the speech event itself ’ (Werth 1999: 83), where participants have access to a rich store of background knowledge, which they draw on in order to make sense of the discourse itself. This knowledge combines with linguistic content so as to construct text-worlds, which can feel detailed, immersive and real-worldly. Whereas discourse-worlds are populated by participants, text-worlds are populated by ‘enactors’, which are ‘different versions of the same person or character which exist at different conceptual levels’ (Gavins 2007: 41). A characteristic Text World Theory analysis then combines the kind of close linguistic description which is typical of stylistics with a socio-cognitive description of participants’ identities, attitudes and background knowledge (see Gavins 2016 for a particularly accessible overview and illustration). In this chapter, I use Text World Theory as a stylistic pedagogy and as a tool for analysing reader-response data generated from classrooms. A body of research, teaching and knowledge exchange activity has demonstrated the potential and power that Text World Theory has in UK schools (e.g. Cushing 2018a; Giovanelli 2017), as well as the pedagogical benefits of stylistics more broadly (e.g. Ahmed et al. 2020; Cushing 2018b). Through this research, academics have worked closely with teachers to develop a set of pedagogical approaches and principles which apply text-world concepts and metalanguage to an increasingly diverse range of classrooms, readers and texts. This work has shown how text-world pedagogies focus on the interplay between text and context, how readers engage with textual details and the reading process, how they draw on their own stores of knowledge and experience, how textworld metalanguage and diagrams can be used as a visual metaphor for the structure of fictional worlds, and how meanings are socially co-constructed through negotiation and interaction. The pedagogical affordances of text-world pedagogies are particularly relevant given the

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policy context of how English is discursively constructed as a subject in UK schools, which has historically carved the subject into autonomous and discrete parts, such as ‘language’ and ‘literature’. Given its extensive applications as a stylistic analytical tool, Text World Theory rejects such as a compartmentalisation in its integrationist and cohesive commitments, and so encourages English teachers—who typically hold specialisms in literature rather than language—to draw on knowledge about linguistics in the way that they approach the exploration of texts in their classroom (see Ahmed et al. 2020 for a recent discussion of such issues illustrated through a variety of case studies).

The Text-World Pedagogy This section describes the core principles of the text-world pedagogy. These were co-constructed between me as an academic researcher and a group of English teachers, emerging out of a series of workshops and conversations that took place throughout the life of the project. The coconstruction of the principles was key in the sense that it helped create a sense of shared, reciprocal benefits for all involved and ensured that teachers held a strong sense of professional identity and ownership with the pedagogy.

Environment Classrooms are complex social environments with multiple identities and minds, and Text World Theory is a framework which is well-placed to handle such complexities, in its sensitivity to language being a social activity which occurs through interaction and shared thinking. In the pedagogy, discourse-worlds were starting points for text-world analyses, with the students’ own knowledge being seen as an important filter for the interpretations of literary texts. This was crucial then in that it foregrounded all of the discourse-world conditions that arise out of reading in the classroom, including participants’ background knowledge, memories and identities.

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Readers and Relationships Throughout the project, we made a commitment to giving student voices a platform, in creating a space where their own perceptions, realities, memories and reflections were emphasised. This followed the general principles for enacting critical literacies with young children (e.g. Vasquez 2014), especially in contexts of top-down curriculum and assessment impositions which can potentially marginalise and downplay student voices and identities. Text World Theory shares a number of similarities with reader-response theories that value the role of the reader in constructing meaning and the inferential processes that they perform during reading (e.g. Rosenblatt 1978). Students and teachers were understood to be co-constructors of meaning, whereby student responses are there to be heard and celebrated, challenging the idea of a transmissive classroom, whereby the teacher is positioned as the absolute expert, authority and ‘gatekeeper to meaning’ (Xerri 2013: 135–137). This was particularly important given how the surveillance culture of schools can coerce teachers into engaging in pedagogies which are warped by top-down, standardised examination criteria, rather than personal beliefs about the aesthetics, creativity and pleasure of literary response (see Gilbert and Pitfield 2019).

Text A text-world pedagogy insists that responses are anchored to the text, with readers asked to draw contact points between what they say about their reading experience and the patterns they notice in the text. During our training workshops, I shared the following definition of ‘grammar’ with teachers, which helped to concretise these contact points: ‘[Grammar] is a means of representing patterns of experience […]. It enables human beings to build a mental picture of reality, to make sense of their experience of what goes on around them and inside them’ (Halliday 1985: 101). This definition of grammar resonates with the way in which Text World Theory interprets linguistic form in conceptual ways, drawing

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explicit connections between text and cognitive effects and framing grammar as a system that has world-building potential rather than a series of imposed rules and constraints. This was particularly important given the contested place of grammar within school curricula, and the fact that it can be seen as an intimidating concept for many English teachers (see Watson 2015).

Metalanguage Text-world pedagogy makes use of a bundle of key metalinguistic terms taken from Text World Theory, where the inclusion of these terms is to provide a set of accessible labels which describe the kinds of conceptual experiences that take place during reading. Many of these terms are metaphorical, serving a pedagogic function (Boyd 1993: 485) in that they help to explain theories or concepts. For instance, the text as world metaphor is key to explaining how language has the capacity to trigger and build fictional worlds in the minds of readers, with students and teachers using core terms such as ‘world-building’ and ‘world-switching’ in their explorations.

Talk Classroom dialogue is an important part of the pedagogy. The purpose of this is to frame reading as a ‘highly social activity […] with members of groups deriving pleasure from sharing responses to texts, collaborating to produce collective interpretations, and hearing about other members’ experiences in relation to books’ (Peplow 2016: 2). Given that classrooms are social spaces with multiple readers who engage in collaborative world-building, it follows that the text-world pedagogy is highly dialogic in nature, making extensive use of interaction and student talk, with a focus on low-stakes interpretation and exploration of textual meaning, and how those meanings come to be made. The pedagogy resonates with the wealth of work exploring the value of talk and dialogic pedagogy (e.g. Mercer 2000) where reading is construed as a socio-cultural

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activity through which readers may—or may not—arrive at a common interpretation.

A Text-World Toolkit In our project (see Sect. “Research Site and Participants”), the teachers used the text-world pedagogy as a way of approaching their planning, classroom discourse and the exploration of literary texts, as a kind of toolkit which allowed teachers and students to think of themselves as stylisticians. Using this toolkit, the young stylisticians applied a variety of questions to the different texts they encountered, such as: • What does the text make me think and feel? • What experiences and memories am I drawing on to make meaning from this text? • What does the world of this text look like and feel like? • How might I account for these responses using patterns found in the text? • How does the fictional world unfold and change as I read and talk about the text? • What similarities and differences are there in the fictional world that I have built and that of other people in the classroom?

Research Site and Participants To investigate the text-world pedagogy in practical terms, I worked closely with two secondary English teachers and their Year 8 (age 12– 13) classes in one London school (Green Tree School, a pseudonym). I adhered to teacher-researcher collaborative principles in undertaking the research, as advocated by Denham and Lobeck (2010: 4), aiming for a model of equitable cooperation with reciprocal benefits for all involved. This process followed the steps of design-based research (DBR) (Barab 2014) to help formulate the research plan, principles and pedagogical materials. DBR is a pragmatic approach to education research,

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where researchers and participants collaborate to address a particular issue, problem or question through the systematic design and iteration of intervention materials or strategies. The goal is to study how these interventions work in practice and reflect on their effectiveness. The teachers, Rosie and Daisy (both pseudonyms), identified here as ‘literature specialists’, had no previous formal training in linguistics or stylistics. In this sense, they were prototypical English teachers (see Ellis 2003). Text World Theory—and stylistics more broadly—was a new concept to them, and over a period of 18 months, I trained them in key aspects of the theory, its approaches and its metalanguage during a series of workshops held at Green Tree School. They also tried out working with the framework in their own teaching, getting a feel for the approach and building their own confidence in it. During this time, we collaborated on the design of a 15-lesson, six-week intervention which actualised the text-world pedagogy in relation to the teaching of poetry. We chose poetry because it can be a particularly difficult genre to teach, especially in the ways that students can see poems as intimidating puzzles which require their teachers to ‘unlock meaning’ from (Xerri 2013). I was present in the delivery of these lessons, during which I sat with different groups of students and talked to them about the ways they were building fictional worlds. All lessons were filmed and professionally transcribed. The resulting transcriptions were analysed thematically on NVivo using an inductive coding approach. I ensured that all codes were defined linguistically and had clear textual traces, in order to maintain the commitment to text-driven, stylistic analyses in the research, and to provide a robust level of validity in the coding framework. This procedure was a useful operation for the coding process because I was then able to search the entire dataset for these textual traces and ensure consistency, something that would have been difficult to achieve with an impressionistic approach. In the sections that follow I focus on the events of a single lesson taught by Daisy. The poem being explored in this particular lesson was ‘To My Nine-Year-Old Self’ (Dunmore 2007), which had been shared with students the previous lesson, and they had been asked to read it in their own time for homework, with a small list of questions designed to elicit their own personal responses to the poem. I focus on this lesson

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because it neatly illustrates the way that the text-world pedagogy was enacted by teachers, including various events which were unexpected and ‘unplanned’ for.

A Text-World Reading of ‘To My Nine-Year-Old Self’ I begin by presenting my own brief text-world understanding of the poem. This is an important step in responding to literary texts as it provides an introspective level of analysis and is characteristic of many recent cognitive stylistic approaches to researching the reading experience (see Whiteley 2016a). Here is the poem, with added line numbers:

To My Nine-Year-Old Self You must forgive me. Don’t look so surprised, perplexed, and eager to be gone, balancing on your hands or on the tightrope. You would rather run than walk, rather climb than run rather leap from a height than anything. I have spoiled this body we once shared. Look at the scars, and watch the way I move, careful of a bad back or a bruised foot. Do you remember how, three minutes after waking we’d jump straight out of the ground floor window into the summer morning? That dream we had, no doubt it’s as fresh in your mind as the white paper to write it on. We made a start, but something else came up – a baby vole, or a bag of sherbet lemons – and besides, that summer of ambition created an ice-lolly factory, a wasp trap and a den by the cesspit.

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I’d like to say that we could be friends but the truth is we have nothing in common beyond a few shared years. I won’t keep you then. I leave you in an ecstasy of concentration slowly peeling a ripe scab from your knee to taste it on your tongue.

The poem involves two versions of the same text-world enactor, which exist in two separate text-worlds. TW1 features an older, adult version, who holds nostalgic memories about her younger self, who exists in TW2. The older enactor addresses her younger self directly via the second-person ‘you’, with the pronoun functioning as a kind of communicative conduit across the two text-worlds, and ‘we’ used to mark instances of where the enactors share the same memories and thoughts. The use of generic personal letter conventions in the title—a preposition phrase headed by ‘to’ with an embedded noun phrase—instantly marks out the strangeness of the ontological dimensions and indicates the text as an epistolary form. The poem has a complex text-world structure, various movements across worlds used to represent the dreams and memories expressed by the older enactor. The narrator’s focus is on sensual and tactile details of her childhood, with noun phrase worldbuilders such as ‘this body’, ‘a bruised foot’, and ‘a ripe scab from your knee’ constructing a richly defined text-world which foreground the narrator’s nostalgic memories. Modal constructions such as ‘you must forgive me’ and ‘I’d like to say that we could be friends’ illustrate moments of desire and regret, as the narrator pleads with her younger self and comes to terms with the growing distance between them. Rosie, Daisy and I had discussed the poem before the lesson, in a discourse-world environment where only teachers are present: the English staffroom. The fact that teachers have an ability to do this positions them as privileged and powerful discourse-world participants in the classroom, having chosen the text and having had access to it before a lesson takes place. As such, the teachers had a richer ‘narrative schema’ (Giovanelli and Mason 2015) of the text, defined as ‘an individual’s version of a text in the mind’ (idem: 45). A narrative schema is accreted over time, and includes a reader’s working knowledge of a

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text, as well as their experiences surrounding that text, such as discussions of a pedagogical nature. For students, their reading of a text in the classroom is often their first encounter with the text, and so their narrative schema is non-existent. One possible consequence of these narrative schema discrepancies is that teachers’ readings might ‘pre-figure’ students’ readings (Giovanelli and Mason 2015: 46), where teachers’ ideas and interpretations take hold over or influence students’ interpretations, often because teachers have already decided what is important about the text. For instance, in our staffroom discussions, we agreed that the poetic voice was an older person looking back on their memories of childhood which they did with a sense of innocent regret, longing for the days when they held more carefree attitudes about the world. We also agreed that the grammatically interesting things about the poem were the pronouns and modality, and we discussed how a text-world framing of this was particularly useful in drawing students’ attention to the poem’s unusual structure and narrative. Even though we remained committed to a pedagogy which foregrounded students’ ideas, because the lesson activities arose out of what the teachers and I noticed and considered to be ‘important’, this had consequences for what happened in the classroom.

Sketching Out a Fictional World The lesson began with students discussing a set of questions about the sort of advice that adults might say to a child-version of themselves if they were given the chance. The task made use of open questions (e.g. ‘what advice might you give to a younger version of yourself?’), carefully designed to avoid any sense of ‘cued elicitation’ (Mercer 2000), whereby teachers have decided on the answer to a question and simply look for students to reproduce this. The pedagogical purpose of this pre-reading task was to establish the ‘fields of reference and relevance’ (Yandell 2014: 72), which, in text-world terms, operate as filters for the kind of discourse-world knowledge which students activate before engaging with the language of a text in detail. According to Yandell (idem: 72), ‘the first part of the lesson creates the parameters, the fields of reference and of relevance, for the reading of the text. It announces

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that students’ views, experiences, knowledge of the world outside and of the social relations within and beyond the classroom, are implicated in their reading’. To engage with this task, students formed hypothetical text-worlds, whereby participants imagine what other participants or enactors might have thought or said. To form these conceptually distant hypothetical text-worlds, readers had to ‘mind-model’ (Stockwell 2009: 140) a hypothetical person’s perspective, conceptually projecting themselves into a new deictic centre and mind. Mind-modelling is a way of interpreting the way that individuals attribute beliefs, imagined desires and physical needs to other (fictional) minds, and has a pedagogical value in encouraging empathetic and emotive responses to literary worlds (see, for example, Whiteley 2016b). A successful completion of the task required students to make a large conceptual leap forming a world structure with two versions of the same enactor (themselves and a younger version) which were able to communicate with each other across worldedges. Mind-modelling is a potentially difficult task, especially where the discourse-world knowledge of the mind-modeller differs significantly to the profile of the modelled mind. For instance, students here had no first-hand discourse-world knowledge of being an adult, and so had to mind-model an imaginary adult based on their discourse-world knowledge and schemas of adulthood and the kind of advice they might expect to receive from adults. Reflecting on this after the lesson, Rosie, Daisy and I agreed that this had been a challenge for some students and was perhaps indicative of a poorly chosen poem which was difficult to access for some readers. This kind of critical reflection was an important part of the research process, and prompted us to re-check the suitability of chosen poems in the remainder of the curriculum. Despite the challenges, students were able to respond in a variety of ways, ranging from materialistic responses such as ‘you could tell them who was going to win the world cup so they could make money out of betting’ (Max), to ones more geared towards self-reflection such as ‘have a bit more confidence’ (Tara), and empathy, such as ‘it reminds me of times when I’ve looked back at things I’ve done with regret’ (Dylan). Following the pre-reading activity, teachers made explicit links between student responses to this and the poem to be read—Daisy asked her class

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to ‘think of the advice that you’ve been giving yourself as we go ahead’, asking students to hold the non-literary text-worlds of their discussions in short-term memory, and use it as discourse-world knowledge to help interpret the literary text-worlds triggered by the poem.

Co-Building a Fictional World As soon as the poem was read, it can be assumed that all participants started to build a literary text-world. These text-worlds were triggered by the linguistic content of the text itself and fleshed out by each participant’s own discourse-world knowledge, including the immediately proximal knowledge gleaned from the pre-reading activity. Students were invited to describe the literary text-worlds that the poem had constructed for them, and in doing so, incremented this information into the discourse-world for others to assess and evaluate against the contents of their own text-worlds. Along with the text-world toolkit as outlined above, Daisy used text-world metalanguage in her questions, asking things such as ‘what is your text-world like?’ and ‘what kind of world-building are you doing as you read?’. In pedagogical stylistics, initial responses are important because they can be an important first step in ‘considering how the text informs, interests, controls, decentres, reinforces, misleads, challenges, upsets, and/or convinces them in their role as readers’ (Harding 2014: 78). Indeed, Rosie and Daisy both commented on the usefulness of these initial, open responses to texts, suggesting that they served to legitimise the student voice and downplay the perception of the authoritative voice of the teacher. As evidenced by the following example, students were in broad agreement that the poem featured an adult addressing a younger version of themselves, with the adult experiencing some kind of emotional response to this. There was some variation in ideas in discussing the motivations that the adult speaker had, and their state of mind. For example, Louisa’s idea was geared around the adult having made unwise choices in their life and regretting those decisions:

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Louisa: I think it’s a person looking back on their life like back to when they were nine and saying why? why did you do that? why did we make that decision? why did we end up hurting ourselves when we could have not done that? Daisy: right a kind of questioning attitude? Louisa: yeah and I think that has resulted in some kind of problem later which the narrator is experiencing at the moment of the poem and is blaming her younger self Daisy: right almost like a warning? Louisa: yeah As a contrasting response, Oliver suggested that the adult in TW1 was looking back on their childhood with fondness rather than regret, framed with a negated verb (‘disagree’). This triggered a negated world-switch (Gavins 2007: 102) in which the contents of Louisa’s text-world were first conceptualised and assessed, and then removed: Oliver: I kind of disagree (.) because I think it (.) especially in the fourth stanza it starts speaking about dreams and summer and more positive things there like (.) creating an ice lolly from a factory doesn’t really sound negative to me and also that word ambition (.) well ambition has got really positive connotations Whereas both responses are of course ‘valid’, Oliver’s response appears to be much more driven by the text itself. He points to specific parts of the poem (‘the fourth stanza’) and lists a number of nouns (‘dreams’, ‘summer’, ‘ambition’) to help qualify his ideas about the text having a positive meaning. Participants were willing to accept that there might be multiple interpretations of the poem, which was encouraged by teachers and a key principle of the text-world pedagogy approach in general, as outlined above. Of note above is the presence of what Gee (2014: 173) calls ‘Istatements’, whereby different predicate types follow ‘I’. One predicate type, ‘cognitive I-statements’, such as ‘I think’, ‘I disagree’ and ‘I remember’ are characterised by discourse about thinking and knowing, and trigger an epistemic modal-world of which the contents are then

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‘conceptualised by the hearer or reader as existing at some distance from its creator’s reality’ (Gavins 2007: 96). The use of these cognitive I-statements and modal-worlds indicates students building a socially situated reading identity for themselves, where the classroom discourseworld becomes a reading space where their own voices, lives and identities are foregrounded as valid. In doing this, students place their interpretations in a position to be evaluated by other discourse-world participants, which potentially runs a risk of their ideas being dismissed or assigned a ‘wrong’ answer by their teacher or peers (see for example, Cliff Hodges 2010). As demonstrated here, the text-world pedagogical principle of shared and collaborative reading has clear textual traces within classroom discourse.

Disrupting and Negotiating a Fictional World Earlier, I illustrated how Rosie, Daisy and I had planned the activities around what we assumed would be ‘typical’ readings of the poem. In this section, I describe moments where students responded in very different ways to how we had anticipated, developing radically different textworlds and narrative schemas and illustrating incongruities in knowledge between teachers and students. Three of these unanticipated readings were where students constructed a text-world where the enactor was suicidal, self-harming or pregnant. Prior to students articulating these ideas, they were interpretations that, up until the students vocalised this, had not been world-building information in our own text-worlds. Here are, for instance, three separate examples: Miles: Leo:

when it says these scars to me that’s really negative because I think it’s about suicide and how she is just so depressed I think she feels guilty and I think she’s self-harms because if you have just hurt yourself like you just fallen or you had been hurt by somebody else than you probably wouldn’t say spoiled your body (.) and it says scars so it’s something she’s got on her body

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Millie: yeah but it says look at the scars she probably has stretch marks we once shared and it says look at the way I move like she can’t really move that much and she’s probably quite heavily pregnant As in the examples above, many students focussed on the noun ‘scars’, activating sets of discourse-world knowledge which fed into the construction of a text-world. As soon as students articulated these responses, they became world-building information for other students and teachers to draw on, in some cases triggering a function of ‘world-replacement’, whereby readers are forced to update the contents of existing text-worlds as a result of new information (Gavins 2007: 141–142). It is important to state that at no point in the classroom were students’ ideas labelled ‘wrong’ by teachers, but instead, teachers sensitively encouraged students to develop their responses by anchoring them to the text. This toggling between ‘text’ and ‘effect’ often resulted in discourse which was characteristic of exploratory talk (Mercer 2000), whereby participants critically evaluated and responded to each other’s ideas in a constructive way. Mercer argues that in classroom contexts, exploratory talk is something to be encouraged as it provides an ‘effective way of using language to think collectively’ (Mercer 2000: 153). I also suggest that exploratory talk and pedagogical stylistics are close allies in the sense that they tend to share principles of interactive, investigative learning, where the focus is on exploring possibilities of textual meaning (Clark and Zyngier 2003: 349). An example shows this type of talk in action: Millie:

so in my text-world (.) I think the narrator person is pregnant at the moment Sara: really? (.) why? (.) if that’s true then I read this poem so differently Aravinda: well maybe (.) to like (.) why do you think that? Millie: because she says um she says she spoiled the body we once shared and (1) it’s like she looks at her body in the mirror and regrets the way it’s changing Sara: what and she’s regretting having a baby? normally people don’t think of babies like that but I guess she might Millie: no I don’t mean that

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Millie:

Sara: Millie:

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I don’t think it means that she regretted it (.) because it says I have spoiled this body we once shared to me it says she’s (.) she’s talking about how they have nothing in common anymore and (.) like they’re different people yeah but it says look at the scars she probably has stretch marks we once shared and it says look at the way I move like she can’t really move that much and she’s probably quite heavily pregnant no no watch the way I move what the surgery went wrong? just listen just listen careful of a bad back because you have to be careful because there’s like a lot of weight on you and bruised foot your feet get like swollen and stuff I see your idea but I think it’s just because she’s old that’s why she has scars and things (.) my text-world is so different

In this exchange students use text-world concepts as a way of approaching the reading experience. They build critically on others’ ideas, giving reasons for alternative ideas, anchoring their responses to the text and often using subordinate clauses to help clarify, redefine and justify their own ideas (e.g. ‘because she says um she says she spoiled the body we once shared’), and focussing on world-building detail related to body parts and physical appearance. When Millie reports her text-world to include the enactor being pregnant, Sara’s response is to request for more information (‘why?’) so that she can fully assess the contents of this text-world. Her use of the conditional on line 2 (‘if that’s true…’) triggers an epistemic modal-world (Gavins 2007: 120) in which the contents are unrealised possibilities, but in which she considers them (‘…then I read this poem so differently’). These types of modal-worlds allow co-readers to evaluate the text-worlds put forward by each other, rather than simply dismissing them in negated text-worlds or simply agreeing with them. Aravinda’s turn on line 3 performs a similar function by using an open interrogative (‘why do you think that?’), encouraging Millie to increment further world-builders in order to help Aravinda co-build a text-world. Millie responds by providing textual evidence in the form of worldbuilders (‘a bad back’) and function-advancers (‘watch the way I move’).

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She supplements these by introducing extra-textual world-builders (‘the mirror’) and function-advancers (e.g. ‘looks at her body’), which have a multiple function: to share the contents of her own unique text-world with others and help justify her own ideas about the way she has interpreted the poem. As she increments these into the discourse, they become updated foregrounded elements in the text-worlds of each of the other participants. The clause on line 5 (‘she […] regrets the way it’s changing’) indicates that she is psychologically projecting herself into the mind of the enactor, indicating a growing sense of empathetic engagement with the poem. Sara’s response to Millie’s idea on line 6 shows that she is not yet convinced, but she frames these concerns in a supportive way through the use of adverbs (‘normally’) and modalised cognitive I-statements (‘I guess she might’). Together then, exploratory talk—even across just 5 participant turns—has a rich world texture, allowing participants to build and then evaluate the contents of a range of text-worlds. This kind of rich discussion was picked up on by Rosie and Daisy in their evaluations of the pedagogy. For instance, Daisy talked about how talk was ‘so vital’ to the pedagogy, with some ‘seriously good conversations about literature’ taking place. To end this section, I discuss some of the student responses which appeared to be motivated by their own cultural and experiential knowledge which had been inaccessible to the adult readers during the lesson preparation. Some students reported that the poem reminded them of 13 Reasons Why, a popular television drama centred around the suicide of a teenage school girl. The second series of this had just been released at the time of the study, and so was part of the immediate cultural knowledge available to students as an intertextual reference, whereas neither Rosie, Daisy or I had seen the programme. Mason (2019) argues that in discourse about reading, intertextual references function as worldbuilders, with any characters from the referenced text becoming a textworld enactor in the base text. Following this, it seems feasible to suggest that students constructed a literary text-world which included worldbuilding elements from the referenced text of the television programme, whereas these elements had not featured in either of Rosie’s, Daisy’s or my text-worlds whilst discussing the text and the teaching materials. In

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addition, it would appear that students were drawing on other discourseworld knowledge which was particularly personal to them as a discourse community. Students in the study had experienced years of personal, social health and economic education, part of which deals with selfharm. After the lessons, Rosie and Daisy told me about an increasingly worrying amount of cases of self-harming at Green Tree School, a pattern prevalent throughout the UK with many young people (DfE 2018). Our conversation also revealed a recent and tragic case of a young boy from a nearby school who had taken his own life. It seems reasonable to suggest that students were accessing this particularly sensitive experiential knowledge in their readings of the poem, some of which may have been directly experienced through membership of the school community. Literature here became a conduit for exploring these issues, facilitated with sensitivity by teachers who had made a pedagogical commitment to constructing a classroom space where backgrounds, memories and identities were to be foregrounded.

Reflections, Implications and Conclusions This chapter has demonstrated the principles and mechanics of a text-world pedagogy, co-constructed through a longitudinal, empirical research project which saw an academic linguist working closely with a group of English teachers and their students. It has argued for the place of cognitive stylistics as an available pedagogy for teachers, and through a close analysis of the events of a single lesson, shown how readers in classrooms can become stylisticians, armed with concepts, tools and metalanguage which open up different possibilities for exploring text and the reading experience. In particular, this chapter has shown how a textworld way of thinking about literature teaching in schools enables readers to sensitively explore, investigate, and share their own interpretations and experiences of fictional worlds. As the discussion has shown, these issues are especially relevant when considering complex, multi-participant discourse-world conditions such as classrooms, which typically feature a pre/re-reader (a teacher)

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and a group of first-time readers (students), each who hold different types of discourse-world knowledge. Such variation bears important consequences for the way that teachers approach lesson design and in-lesson discourse, especially during discussions of literary texts, and how different knowledge impinges on the construction of text-worlds. Through this knowledge, young students make meanings from texts which are directly relevant to their own lives, often in ways which adult teachers may not anticipate or plan’ for. Indeed, Rosie’s, Daisy’s and my impressions of the poem under discussion in this chapter were that there are very few textual traces of readings related to suicide, self-harm or pregnancy, and so this was not something that featured in our design of the lesson, because the text did not call up this area of experiential knowledge. Yet for many students, the discourse-world knowledge they were drawing on appeared to be foregrounded over the linguistic patterns of the text itself. In this case, it could be argued that students were making global inferences related to discourse-world conditions, rather than local ones related to textual world-building content. Through a text-world lens and using their own knowledge of cognitive pedagogical stylistics, teachers were able to sensitively understand and respond to students’ ideas without imposing, resisting or challenging their own discourseworld knowledge. This raises a challenging issue: how reader responses are positioned along a cline from ‘the text provides a definitive meaning’ to ‘the text can mean whatever the reader wants it to mean’ (see Stockwell 2013). In responding to students’ ideas, both teachers made choices in terms of where they steered these in either direction along the cline. None of the responses presented by students were absurd, and they were certainly not ‘wrong’. They were simply responses to a poem that were motivated by certain discourse-world conditions and built from intertextual world-builders, and so the difference in the student and the adults’ responses is a result of a variation in experiential discourse-world knowledge. A text-world pedagogy offers one way in which this variation and heterogeneity may be conceptualised in the classroom.

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8 Devices, Settings and Distractions: A Study into How Students Read Literature Esmeralda V. Bon and Michael Burke

Abstract The question of how and where students read has been a subject of discussion, not least due to the rise of e-reading devices and an increased need for remote learning. Reports in mainstream media often report that there appears to be a decline in traditional ways of reading literature. With this study we test this assumption. We focus on reading means and locations, asking how university students read literature electronically. We interview a sample of undergraduate students and ask them to fill out a survey. Our findings indicate that students still engage in ‘traditional’ literary reading behaviour. While they do make E. V. Bon (B) University of Manchester, Manchester, UK e-mail: [email protected] M. Burke University College Roosevelt, Middelburg, The Netherlands e-mail: [email protected] Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_8

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use of novel literary reading locations and devices, they mostly use digital devices out of necessity and aim for locations where reading is comfortable. Furthermore, they are not post-hybrid readers as they do not use multiple devices for reading the same story. Overall, their literary reading behaviour is more traditional than assumed.

Introduction In a world where remote teaching, remote learning and digital teaching technologies are on the rise, knowing how students read is crucial. Recent studies have investigated how literature is being read, especially in terms of means and locations (Burke 2011; Kuzmiˇcová 2012, 2016; Mangen and Kuiken 2014; Kuzmiˇcová et al. 2018; Burke and Bon 2018). In this chapter, we study the literary behaviour of university students using a mixed-methods design. More specifically, we ask how they read literature electronically. To achieve this, we conducted semi-structured interviews and post-interview surveys to obtain detailed reports. By doing so, we are seeking to respond to the commonly-held assumption, often encountered in the mainstream media (based on pedagogical studies and reports), that students are moving away from using both the more traditional means and the more usual locations of reading, and that this change is linked to the increasing functionality and convenience of both the e-reader and the smartphone. In this present study, we specifically build on Burke and Bon’s (2018) tentative conclusions and treat them as expectations. We test the assumptions that (1) students have become post-hybrid readers, cross-synchronising one and the same literary piece between different devices, and (2) the preference for a particular device affects physical reading position. Following this investigation, we believe our findings will contribute to a better understanding of the contemporary literary reading behaviour of university students and provide suggestions for how it can be facilitated.

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Background Today, there is an increased need for and interest in virtual teaching through digital technology. Not only have the COVID-19 pandemic and temporary closures of physical libraries caused the lending of ebooks to soar (e.g. Davies 2020), but Massive Open Online Courses (MOOCs), which largely rely on digital resources and can provide a personalised learning experience (e.g. Pilli and Admiraal 2016), are now commonplace. When a physical classroom is absent, learning about stylistics and literature needs to be updated to the new circumstances so that students’ literary experience is both encouraged and supported. The link between digital learning experiences and reading literature on electronic devices is an emerging area of interest. A seminal early work on this was conducted by van Peer et al. (2010). This edited collection of scholarly research and educational studies provides insight into the most relevant issues at the time in literary education and digital learning in the humanities. Focussing back on the act of reading itself, it can be said that literature can be read using a wide range of devices, including paper books (paperback and hardback), e-readers, laptops, smartphones and audiobooks. In fact, e-readers have been around for over a decade, giving readers the time to gradually get used to e-books. For instance, Chu (2003) has found that those who use e-books have grown to appreciate that they are always available and offer a search function that makes finding text easy. However, readers who are less interested in technology also avoid reading electronically (Hurst et al. 2009). While we might expect students to be more familiar with technology and therefore interested in e-reading, earlier studies with public school and college students have found that they still prefer a ‘traditional’ paper book to an electronic version (Gregory 2008; Jeong 2012). Furthermore, literature can be read in a variety of locations, both indoors, outdoors and on-the-go. Burke (2011) has shown that people prefer specific locations, such as their bed or a comfortable chair. This indicates that habit plays a role in literary reading location. More recently, Burke and Bon (2018) found tentative evidence that students

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increasingly read on-the-go and habitually use inside and outside locations. This suggests that contemporary literary reading practices and habits have become more diverse. Students who are on-the-move are more likely to use digital devices like e-readers, tablets, or smartphones (Maloney 2015). As a consequence, some have become ‘hybrid’ readers, using simultaneously several devices. In this study, we take this finding one step further by testing the expectation that students are post-hybrid readers (E1). As hybrid readers, they switch between using devices and paper, but, as post-hybrid readers, they will cross-synchronise one and the same story between different devices. Based on the principle of ‘context effects’ (Humphreys 1976), we consider how the literary reading experience is affected. According to this principle, the perception of an event depends on how the surrounding environment is perceived and remembered. Thus, the experiences and memories of the reader and the locations in which literature is read provide context to what is read. Since humans are relatively free to act and generally prefer to accumulate positive experiences, ‘triggered’ by past experience that creates a non-conscious priming (Bargh 2006), memory and context are likely to affect their literary reading decisions: when, where, what and how to read.1 To examine the impact of context, we consider the influence of senses relating to devices, distractions and locations. For example, Mangen and Kuiken (2014) have found that readers experience haptic dissonance when reading on an iPad. In their study, which employed a 2 by 2 between-subjects factorial design, the authors examined the effects of reading medium and a paratext manipulation on aspects of narrative engagement. The results of the medium aspect of the experiment indicated that readers in the iPad condition reported dislocation within the text. They also reported awkwardness in handling their medium. Next, based on the theory of grounded cognition (Barsalou 2009, 2010), we consider how the choice of device and reading position are related. According to this theory, cognition is affected by the environment and state one is in, which includes the configurations of the body. In Burke and Bon (2018), we have found that students prefer to be in a comfortable physical position when reading literature. We postulate that the extent to which a reader’s body is at ease depends on the device used.

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Therefore, inspired by grounded cognition and these insights, we expect that preference for a particular device will affect reading position (E2). To provide insight into the literary reading experience and to test these expectations, we first provide descriptive overviews of students’ experiences with the different reading devices and their use of different reading locations. We then test the expectation that they have become post-hybrid readers (E1). Next, we examine how context—including the senses and distractions—interact with reading locations and the overall reading experience. Finally, we test the expected link between the choice of device and physical reading position (E2). We assume the insights about preferred devices and locations and the distractions students experience will shed light on their reading behaviour. This knowledge may be used to facilitate students’ literary reading and contribute to their learning of literature and stylistics.

The Study To better understand how and where university students read literature and to build on our earlier study (Burke and Bon 2018), we conducted a study with a mixed-methods design, using both semi-structured interviews and a short survey. Fifteen undergraduate university students from University College Roosevelt in Middelburg (the Netherlands) were invited to participate and were given a USB flash drive if they also read literature electronically. The students were informed about the purpose and procedure of the study and asked to sign a form of consent.2 First, they were interviewed about their (electronic) reading behaviour. As part of these interviews, the students received a reading list with suggested inside and outside locations for literary reading (see Burke and Bon 2018). This list was used as a prompt to elicit further information and literary reading descriptions from the interviewees. The interview recordings were transcribed by a trained research assistant and analysed by means of NVivo, a software programme that is used for qualitative and mixed-methods research. In particular, it is used for the analysis of text, audio, video, and image data, including social media, interviews,

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focus groups, surveys, etc. It is often employed as a tool in the teaching of qualitative methods. Analysis involved a multi-stage, exploratory approach to the interviews and survey data. In the first stage of coding, we categorised the data according to preliminary themes: with an open mind, we annotated the interview and survey responses, line-by-line, following Charmaz (2006), using verbs ending in -ing to indicate processes (Saldaña 2013). We indicated what we thought was going on and what we believed participants intended to say. For instance, references to the students’ attempts to prevent the negative influence of noise on their enjoyment of literary reading were coded as ‘avoiding noise’. In the second stage, we combined the initial codes into patterns. We used pattern coding rather than focussed coding, which is more commonly used in grounded theory. Focussed coding searches for the most frequent or notable codes. It categorises coded data based on thematic or conceptual correspondence. Pattern coding is a way of grouping summaries into a smaller number of themes or sets. Both are most often employed in second cycle coding procedures. Pattern coding focuses on the causal relationships and provides an explanation of experience, whereas focussed coding is mostly concerned with the salience of codes. In this stage of pattern coding, we searched in the data for causes and for rules, which we used to form theoretical constructs and to identify processes (Miles and Huberman 1994; Saldaña 2013). We identified that the students’ attempts to ‘avoid noise’ was part of their desire to avoid distractions more generally. Figure 8.1 illustrates our coding. This figure shows how the choice to read literature depends on whether the students are with or without company as well as evidence for a possible link between the choice for reading location and genre. Immediately after the interviews, the participants filled out a short survey. Unlike studies in which interviews inform quantitative surveys (e.g. Brenner 1985; Laurie 1992), we used the survey responses only for confirming and adapting what we found about students’ literary reading behaviour based on the interviews. In this sense, we complemented the ‘soft’, rich interview data with the ‘hard’ quantitative data from the surveys. The survey included statements about literary reading experience, paying attention to the devices and locations used, and the impact

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Fig. 8.1 Screen capture of the coding approach

of distractions. The interviewees were asked to mark their agreement with these statements on a 7-point Likert scale ranging from strongly disagree [1] to strongly agree [7]. Based on the identified patterns from the interviews and the answers to the short survey, we arrived at certain conclusions about the (electronic) literary reading behaviour of the participants.

Findings In this study, we investigate how the choice of device may affect literary reading experience. In this section, we first provide a descriptive overview of how the students described their reading experience using paper books, e-readers, laptops, tablets, smartphones, and audiobooks.

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The Paper Book In the interviews, the participants (P) mentioned that paperbacks were easier to take along. They could be folded and used for notetaking. However, as P10 stated, they were not very practical because they do not last long (“if I bring a paperback for multiple days the edges get scuffed and stuff like that and it’s really annoying”). Two students explained that hardback editions were beautiful, and three noted that hardbacks last longer than paperbacks. Furthermore, according to P10, hardbacks were better ‘loved’ when compared to paperbacks, and P8 indicated that reading a hardback was overall a more ‘enjoyable’ and ‘intellectual’ experience. The hardback, however, was not considered that ‘flexible’ (P3), the pages were ‘not easy to fold’ (P5), and purchasing a hardback meant that one was willing to ‘invest in the story’ (P10).

The e-reader E-readers were perceived by the students as a budget-friendly alternative because e-readers were ‘not heavy’ (P3), e-books were ‘disposable’ (P6) and cheaper (P1, P4 and P12), and ‘you can get all the classics for free’ (P5). The students used multiple features specific to the e-reader. P4 explained that they changed the font-size of the pages of the e-book. P3 indicated that when using the e-reader they employed the search function and the backlight, and they checked the character background information available. P8 used the e-reader to play games already available on the system. Finally, P3 and P11 employed the dictionary and the highlighting and notation-function to understand their reading and to take notes. Although P5 referred to features like these as ‘annoying’, overall, the students appreciated that the e-reader was easy to use. For example, they described the screen as ‘clear’ (P3) and ‘easy to read’ (P4), as ‘more natural’ (P3) and ‘less tiring’ (P5). This supports Benedetto et al. (2013) who reported that e-readers with e-ink can reduce ‘visual fatigue’. The students also explained that the e-reader was ‘easy to open and close’ (P3), could easily be taken along (P3, P4, P5 and P6), because it was ‘light’ (P4 and P5), that it made reading ‘more comfortable’ (P3) and that there

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was no need to ‘flip pages’ (P4). However, P4 reported that they did not like the ‘slow features’ or e-readers that ‘crash’ (P3) or screens that were difficult to read in the sunshine (P12). Two students also responded negatively to a felt sense of ‘dislocation’ that they experienced. Lastly, P6 mentioned a lack of feeling of ‘nostalgia’ or ‘personal attachment’ to the story. In this sense, the device was described as cold and technical. Students reported they purchased e-readers based on several criteria: price, type of screen (LED or e-ink), the function to read PDF-files, storage, positive reviews, and portability. However, whereas the students tended to read PDFs for their studies, they read e-books for pleasure.

The Laptop Participants stated they generally used a laptop rather than a desktop computer because they lived in dorms. While the students read e-books on their e-reader for pleasure, when they used their laptop, they tended to read PDFs to support their studies or because the story was otherwise unavailable. P8 also mentioned reading short stories on the laptop. The students explained that reading on a laptop made it easy to search for keywords and to zoom in (e.g. in a PDF), and they could read on-thego. However, they also experienced this type of reading as ‘distracting’, ‘less enjoyable’, as visually tiring, and they also missed the experience of flipping pages.

The Smartphone Nearly half of the interviewed students (46.6%) said they occasionally read literature on their smartphones. They remarked they used smartphone apps for literary reading, some specifically for reading e-books. While they described this as convenient - for reading short texts and for a short time—most of these students referred to the negative rather than positive aspects. For example, P11 indicated that they would only use a smartphone when there was no paper device available, and P4 and P12 explained that they were less able to remember what they had read when they used a smartphone instead of a physical book. Other students

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mentioned the screen of the smartphone and how it was ‘too bright’ (P12) and too small (P3, P6, P9 and P12), and not ‘enjoyable’ to read from (P5 and P8), also because scrolling or swiping would be required (P12).

The Tablet Four students read literature on a tablet. Overall, they were positive about this experience, although P11 mentioned that the light of the screen kept him awake. These four students explained that, compared to the laptop, the tablet was more portable, that the battery lasted longer, and that swiping was easier than scrolling. Compared to the book, they explained that there was no need to bend the device to read.

The Audiobook Most of the students (60.0%) were not keen on using audiobooks for literary ‘reading’. One participant highlighted potential issues with this device, relating to not absorbing what was being narrated (“cannot take the words in”), a discrepancy between his reading rhythm and that of the narrator (“I have to wait”, “can’t follow”), and a dissonance in terms of voice: ‘When I read I imagine … my own voice and there is more room for interpretation … than if someone reads [the story] to you’ (P1). On the positive side, two students mentioned that audiobooks made it possible to read on-the-go while going on a walk.

Location In terms of literary reading, one tends to have location-related habits, preferences and favourite places. Here, we provide an overview of the sites mentioned by the participants. More than half of the students (60.0%) indicated that they consciously decided where to read. In this study, we distinguish between inside and outside locations. We asked students which reading places they used when they were on-the-go.

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Inside locations were defined as those inside a building, and include the home in general, as well as specific rooms and pieces of furniture. Outside locations are those which are exterior to a building. On-the-go sites included reading while travelling inside a vehicle, walking on foot, and cycling, and were therefore considered more dynamic. This contrasts with the inside and outside locations, which include those cases in which the reader is in a static position, such as waiting in a queue.

Inside Locations First, we asked which inside locations the participants most often or never used, favoured, and least enjoyed using for reading literature. When it comes to reading indoors, the students’ use of places and preferences differed considerably. Overall, they most often used the following inside settings: the bed (N = 7, 46.7%) or bedroom (N = 2, 13.3%), a couch (N = 5, 33.3%), or a chair (N = 5, 33.3%). More than half of the participants also indicated that, in general, they mostly used ‘comfortable’ places (53.3%). At the same time, most of them (53.3%) never read while queuing inside, either standing or sitting in a waiting room. For literary reading, seven students never read inside a café, four never read while (in)directly sitting on the floor, four never read in the restroom, two never read literature during breaks in the classroom and two never read at the library. In terms of preferred reading places indoors, some students mentioned several. They indicated their preference for the bed (N = 6, 40.0%) or bedroom (N = 2, 13.3%), a couch (N = 5, 33.3%) or chair (N = 2, 13.3%). Four (26.7%) indicated a general preference for different rooms and furniture in their home. Based on these answers, the bedroom or bed appears to be the most popular inside reading setting. In fact, P9 and P7 specifically described the bed as the ‘most comfortable’ location. However, P12 indicated a dislike for this spot: ‘it results in cold arms’ (the arms were presumably difficult to place under the bed covers when reading a book while lying on one’s back). Almost half of the students did not have a least favourite reading location (46.7%). Three indicated that they would not read in the bathroom: P8 would only have a book

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in the bathroom if already reading, P9 would not want a book to ‘get wet’, and P12 described it as ‘not a nice place to be’. Yet, three reported that they did enjoy reading in the bathtub. Furthermore, three students did not want to read literature while queueing inside. P15 did not give a reason why, but P13 specifically indicated that queuing did not give enough time for reading and P5 found inside queues too noisy and thus distracting. Two more students indicated a dislike for reading at noisy places inside: P14 indicated not wanting to read in the presence of other people, especially when they were talking, and P10 mentioned not wanting to read literature where it is ‘overly crowded’, with ‘lots of people talking’ and the expectation to socialise. What this wide range of uses and preferences highlight is that reading literature is a deeply personal experience: students opt for comfortable as well as convenient locations, rooms and furniture that is accessible to those who primarily live in dorms. They also chose locations where they can concentrate. For example, in the interviews, three participants indicated the library for such a location. Interestingly, three students pointed out the importance of light in their choice for an inside reading location. Two described comfortable inside locations as those with less light: for P1 a pleasant atmosphere is facilitated by ‘dimmed places’ and for P15 by a ‘shadowy corner’. In contrast, P11 actively searched the home for the reading location with the ‘best [natural] light’.

Outside Locations We also asked which outside locations students most often or never used, favoured, and least enjoyed using for reading literature. Results indicate that less than half of the students regularly read outdoors (46.7%). None of them read while sitting or lying directly on the ground, sitting on a terrace outside of a café or restaurant, or on a bench on or next to a street. Two particularly disliked the idea of reading while standing in a queue outside. Of those seven participants who did often read outdoors, four preferred the garden and three specifically holiday settings, such as at

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the beach and at the poolside. In fact, most participants (80.0%) occasionally read literature at the poolside. However, P1 instead experienced this reading as distracting because of the reflection of the water and the echoing of sounds. None of them indicated that they never read on the beach or at the park. Four students mentioned that the beach was their favourite reading location. P7 described it as providing a ‘nice’ and ‘romantic’ experience. Three students indicated that, out of all outside reading settings, they preferred a park bench. P7 and P9 both appreciated the ‘wide, open area’ and ‘spaciousness’ of the park. Three students also liked to read literature while sitting or lying on a towel or mat on the grass of a garden, park or field: they said it was ‘nostalgic’ (P10), ‘comfortable’ especially with company (P12), and allowed the reader to interact with nature: to feel the ‘cool grass’ and to ‘listen to the birds’ (P13). Based on these responses, it is possible to identify common factors that determine the preference for outdoor reading locations. First, each student indicated that their choice for an outside reading place depended on the weather or season. Second, four mentioned that comfort plays a role in their choice. Four participants avoided outside places where there were distractions. Finally, two mentioned that they read outdoors when on holiday.

On-the-Go Locations Except for one, all students occasionally read on-the-go, be it while travelling on foot or by bike, car, bus, tram, train, or aeroplane. Most of them (N = 13, 86.7%) read while on the train, five on an aeroplane, five while in the backseat of a car, three on the bus and four when walking. Only P6 read on the bike using audiobooks. The references provided by the students about their experience reading on the bus and car were more negative than those relating to their experience reading on the train and aeroplane. None of the participants preferred to read in the bus or car. Two explained it triggered motion sickness. P9 also noted that the bus similarly ‘moves too much’. Instead, when taking the aeroplane, P6 explained that the sound served as white noise and P11 indicated that

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since most people chose to sleep on the plane, there were fewer distractions. As for the train, two indicated that they focussed on their reading to such an extent that they were not distracted by the announcements and/or people talking. Two others explained that they would go to the silent compartment if they were getting distracted by other passengers.3 P1 noted that reading literature on the train was like ‘being closed off from the world’ with ‘the world racing by’. P13 and P10 both explained getting absorbed into the story. P10 specifically described how reading on the train provided an ‘escape from reality’. Other participants described reading on the train as ‘convenient’ and ‘practical’ (P4), ‘relaxing’ when there was no need to change trains (P5), and ‘more comfortable’ than other vehicles because ‘it has less motion’ (P9).

Cross-Synchronising The results of the interviews provide support for earlier findings that students read using a range of devices and a variety of locations (see Burke 2011; Burke and Bon 2018). The participants here were hybrid readers as they habitually used multiple devices. In this section, we test the expectation that they also qualify as post-hybrid readers (E1). Post-hybrid readers are those who cross-synchronise between different reading devices while reading the same story. This study shows that only six of the interviewees qualify as post-hybrid readers, and that they do not engage in this type of reading regularly. When they do switch between devices, it is because one of them has become temporarily unavailable (e.g. the battery has run out). Another reason for switching is to use the search function, to find a specific word, phrase, or paragraph, which is only available on electronic devices. In the survey, most of the interviewees (86.6%) indicated that they did not switch between reading on paper and electronic devices while reading the same novel. Three indicated that they could see themselves doing so when the situation called for it, for instance, to have a backup. Reasons given against post-hybrid reading were that it would create disorientation, a ‘different feel’, ‘chaos’, and it would distract from the story. For example, P1 explained that if one device was used for leisure,

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switching between devices made reading a story less pleasurable. Overall, these students seemed to avoid cross-synchronisation and they expressed little interest or enthusiasm regarding the prospect of cross-synchronising stories. Based on these findings we can conclude that the participants appeared not to have become post-hybrid readers. While five did crosssynchronise a single story between different devices, when they read for leisure, they were not keen on using multiple devices at the same time. On the contrary, two of them predicted and/or identified with a simplification of literary reading behaviour. For example, they foresaw a turning away from the e-reader back to the paper book. This shift could be due to emotional attachment to the physical (= non-digital) reading experience, or because purchasing e-books (legally) can be equally if not more expensive. Two participants indicated that they now read literature on their smartphone less often than before. The smartphone did not replace their experience of taking the time to sit down and read a book, to ‘read properly’ (P9). They appreciated that there were now smartphones with bigger screens which facilitated literary reading. Another finding was that eight participants missed the touch of a physical book and its pages. In fact, nine generally preferred to read literature on paper rather than on an electronic device. Their choice for a ‘paper’ device seemed to depend on the purpose for which the story was being read (for leisure or for academic purposes), the funds available, and whether they attached importance to the story—whether the story was worth the investment. Whereas PDFs are intangible and can easily be discarded, paper books are real objects; they are an investment to which one may become attached. With a paper book, students can easily identify their progress within the story and even experience nostalgia by revisiting earlier chapters. In comparison, in the survey, the participants indicated that it was slightly more difficult to navigate long texts on electronic devices. In turn, their choice for paperback or hardback was determined by a range of device aspects. These aspects were emotion (attachment to the story and caring about the way the story is presented), practicality (the physical and purchasing attributes of the device), and ergonomics (the experience of using, holding and carrying the device). These aspects are grouped in Table 8.1.

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Table 8.1 Paperback and hardback-aspects and preference Aspect

Device

Description

Emotion

Hardback

Practically

Hardback Paperback Hardback Paperback

Beautiful; precious; official; special; favourite story; to preserve the cover [art] of the story Lasts longer Reads easier; more practical; cheaper Feels like a real book Easy to fit (e.g. inside a bag); weighs less

Ergonomics

A wider range of aspects played a role when we asked the students what determined their choice to purchase and/or use a specific reading device, electronic or otherwise. These included the age of the device, its weight, price, size and width, and specific features (e.g. search function, type of screen). Considering these aspects and preferences, we asked the participants whether they would read a story they very much looked forward to on a particular device. We found that seven specifically preferred hardbacks. One participant (P10) explained that he would want the device to last, to ‘still be able to read it for ages’ and to ‘put it on a shelf and show [others] that you have it’, which they would not be able to do with a PDF. By contrast, seven students indicated that for academic reading, they preferred to use their laptop. They tended to read PDF-files for coursework because on a laptop they could use the search function. Another reason was that much of the academic literature (e.g. journal articles) was already available in digital format. Yet, P8 mentioned that to read ‘difficult’ books, such as for philosophy coursework, paper books were more convenient for notetaking and for critical reading.

Context Next, we investigated the extent to which context affects the literary reading experience, focussing on the influence of the senses (touch and smell), and the location and its possible distractions, such as sound and noise. We asked the participants whether the smell of the reading device affected their experience and, if so, whether this would be a positive or negative effect. Four students indicated that, overall, the smell of a paper

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book was pleasing, and that the lack of a smell for the e-reader was not. Thus, the smell did appear to contribute to their enjoyment, but not how they experienced the story. The remaining eleven participants did not consider smell to affect their reading experience. Table 8.2 includes examples of the students’ references to the smell of devices. None of the participants believed that a possible mismatch between the age of a story and the smell of a reading device would influence their reading experience negatively. However, a bad (e.g. ‘unpleasant’ or ‘chemical’) and a unique smell that cued memories could distract from the story. P2, however, explained that a smell which added to the ‘atmosphere’ of the story made reading more enjoyable. Regarding touch, eight participants were quick to mention tangible characteristics of the device when they distinguished between the paper book and the e-reader. Examples of these positive references relating to touch can be found in Table 8.3. They explained that touch could increase the extent to which they enjoyed reading the story, but like smell, it did not impact on their experience. The participants pointed out that when they were already absorbed in the story, touch tended to matter less. More specifically, P8 noted that whether touch plays a role depends on the stage of reading‚ and that Table 8.2 The smell of devices: examples Olfactory effect

No olfactory effect

‘I like the smell of a new book and an old book. It gives… an atmosphere… a sense of… you’re sitting reading instead of sitting behind your laptop… reading a book is for pleasure’ (P2) ‘I like the smell of a book, most of the time, in general’ (P4) ‘I think that the old book smell has an influence but that’s mainly at the beginning. When you’re further into the reading it has no effect’ (P8) ‘I don’t really care about [the smell]’. ‘Well I know the book smell in that sense [that the e-reader has no smell] but I don’t feel like I’m missing out either…I don’t know, I don’t think so’ (P3) ‘I love the smell of books, but it doesn’t make any difference to how I read’ (P5) ‘I really do like the smell of books but as far as the quality of my reading experience goes, I don’t think it affects it that much, at least not consciously’ (P7)

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Table 8.3 Paper book and e-reader compared in terms of touch: positive references Paper book

e-reader

‘the physical also the weight of the book can improve the experience’ (P4) ‘I definitely enjoy folding a book and flipping a page’ (P7) ‘Yeah I like having a book in my hands, moving it around, the individual pages, yeah that is one of the reasons I prefer real books’ (P9) ‘But I do like to just turn the page and that you can actually feel what you’re holding and it’s not just some cold device. I do really prefer paper editions in that sense’ (P11) ‘I kind of like that you can bend a book. Because a tablet is just pane of glass. [A book] easily folds’ (P14) In reference to the cover and pages of a book: ‘…it’s like all these books have their distinct qualities and with the e-reader they’re all kind of mixed together and always kind of the same, always giving the same sensations’ (P8) ‘but also the ease…the e-reader is really light…the bending is more of an obstacle’ (P4) But holding/touching the e-reader is ‘also a positive experience’ (P7) ‘I do like it when you know you have one of those soft covers’ (P3) ‘I usually have a sleeve or leather [for the e-reader], which I prefer over plastic’ (P14)

those who have just started reading are consciously aware that they are touching or holding a device.

Distractions and Transportation Turning towards the influence of locations and their distractions on the literary reading experience, we asked students what determined whether they were transported into the story, and how this was affected by reading location. Six indicated that they consciously avoided distraction and that, depending on whether they had just started reading, loud, continuous and sudden noise, text that was difficult to read or understand, and feelings such as stress and exhaustion could easily distract them. In the survey, they mentioned that out of these possible distractions, they were most distracted by sounds and less by surrounding events and smells. They tended to look for a quiet place: ‘if something exciting is happening

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Table 8.4 Examples of ‘transportation’ on the train ‘What I really like is that [when I read on the train] I really feel closed off from the world and you can kind of look outside of the window and the world kind of races by you and I feel like I have this huge room to create an own world’ (P1) ‘I might have the best experiences in the train because I get ‘in the moment’… Especially when the train stops or the coach I feel like oh, continue please, because I want to have that rhythm again’ (P4) ‘Yeah you get into a place or zone where you don’t have to do anything you are already where you need to go’ (P8)

[in the book I am reading, then] I like to sit in the middle of the night when it is all quiet, to get the atmosphere going’ (P2). At the same time, sounds from the reading environment could make the story come to life. For example, P1 mentioned that when she was sailing, the sounds of nature helped her get into the story: ‘you only hear the waves and the wind and maybe some people talking’. Another example is the transportation experienced, both literally and figuratively, when taking the train. In Table 8.4, three participants report how the continuous motion of and, ideally, the quietness in the train compartment facilitates the reading experience, creating a ‘trance’ or ‘white noise’. Sound can thus be both a distraction and a means of absorption in the story. Music may have a similar effect. Two participants mentioned that they listened to music while reading, and that the genre of the music was not related to that of the story: one listened to instrumental music and the other to ‘anything in general’ (P7). It may be because of these context effects that for a number of participants there was a link between the genre of what they were reading and the location where they chose to read. P12 noted: ‘fantasy, I prefer to read at home, whereas when I go to the park I read more … realistic books, be it educational or… those funny self-help books… my fantasy world is more at home and on the train’. And P3 explained: ‘I choose a book that kind of fits the location… because I’m always like reading five books at the same time’.

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Link Between the Choice of Device and Physical Reading Position Finally, we asked whether there was a link between the device used and the physical positions that students took for literary reading (E2). We found evidence that the choice of device does affect the reading position. For example, regarding the hardback, P5 mentioned that because these pages were less easy to fold, it was easier to read sitting up than lying down. Two participants indicated that they preferred to read serious or academic books in an ‘active’ reading position, e.g. sitting at a table rather than lying in bed, using a desktop computer rather than a portable device. Instead, smartphones, e-readers and laptops can be used for reading fiction, which can occur in a ‘passive’ reading position. Compared to the laptop and desktop, the e-reader makes it possible to adopt different reading positions ‘more flexibly’. For example, P4 mentioned that when using the e-reader it was possible to read in bed and that a desk would not be required. This also suggests that when students prefer to lie down to read, they will choose a device that helps them do so comfortably. Thus, reading position also appears to affect the choice of device.

Conclusion In this study, we examined the (electronic) reading behaviour of undergraduate students. We were interested in learning more about whether they had moved away from using traditional locations and devices for literary reading and, also, in how they now read (electronically). We also investigated two assumptions. The first pertained to the question of whether or not students had become post-hybrid readers, namely, those who cross-synchronise the reading of one and the same literary story/novel between and/or across different devices (E1). The second was whether a preference for a specific device affected reading posture (E2). We have found that to this day students still prefer a paper book to electronic devices. For example, the former is, compared to the e-reader,

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nicer to hold, and e-readers with e-ink screens are preferred over LCD. However, when convenient or necessary, electronic devices are used. The data also indicated that the participants preferred to read at home and indoors; they did not commonly read in/at novel places, but they frequently do so when taking the train. This preference for frequent reading on the train is an interesting, embodied-cognitive, phenomenon that has emerged and, as such, warrants further investigation in future studies. Looking further into the data, we noticed that the students generally enjoy reading outdoors in natural settings and the environment may interact with the story and affect the experience. In short, when it comes to the act of reading, it would appear that convenience and comfort are prominent criteria. We also see that although students read ‘on-the-go’, we do not find that they have become so-called ‘post-hybrid’ readers (E1). Indeed, some of the participants regularly switch between using devices and paper for reading literature. One reason for this use of multiple devices is image. One student, for example, explained that a paper book on a shelf could be used for presenting one’s personality and interests. We do find preliminary support for a relationship between the use of a particular reading device and reading position (E2). For instance, when reading in bed, an e-reader will be held differently than a heavy paper book. Overall, the participants indicated that their physical reading position and posture need to be comfortable. In sum, we found that students still engaged in ‘traditional’ literary reading behaviour, based on their continued use of the paper book and indoor reading locations, such as the bed. They make use of novel reading locations and devices when convenient. Only few engaged in post-hybrid reading, indicating that they do not regularly crosssynchronise the same story between different devices. From this it can be concluded that comfort is paramount and this depends on aspects of the device, their physical position, and surroundings. As educators, we want to promote reading. These findings show that if we want students to learn remotely through reading, we need to make sure that a comfortable experience is facilitated. Future studies into reading devices, locations and comfort could provide key ergonomic

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information and consider the influence of access on the choice and preference for reading devices and locations. We are aware that not everyone will appreciate the distinct qualities that our participants have ascribed to the paper book. Furthermore, there will be those who do not take the train—and therefore will not list it as a favourite reading location—or those who do not live in dorms, and therefore have access to different locations. This is why studies with larger samples of undergraduate students would most certainly provide a more complete and nuanced understanding of their current literary reading behaviour.

Notes 1. Of course, negative experiences in life are also key to optimal functioning, for example, of survival instincts. 2. The informed consent form as well as anonymised transcripts of the conducted interviews can be made available by the first author upon request. 3. The trains in the Netherlands have ‘silence compartments’ (‘stiltecoupés’) in both first and second class. This may not be the case on other national train networks.

References Bargh, John A. 2006. What have we been priming all these years? On the development, mechanisms, and ecology of non-conscious social behavior. European Journal of Social Psychology 36 (2): 146–168. Barsalou, Lawrence W. 2009. Simulation, situated conceptualization and prediction. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 364 (1521): 1281–1289. Barsalou, Lawrence W. 2010. Grounded cognition: Past, present and future. Topics in Cognitive Science 2 (4): 716–724.

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Benedetto, Simone, Véronique Drai-Zerbib, Marco Pedrotti, Geoffrey Tissier, and Thierry Baccino. 2013. E-readers and visual fatigue. PloS One 8 (12): e83676. Brenner, Michael. 1985. Intensive interviewing. In The Research interview: Uses and approaches, ed. Michael Brenner, Jennifer Brown, and David Canter, 147–162. London: Academic Press. Burke, Michael. 2011. Literary reading, cognition and emotion: An exploration of the oceanic mind . New York: Routledge. Burke, Michael, and Esmeralda V. Bon. 2018. The location and means of literary reading. In Expressive minds and artistic creations: Studies in cognitive poetics, ed. Szilvia Csábi, 205–231. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Charmaz, Kathy. 2006. Constructing grounded theory: A practical guide through qualitative analysis. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Chu, Heting. 2003. Electronic books: Viewpoints from users and potential users. Library Hi Tech 21 (3): 340–346. Davies, Caroline. 2020. Library ebook lending surges as UK turns to fiction during lockdown. The Guardian, October 23. Gregory, Cynthia L. 2008. “But I want a real book”—An investigation of undergraduates’ usage and attitudes toward electronic books. Reference & User Services Quarterly 47 (3): 266–273. Humphreys, Michael S. 1976. Relational information and the context effect in recognition memory. Memory & Cognition 4 (2): 221–232. Hurst, Susan, Kevin R. Messner, Andrew Revelle, and Aaron K. Shrimplin. 2009. Conflict and consensus—Clusters of opinions on e-books. In ACRL 14th National Conference, 226–234. Seattle (WA). Jeong, Hanho. 2012. A comparison of the influence of electronic books and paper books on reading comprehension, eye fatigue, and perception. The Electronic Library 30 (30): 390–408. Kuzmiˇcová, Anežka. 2012. Presence in the reading of literary narrative: A case for motor enactment. Semiotica 189 (1/4): 23–48. Kuzmiˇcová, Anežka. 2016. Does it matter where you read? Situating Narrative in Physical Environment. Communication Theory 26 (3): 274–290. Kuzmiˇcová, Anežka, Theresa Schilhab, and Michael Burke. 2018. m-Reading: Fiction reading from mobile phones. Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies 26 (2): 333–349. Laurie, Heather. 1992. Multiple methods in the study of household resource allocation. In Mixing methods: Qualitative and quantitative research, ed. Julia Brannen, 145–68. Aldershot: Avebury.

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Maloney, Jennifer. 2015. The rise of phone reading. The Wall Street Journal , August 14. Mangen, Anne, and Don Kuiken. 2014. Lost in an iPad: Narrative engagement on paper and tablet. Scientific Study of Literature 4 (2): 150–177. Miles, Matthew B., and Michael A. Huberman. 1994. Qualitative data analysis. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Pilli, Olga, and Wilfried Admiraal. 2016. A Taxonomy of massive open online courses. Contemporary Educational Technology 7 (3): 223–240. Saldaña, Johnny. 2013. The coding manual for qualitative researchers. London: Sage. van Peer, Willie, Sonia Zyngier, and Vander Viana. 2010. Literary education and digital learning: Methods and technologies for humanities studies. Hershey, PA: IGI Global.

Part III Reader Engagement and Feelings

9 Empirical Pedagogical Stylistics: Reader Response Research in the Classroom Frank Hakemulder

Abstract One striking aspect of literary criticism is that it makes such bold claims about how the reader responds to texts, without worrying too much about where one might locate that reader—we remain unaware of his/her gender, socio-economic background, ethnicity, and so on. It is generally understood, of course, that the reader refers to an implied or ideal reader, or simply to the literary scholar him/herself. Still, the claims make one wonder how they would generalize across readers, for instance, those in the classrooms. In this chapter I will describe how students’ ideas about the role of style in their responses can be put to the test through experimentation. With self-formulated research questions as a starting point, students can be sensitized to the stylistic artistry of literary texts, compare their own feelings and understanding with those of fellow F. Hakemulder (B) Reading Center, University of Stavanger, Stavanger, Norway e-mail: [email protected] Institute for Cultural Inquiry, Utrecht University, Utrecht, Netherlands

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_9

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students or other reader groups, and examine how their own rewritings of those texts might affect reader responses. This chapter offers some practical guidelines for conducting simple studies that students can do under supervision of their teachers or by themselves.

Introduction Empirical stylistics examines how style affects real readers. Theories and intuitions are the basis for hypotheses and tested by means of the methods of the social sciences. In this chapter we focus on the way this type of research can be utilized in educational settings to help students to deepen their understanding of literature and literary experience. Thus, empirical pedagogical stylistics has a specific conception of what literature is, and what the insights are that literary education might aspire to expedite. For many years now literary critics have debated on what should be the focus of interpretation. Roughly speaking, there seems to be two ways in which it is viewed: one in which the reader is central and the other where the text is. In the first, it is implied that each reader may perceive a specific text in a different way, and that this may be more telling about who the perceiver is rather than that it says something about the text. Some would say that this idea of polyvalence is the result of literary socialization (Earthman 1992; Andringa 1995; Groeben and Schreier 1992). Responses to ambiguities in literary texts were examined by Earthman (1992), who compared advanced readers to those that were less advanced. She found that the former were more likely to assume varying perspectives on understanding literary texts. That a flexible attitude towards reading strategies is characteristic of the advanced literary reader is also supported by Andringa (1995). According to her, some readers will notice that the texts do not meet their expectations, but are not able to adjust their approach. Continuously they will feel bewildered and will signal their lack of comprehension, but remain inflexible and passive in their responses, mainly because their repertoire of reading strategies is limited. In a second category, Andringa (1995) groups readers who are able to relate what they read more to their

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background knowledge. Here, however, she sees that the processing is dominantly top-down, ignoring those aspects of the text that the readers cannot place in a familiar context. The most advanced reader profile is characterized by an awareness of the problems in comprehending the text, a meta-cognitive approach to both bottom-up and top-down strategies, and flexibility and ability to use a wider repertoire of activities. So, for the advanced reader there are simply more possibilities for approaching a text. The more readers are trained through literary education, the more they are inclined to recognize this aspect of reading. In training such awareness, we can distinguish two dimensions: a diachronic one, where students see what readers have done through the ages with a certain text, how it was appropriated, how interpretations helped use literary texts for various ends; and a synchronic one, where readers learn how many distinct possible perspectives there are, for instance, represented in one classroom. Both dimensions will bring about the realization of the flux of literary experience, the subjectivity and hence multi-interpretability of texts. A second view pertains to the insight that readers’ perceptions are guided by aspects in the text itself. This awareness is assumed to be the result of training in stylistic analyses and in identifying rhetorical devices. For instance, Leech and Short (2007) propose to train students in the study of how the language of literature works, thus bringing them a “fuller understanding and appreciation of the writer’s artistic achievement” (2007: 1). In some cases, it may be the smallest detail that will help them to unlock the soul of the literary work. It is not that individual differences between readers are assumed to be irrelevant, but they are not central to the stylistics they propose. The focus is on the interrelation between deviance (how style differs from some norm), prominence (how this then becomes noticeable for readers) and literary relevance [the de-automatization, or “the fresh awareness of, and sensitivity to, the language medium” (2007: 23)]. It is training that helps to make intuitive stylistic competence, assumed to be common among all users of a language, into explicit knowledge. A third approach defines literariness as the mutual constitution of entangled agencies, a co-constitutive process. Here we go beyond the

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dichotomy of a reader-centred approach and the text-centred approach, arguing that literariness can be seen as the result of an interaction between readers and texts. In this interactive process we see an active contribution by readers (i.e., reading between the lines, making inferences, bringing their background knowledge and norms to the text), and “agency” of the text (e.g. a narrative technique pushing readers to take the perspective of one character rather than another, working on re-registration, or to filling gaps in the text structure, see Carter 2010), as “a subject that has something to say to the reader” (Sønneland 2019: 2). In this approach, literariness is not static. Instead, it is a becoming, it happens, it changes, and it is impossible to distinguish in this what the reader is and what the text is (Hakemulder 2020). Thus, we go beyond the opposition between radical constructivism (Von Glasersfeld 1984) (literariness is all in the eye of the beholder), and a traditional way of defining literariness as something that we can solely pinpoint in a select number of books that are located on certain sections in our libraries. There is something to say for both positions, but it is argued here that the deeper insight is that literariness is not totally independent of text qualities, nor totally independent of readers: it occurs as an intra-action (cf. Barad 2003; Coole and Frost 2010). Thus, the interpretation would be an awareness of this emerging, changing and unfolding process (cf. Dixon et al. 1993). In this chapter I will suggest some ways of helping students to experience interpretation through “guided self-learning”. A reoccurring notion in pedagogy is that we learn through doing, through self-discovery: teachers can tell their students how invaluable literary reading experiences are, but, as some assume, the idea will be more convincing if students discover it by themselves. However, research suggests that pure discovery learning does not yield the promised effects; some form of guidance does seem to be required (Mayer 2004). The current chapter will offer some options for what such limited guidance might look like.

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Questioning as a Starting Point The framework from which I will approach the topic is that of a critical pedagogical perspective (Zyngier and Fialho 2010, 2016) that places the dialogue between teacher and student at the centre of the teaching. Students are not expected to take the claims for granted, but instead take an investigative stance. Pedagogical stylistics aims to enhance students’ linguistic sensibility, that is, the use of language in the text they study. In addition, it is designed to improve their own skills in reading and writing (see Clark and Zyngier 2003 for a discussion). Here I will explore ways in which students can be actively involved in these learning processes, by letting them come up with relevant questions. Starting with questions is a method that is well-established in education as well as in educational research. For instance, Sønneland (2019) uses complex texts that taunt easy interpretation, and poses problems rather than ready-made solutions. The texts are introduced to her participants as open problems rather than as riddles to which the teacher has the solution and to which the students may aspire. This is how she words her instruction: “I have brought a difficult text with me today. As researchers and teachers, we cannot agree what to make of it. Would you like to see what you can make of it?” (Sønneland 2019: 6). Her observations suggest that this enhances student engagement. According to Janssen et al. (2009), asking questions is an essential part of response to literature, since literary texts are often ambiguous and open. Hence, they developed an instruction that stimulates students to focus on what puzzles them during reading. It was assumed that this would cause students’ active engagement—and hence their improved comprehension—the activation of their prior knowledge, and would also enhance self-monitoring of their comprehension and the difficulties they encounter. The instructions were: “ask yourself questions while reading; choose one essential question; discuss your question with peers; decide on one or more answers to your question; substantiate your answer(s)” (Janssen et al. 2009: 99). Comparing the impact of such self-questioning to that of teacher-generated questions, the researchers found that the former had a stronger beneficial effect on the quality of students’ story interpretation and appreciation.

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Here I add two new components: first, I will show how students can be guided towards questioning assumptions in stylistics. For centuries scholars in the humanities have refined skills to analyze texts, resulting in an array of concepts that students can use to interpret texts. Often these concepts are linked to claims of how text characteristics influence the reception process. Such claims are sometimes implicit and sometimes more explicit. Generally speaking, however, they are not supported by evidence, and hence are empirical and potentially the basis for pedagogical stylistics. Second, an empirical pedagogical stylistics is not only a matter of a questioning stance, but requires students to become active researchers. In the remainder of this section, I will propose a number of perspectives one can adopt in an empirical pedagogical stylistics; what key assumptions are that can be reformulated as empirical questions; and how resulting hypotheses can be tested.

Foregrounding A common conception of what distinguishes literature from other genres is not the content; it is rather the form in which that content is presented. According to Rabinowitz (1987: 65), “We tend to skim over the even and the unbroken, disruptions attract our notice”. More specifically, it is deviation from extra-textual norms, for instance, those of daily language usage as well as the use of parallelism that scholars assume to be dominant in literature, and thus determine the “literariness” of a text, which often goes by the name “foregrounding” (Van Peer & Hakemulder 2006; Van Peer 2007). This characterization of literature goes hand-in-hand with hypotheses about the effects reading may have on the reader. Foregrounding features obstruct the processing and hence slow down perception. Ensuing defamiliarization will result in a renewed awareness of what is overfamiliar. The formulations will bring powerful imagery and cause strong emotional responses (Shklovsky 2015; Mukaˇrovský 1984; Miall and Kuiken 1994). An advantage of this approach to literary phenomena is the specificity of predictions it helps us to make: This particular

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metaphor will cause a surprise response in the reader. A passage with foregrounded features will make readers read slower and enhance affective reactions. In one study, Hoorn (2001) used electroencephalograms (EEG’s) to assess cognitive-energetic surprise effects of literary metaphors that would be indicated by so-called N400 activity. He found that literal expressions (e.g. “the sun is a star”) evoked the least brain activity, while metaphors (e.g. “the sun is a grape”) and anomalies (“the sun is a whit”) produced the most. So, non-literal expressions result in a shock of unexpectedness in which the words are perceived as incompatible and thus stimulate readers to find a figurative interpretation. It is true that an EEG study is not something that is easily replicated in the classroom, but with some adjustments it may be. One way to do this is by using self-report scales, for instance, by asking participants to rate the emotional intensity of the speaker felt, and the emotional intensity they felt themselves. A similar approach was used by Van Peer et al. (2007). They produced several versions of one poetic sentence, each new version reducing the level of deviation, and then asked students to rate them on a number of items, such as appreciation or interest. In their study, the following sentence was stripped bit-by-bit of its foregrounding: “I feel cold tears of disbelief being shed on my resting place”. So, for instance, “shed” was replaced by “pour”, “resting place” by “bed”, “cold” becomes “bitter”, “disbelief ” is substituted by “sadness”, and in the end we have “I cry bitter tears of sadness on my bed”. For each of these steps, the researchers presented careful arguments. The assumption was that each consecutive step would reduce the level of foregrounding, and would hence produce different responses in readers. Each student saw just one version of the sentence, and was asked to rate it on a number of scales, from −5 to 5. These included items pertaining to cognitive responses: “It makes me stop and think”, “I would like to memorize it” and “I am learning something from it”. Also, participants were asked to judge the sentence they read on items that were considered to be relevant for aesthetic appreciation: “I think this line is musical”, “I think the sentence is beautiful”, and “I found it striking”. These response categories did indeed prove to be susceptible to the manipulation of the text.

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Another way to examine the impact foregrounding has on the reader is to compare the results of careful close reading, determining the levels of foregrounding in texts with the evaluation of other readers. In a study with six poems, Van Peer (1986) first identified which sentences contained more or less foregrounding, that is, those that were dense in deviation or parallelism, and those that were not. Next, he had participants evaluate the memorability, importance, strikingness, and discussion value of the poems. Strikingness and discussion values were assessed as follows: participants were to underline those parts of the tests (words, phrases, clauses or sentences) that they considered striking or having discussion value. What he found was a significant overlap between his own estimations of foregrounding and the responses of his participants. In the same study, Van Peer (1986) also used another procedure that is easy to apply in educational contexts. To assess memorability, he administered a cloze test in which participants were presented with lines from the same poems, but particular words were left out. He then asked them to recall the deleted words. The assumption was that if you leave an equal number of background and foreground words out, you will have better recall for the foregrounded words. Again, the level of foregrounding predicted recall, at least in most of the cases. The fact that there were some inconsistencies between the predictions and the outcomes suggested, as Van Peer did, that there were other factors at work. Such findings are potentially relevant in educational settings: a closer look might lead to ideas about what these factors might be.

Narrative Structure and Affect While foregrounding is largely an alleged aesthetic effect, there are other aspects of a text that generate other types of interest that are more focussed on story events. An influential theory about this is that of Brewer and Lichtenstein (1982), called the structural affect theory. The researchers state that the narrative structure of a text predicts what type of entertainment emotion readers or spectators experience. It describes

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the relation between initiating event and its solution. In case the readers are allowed to receive just enough information to realize that they still lack some essential information, this will inspire curiosity in them. A typical example is the whodunnit, where we know just enough information about the initiating event (someone has been murdered) to be curious about the missing information (the identity of the murderer). A suspense structure presents readers with an initiating event that has potentially important consequences for a character that readers care about. Finally, the surprise structure brings readers information about the initiating event that they did not even know was missing. These structures can easily be identified in stories, and thus lead to predictions about which of the emotions (suspense, curiosity of surprise) is dominantly felt by readers. Since these structures can be seen at a macro-level, covering the entire narrative, but can also be pinpointed locally at specific spots in the text, the theory might generate hypotheses about where the entertainment emotions are high and where they are low. In another study, Knobloch et al. (2004) rewrote newspaper articles so as to test the effect of narrative structure on suspense and curiosity experiences. Participants were presented with a question: “How much do the following characteristics apply to the text?”. This question was followed by the items “exciting”, “boring”, “thrilling” “uninteresting”, “mysterious”, “sober”, and “secretive/puzzling” and they were to rate each of them on a 6-point scale, with “not at all” on the left, and “absolutely” on the right. Furthermore, participants were asked “Did you wonder while reading what had happened before?”, “Did the text grip you?”, and “Did you find the plot enigmatic?”. Finally, they were asked “How did you feel while reading?”, and to rate their answer on the items “expectant”, “excited”, “curious” and “in suspense”. The results showed a clear confirmation of the predictions of the theory proposed by Brewer and Lichtenstein (1982). Similar studies were conducted by Kuijpers (2014) for literary narratives, and by Doicaru (2016) for movies. A question that is relevant for students of literature is if such mechanisms work independent of context. Reader intuitions may generate hypotheses that could be tested to see whether they can be generalized, for instance, to other readers in the classroom. Rabinowitz (1987) suggests that including a detour might heighten readers’ anticipation of

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an event that is announced. Context may co-determine, however, the delay may cause suspense or, for instance, a comical effect. It may also be that there is an optimum amount of delay: beyond a certain point it may decrease tension rather than increase readers’ suspense. However, in her experiments with movies, Doicaru (2016) found no such optimum, but rather a linear relation between delay and suspense: the more she kept adding delay, the higher the suspense.

Rhetorics One seemingly endless source of hypotheses can be found in classical rhetoric. A good starting point is Corbett and Connors (1999), but there are many other examples of introductions to rhetoric. The taxonomy of stylistic devices, that is, the schemes and tropes, are assumed to affect readers. In the authors’ words, the rhetorical question, for instance, is assumed to be “more effective as a persuasive device than a direct assertion would be” (Corbett and Connors 1999: 445). The writer or speaker can subtly influence the kind of response one wants from an audience, for instance, by eliciting a negative answer to the question “Was this an act of heroism?”. This and similar claims can easily be tested by producing various versions of texts and asking readers to rate to what extent they find the text persuasive, or better even, to rate the (fictional) character to whom the question refers to, for instance, according to degrees of heroism (cf. Petty et al. 1981). One method of persuasion is that of inserting a story or exemplum as evidence for an opinion or standpoint. In a study that examined this effect, a small narrative was added to an otherwise non-narrative essay (Hakemulder 2003). Participants were to read the essay with or without the narrative, and then rate it on a number of items (each on an 11point scale), such as “plausible”, “convincing”, “incredible”, and “weak plea”. Indeed, as predicted, readers did perceive the essay as being more persuasive with the narrative than without. Predictable, were it not for some surprises. The assumptions that the manipulation would be relevant for perceived interestingness, understandability, and engagement

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were not supported by the results. Also, it was expected that the manipulation would be effective independent of the argument (i.e., warning for a failure in the integration policies for immigrants, versus showing that integration is progressing satisfactorily). Adding a narrative to the essay was apparently not enough to make the warning sound more convincing. As usual in this type of study, the results lead to new questions. In this case, for instance, one may ask whether this holds for participants across the political spectrum, and whether there may be something in the stories that could have made the point stronger. If so, what would that be? Moreover, it was assumed that it would not matter whether the added narrative would be presented as real or as hypothetical (maybe comparable to fictional). It did matter, however. Again, this may lead to essential questions about the rhetorical power of narratives and the role of fictionality in this respect.

Narrative Perspective A common assumption in narratology is that perspective affects readers’ sympathies. It relates to the equally common experience among spectators of, for instance, crime movies, where they find themselves siding with morally questionable characters, apparently because events are presented from their point of view. Often, we may feel surprised that we hope the villain escapes the police while normally we would hope such individuals end up in jail. Similarly, a documentary about gazelles makes us anxious for their fate when they are hunted by lions, whereas a documentary about lions makes us hope they catch the food for their starving cubs. Narratology developed a refined set of terms to describe narrative perspective, instruments that are helpful in close reading, and simultaneously lead to hypotheses about how stories affect readers’ feelings, their biases towards one character at the cost of another, and what aspects of the story they focus on and remember. One particular mode of narration that has led to much theorizing is Free Indirect Discourse (FID), which is defined as “grammatically and mimetically intermediate between indirect and direct discourse” (Rimmon-Kenan 1983: 110; see also Fludernik 1993; Simpson 1993;

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Toolan 1988). An example of direct discourse would be “He said: ‘I love her’”; “He said that he loved her” is indirect discourse, and “That he loved her, there was not question. What could he do?” could be FID. It is generally assumed that FID gives readers the impression that they hear both the narrator’s and the character’s voice in what is told. So, it could be investigated how this would affect responses that is, whether it leads to an ironic distancing, or rather getting close to the character in feelings of empathy. Leech and Short (2007), for instance, argue that readers will feel more distanced because the authorial voice is interposed between them and the character. Ironic distance may occur, they suggest, when the narrator and the character clearly do not have the same point of view. As suggested by Rimmon-Kenan (1983), one of the possible effects of FID is that readers will feel empathy for the character as a result of the way the narrator’s speech is affected by the character’s language and experience. Such contrasting predictions (if indeed they do contrast and cannot both be true) may be a perfect start for experimental research in academic contexts, as well as in the classrooms. When taking a closer look at passages with FID, readers’ awareness of their responses, possibly guided by narratological concepts, might be a basis for an examination of the workings of literary texts. Besides the irony-empathy paradox, there are contrasting ideas about the possible influence FID’s “dual voice” has on readers (Pascal 1977). On the one hand, it is predicted that FID camouflages the point of view of the author, making readers believe it is that of the character. On the other hand, it can be argued that FID makes readers’ moral judgement more complex, due to the polyphone nature of this form of narration. Consequently, it would be more difficult to make a simple statement about the moral of the story. This too is a clear challenge for research. Can polyphony really make readers more careful or uncertain when drawing their conclusions about the moral point of a story? In another study, Hakemulder and Koopman (2010) conducted a series of experiments in which they examined the influence FID had on the perception of immoral characters. In a short story by Borowski, “The Record” (2005), the researchers changed the direct speech into FID. For example, “‘He will be hanged!’ the young officer said, and looked sternly into the half-closed eyes of the woman” was rewritten as “That man

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would be hanged! The young officer looked sternly into the half-closed eyes of the woman”. The original was presented to one group of readers, and the version with a higher percentage of text in FID to another group. Even though the information about the characters’ feelings and thoughts was exactly the same, the change in narrative technique affected certain readers’ experience of the story. Items that were used were “The feelings and thoughts of the character were invisible” and “The feelings and thoughts were clearly visible” (with the scores on the first item reversed of course). Responses to these statements revealed a significant effect of the manipulation, so the main finding was that FID may contribute to readers’ impressions that they have a direct access to the inner life of characters. It can be a satisfying experience seeing hypotheses confirmed. Finding that FID does indeed affect the processing of a story, researchers and students learn about the workings of literary devices. However, from my point of view, in order to deepen experience and understanding, it is equally important, or maybe even more so, to look at assumptions that are not confirmed. First of all, it is important to note that it took two rounds of rewriting before the effects of FID were measurable. The researchers had to increase the percentage of texts that had FID instead of direct discourse. Also, revisiting the text after the first failed attempt to register an effect, the level of disgust that one of the characters may have engendered was much stronger than the potential effect of text manipulation. These assumptions were then used in the subsequent rewriting. Rather than a failure, this process can be considered as a process of discovery. The same holds for the great number of hypotheses that had to be rejected. Contrary to what the theories about FID suggest, no differences were registered in the way participants perceived the character, narrator, implied author, nor did the manipulation seem to have affected the perceived transparency of the moral of the story. Before, it seemed almost certain that the manipulations would affect the reading. The results, however, were puzzling. Falsified hypotheses challenge the researchers/students to take another look at the whole process of rewriting the text and constructing the measures, as well as who the participants and the circumstances are. These reflections

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might lead to new questions and new research problems; even formulating them without having the answers arguably adds to the literary experience. Generally, the insight is that it often is more complicated, or much less straightforward than the theories predict. In a study examining the effects of the focalization of a story, Hakemulder (2000) rewrote “Learning to fall” by Ann Beattie (1982) in two versions: one in which the main character is the perceiving agent, and one in which she is not. One sentence reads “Andrew and I are both frowning at Ruth’s table and she - as always - is tolerating us. ‘More coffee?’, Ruth asks me. I nod yes, and let her pour it, although I could easily get up and walk to the stove for the pot.” In the version where the character-narrator (the “I”) loses her privileges to perceive, it reads: “Andrew and Joan are both frowning at Ruth’s table and she - as always is tolerating them. ‘More coffee?’, Ruth asks Joan. She nods, and lets her pour it, although she could easily get up and walk to the stove for the pot”. As becomes clear from this example, the changes are minimal. Still, when participants were asked to rate the main female character, there were significant differences. They were presented with a number of adjectives, four of which referred to morality (“moral”, “sincere”, “selfish”, and “promiscuous”). Ten other items were filler items (e.g. “intelligent”), that had little to do with the effects that the manipulation was expected to have. The results revealed that the version in which “Joan” is the focalizer, she is rated significantly more moral than in the version where she does not have that opportunity (Hakemulder 2000: 127).

Characterization One key aspect of the reader’s response is characterization. The text can have direct and indirect indications of what the character’s personality is like. Examples of direct characterization would be the appearance of adjectives describing the character. Here it is important, however, that the description comes from a reliable source, an authoritative narrator. Otherwise, it will not have that strong effect on the impression formation (Rimmon-Kenan 1983). So, this means that, if the same expressions are uttered by different agents in the text, that would make a difference for

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what readers think of the character. For instance, Rimmon-Kenan (1983: 60) argues that because this sentence “Isabel Archer was a young person of many theories; her imagination was remarkably active” (quote from Henry James’ Portrait of a Lady) is ascribed to an authoritative voice in the text, readers will adopt the same belief about Isabel, while if the same text were uttered by a rather dull character, they would be much less inclined to believe she is a “person of many theories”. These are excellent hypotheses to be tested. Indirect characterization leads to an array of assumptions about impression formation. For instance, recurring behaviour may be considered to reveal a stable aspect of the character’s personality. Information about external appearance or the character’s environment might be seen as indications of personality. It may well be that the principles that underlie the perception of real people also hold for how readers form their impression of fictional characters (Culpeper 1996). This might be a good starting point for the discussion of how a text directs these processes. For example, which textual aspects may stimulate readers to infer causes of behaviour located in the character (i.e., internal attribution) or in the environment (external attribution)? Borrowing from social psychology, Culpeper (1996) suggests that factors like distinctiveness (whether the character reacts in a distinctive way to various stimuli), or consistency (the character reacts in the same way to the same stimulus in various situations), and consensus (whether others respond in the same way to this stimulus) might affect the type of attribution. For example, distinctiveness may stimulate readers to look for explanations in the circumstances, while consistency may bring them to emphasize personality (Culpeper 1996: 342–343).

Producing Materials In this section I will discuss a number of ways in which materials can be obtained to put empirical pedagogical stylistics to work. First, I will look at ways to prepare the texts students read and suggest ways in which to

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design their studies. Second, I will discuss some methods to assess reader responses.

The Texts Text manipulation is one of the most frequently used methods in the examples presented in this chapter. It is important to be aware of the downsides to this approach (cf. Sanford and Emmott 2012: 83). In experimental research one preferably manipulates only one factor (e.g. just FID, keeping the information the same) in order to find out what role this particular factor plays in the reception process. However, one will soon discover that it is almost impossible to change just one factor. A text has a texture. It is like a fabric of interconnections between elements or devices. The argument in this chapter is that this disadvantage can be quite beneficial to students. Attempting to modify a text on just one isolated dimension is likely to lead to the discovery of this intricate nature of the literary text. It is actually a method that can be used in literary education and creative writing classes (Kuijpers 2015). Second, it is also important to realize writers are often rewriters themselves. The words we see printed in the books we buy are just one version of the text. Generally, we can assume much was changed during the creative process as a result of self-censorship, and in the interventions of editors and publishers. Who knows how the text would have developed if the author would have decided to take more time to send it in, what more refinements and adjustments she might have implemented? Even after publication, the text can change as a result of all sorts of purposeful or accidental adjustments (e.g. Van der Starre 2021). The organic aspect of literary texts was examined by Sopˇcák (2007). In his study, he presented participants with one of three versions of passages from Ulysses, produced by James Joyce himself. He first conducted a foregrounding analysis of the texts. Participants were then asked to rate the text (among others) on strikingness, using a scale from 1 to 7. The results showed, as predicted, a significant correlation between the level of foregrounding in those passages and the strikingness ratings.

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Besides existing versions of a text, there are other alternatives to using rewriting as a method to produce versions. Based on his own analyzes of a number of literary texts, Sklar (2009) determined at which points in a narrative readers would be prompted to change their perception of characters. He asked half of his participants to rate the character before that point and the other half right after that point. Another option is to use the so-called re-reading paradigm described by Dixon et al. (1993). Readers are asked to read a poem or a short story. Afterwards they evaluate the text according to a number of items: “Is this story an example of good literature?” “Did you enjoy reading this story?” and “Would you recommend this story to someone else to read?” Then they are asked to re-read the text, and use the same items to rate the text again. The assumption here is that due to the literary qualities of the text, results will show an increase in appreciation. For texts that score lower on literary qualities, there will be no such “depth of appreciation” or emerging effect. A least intrusive method to produce materials is to use the original texts and have the student-participant underline passages, for instance, asking them to mark those sentences or words that they find striking (cf. Van Peer 1986, Miall and Kuiken 1994). In one study (Hakemulder et al. 2016), this method was used to make students aware of the overlap. One group underlined sentences and words they found striking (i.e., “Underline what is remarkable to you, remarkably beautiful, powerful, unusual, or strange), while another group was asked to underline those parts they found emotionally evocative (“Underline words or sentences that evoke emotions in you (both negative and positive)”. A correlation was found between these two ratings. Going back then to the texts, this may lead to discussion about the interaction between style and affect, an aspect that seems central to the literary experience.

Measures There are a number of ways to assess the responses of the participants/students. Qualitative methods would involve having participants

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think aloud, for instance, when reading a story. One can indicate beforehand at what points the researcher wants to probe readers’ thoughts about the story, record the reactions, and code later with the purpose of discovering a progression or change in the type of inferences they make (e.g. about the story world, predictions about the outcome, or evaluation of style aspects; cf. Davis and Andringa 1995). Qualitative methods take up a lot of time. On the other hand, quantitative methods are less time consuming and easier to implement. In addition, collecting quantitative responses allows students to test whether differences between groups are meaningful, i.e. not due to chance. In the description of the examples, I already referred to some possibilities to assess reader responses. For the purpose of an empirical study in the classroom, it is best to keep it simple. Preferably one should use existing scales, but one can also intuitively draw up some items, and tailor them to the expected impact the text and/or the rewriting has (for guidelines, see Van Peer et al. 2012). The best way to obtain existing measures is to consult articles in journals like Scientific Study of Literature, or Poetics. One will often find a description of the items that were used, or even the entire questionnaire as an appendix. Another open source is the website of the International Society for the Empirical Study of Literature (Internationale Gesellschaft für Empirische Literaturwissenschaft, or IGEL).

Testing Hypotheses Within the context of this chapter, it is impossible to provide adequate instructions on how to examine whether differences between groups are real or due to chance. The choice of test depends on several factors. One important issue is whether the research one has in mind has a betweensubject design or a within-subject design. One can consider comparing group means between two groups of participants (e.g. randomly assigned students reading the original story, and others reading a manipulation version). One possibility, then, is to use an independent-sample t-test to test whether group means differ significantly. In a within-subject design, one compares means on two measures for each student (e.g. appreciation

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scores after first as compared to after second reading). Here a one-sample t-test would be a potentially suitable test. For information about hypotheses testing, there are multiple internet sources (e.g. on YouTube), where one can find step by step guidelines for entering data, preparing them for analysis, choosing the appropriate statistical test, running that test, and interpreting the results. Statistical packages like SPSS can often be obtained using schools or university licences and/or discounts. One can also opt for an open access program like R. Finally, it is also an option to contact members of the above-mentioned organization, IGEL, for collaborative projects.

Conclusion One can take various perspectives on what literature is. Some theorists argue that literariness is in the eye of the beholder, others focus exclusively on the text. Without having the ambition to argue against either position, here I discussed ways to explore literariness as a dynamic phenomenon, that is, the result of an interaction between real readers (the beholders), and specific text qualities (e.g. those studied in stylistics). By translating assumptions about how devices (e.g. rhetorical aspects) affect the processing and interpretation of literary texts into testable hypotheses, the workings of literature become more “tangible” or, in other words, a less elusive topic for discussion. This may hold for both academic research as well as literary classrooms. The studies discussed in this chapter frequently showed that some of the claims about the impact of style are confirmed. It was surprisingly much more common, though, that the hypotheses needed to be rejected. Thus, research leads to more questions and hence new research problems (e.g. what factors in the text, in the reader, or in the circumstances were overlooked). Coming to see the complexity of how the interaction comes about is an essential part of the literary experience. The methods that were proposed here can help readers to compare responses, for instance contrasting responses between male and female, sophisticated and novice readers, or readers from different cultures (e.g. Chesnokova et al. 2017).

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Finally, theory-inspired rewriting of literary texts text was suggested here as a road to self-discovery. Combining this with empirical research reveals how style interacts with readers, and hence allows students to experience literariness as something that occurs between text and reader.

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10 Considerations on the Use of Translated Poems in EFL Settings Anna Chesnokova and Sonia Zyngier

Abstract To this point few empirical studies have examined the reactions of students when translated poems are used in EFL literature classrooms. In a previous study (Chesnokova et al., 2017), we noticed that opting for translations comes with a price, and reactions will vary. In this chapter, we offer a detailed line-by-line analysis of Poe’s ‘The Lake’ translated into three different languages so as to check whether these differences may be attributed to the translators’ choices. Thus versions from renowned translators are selected and compared with the original poem by means of stylistic analysis. The results are then checked against reactions of 500 students of Language and Literature. This chapter argues that each translation indeed creates a singular context that may account for the A. Chesnokova (B) Borys Grinchenko Kyiv University, Kyiv, Ukraine e-mail: [email protected] S. Zyngier Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_10

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differences. We conclude that teachers of literature should be made aware that the unique context the translators’ stylistic options create may strongly impact upon students’ reading experiences. Keywords Reader response · Cultural differences · Translations · Stylistic analysis · Pedagogical stylistics · Poe

Introduction Ten years ago, in delineating three main developments for future work in pedagogical stylistics, Carter (2010) looked back upon the main questions pedagogical stylisticians were asking. Some of them searched for justifications for using literature in an L1 and L2 English curriculum and asked whether the criteria for text selection should be aesthetic or involve other factors. In this chapter, we ask a further question: what happens if EFL students of literature are provided translations in their mother tongue. According to Stockwell (2009), when creating meaning, one cannot separate linguistic form from experiential value. By the same token, meaning-making involves the aesthetic and ethical dimensions of language. So, what options are at stake? The assumption that style is the actual substance of literary texts and that reading is experiential has deep implications for teaching. Back in 1938, and distancing herself from the didactic and moralistic approach to literature, Rosenblatt held that the task of teachers was to ‘make their students more sensitive to the art of words’ (1995: 4). She also added what by now has become a well-known axiom: ‘Literature provides a living through, not simply knowledge about ’ (idem: 38). On a similar note, Widdowson (1992: 24) pointed out that literary texts are meaningful to us because they refer not to the nature of our memory, but to the representation of our experience of the world. In this chapter we hold that literary sensitivity and awareness (Zyngier 1994) materialise through language, a notion that is at the core of pedagogical stylistics (Zyngier 2006; Verdonk 2002; Hall 2007, 2014, among others), and ask what happens when the teacher opts for a translated version of a poetic text. If reading is experiential, then different linguistic renderings of the same poem by EFL students may impact upon their responses. However, in

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order to support this statement, we need empirical evidence. There have been few empirical studies in this area (Zyngier and Viana 2016; Zyngier and Fialho 2016; Fialho et al. 2016). By looking at different settings, this chapter addresses this gap and examines whether translations actually affect readers in diverse ways. Pedagogical stylistics offers both a toolkit for analysis (Short 1988; Simpson 2014) and a guideline as to how reactions and interpretations may find ground in linguistic accounts and thus avoid impressionistic approaches. In the educational setting, explaining how language impacts upon students is one of its main focuses. Based on the principles of choice and effect, pedagogical stylistics helps learners develop skills which enable them to find precise linguistic description to sustain their readings. As a pedagogical adjunct to stylistics, the area has moved ahead into studies of how literary texts transform the reader (Fialho 2019) and empirical work on the experience of literature have started to surge (for a summary of the development in the area, see Fialho et al. 2016; Zyngier and Fialho 2016). In this sense, this chapter offers rigorous evidence-based data that may bring to light the extent to which students’ responses to translated poems may vary. As Zhang and Lauer (2015: 664) state, ‘readers fill the “gaps” within the texts by inferring the missing information according to their cultural knowledge. […] In this cognitive framework, the domain of culture regulates the understanding of typical settings, typical genres, and typical attributions of intentions, and is therefore an essential part of meaning formation’.

Implications for Translations In translation studies, questions of how to produce faithful renderings of one language product into another one, with a focus on form (rhyme, meter) and content, have also shown a shift to issues of emotional impact on readers (e.g. Rojo et al. 2014). The issue of poetic translation, especially when the author and the audience are separated not only culturally but also temporarily, inevitably evokes numerous questions that can hardly be solved. Jakobson (1959)

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had already argued that poetry resists translations. Instead, the translator can only work with ‘creative constructions’. He explains: [i]n poetry, verbal equations become a constructive principle of the text. Syntactic and morphological categories, roots, and affixes, phonemes and their components (distinctive features) – in short, any constituents of the verbal code are confronted, juxtaposed, brought into contiguous relation according to the principle of similarity and contrast and carry their own autonomous signification. Phonemic similarity is sensed as semantic relationship. The pull, or to use a more erudite, and perhaps more precise term – paronomasia, reigns over poetic art, and whether its rule is absolute or limited, poetry, by definition, is untranslatable. Only creative transposition is possible: either intralingual transposition – from one poetic shape into another, or interlingual transposition – from one language into another, or finally intersemiotic transposition – from one system of signs into another, e.g., from verbal art into music, dance, cinema, or painting. (1959: 238)

The question, then, is how free translators are to recreate before they deviate too widely from the effect(s) the original text may trigger. Borges (1999: 325), for instance, ironically states that his translators did a better job than he himself as a writer (cf. ‘Con mis poemas, en cambio, generalmente encuentro que los han mejorado muchísimo’). His point is that translations in fact transform one text into a totally different one. If Borges is correct, instead of focusing on the words on the page, the solution may be found in conveying the emotions perceived in the original. This is what Fernando Pessoa sets as a principle when he states: [a] poem is an intellectualised impression, or an idea made emotion, communicated to others by means of a rhythm. This rhythm is double in one, like the concave and convex aspects of the same arc: it is made up of a verbal or musical rhythm and of a visual or image rhythm, which concurs inwardly with it. The translation of a poem should therefore conform absolutely to the idea or emotion which constitutes the poem, to the verbal rhythm in which that idea or emotion is expressed; it should conform relatively to the inner or visual rhythm, keeping to the images

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themselves when it can, but keeping always to the type of image. (Pessoa 1923 [1966]: 74—our translation)1

Here is the dilemma an EFL literature teacher has to face: struggle with the original text, offer a translated version or only accept students who are totally competent in the foreign language. Instead of having to opt, we hold that whichever decision teachers make, they should be aware of what implications each choice provides.

A Previous Study On the premise that ‘[p]oetry is to be experienced before it is to be analysed’ (Fox and Merrick 1987: 332), the question this study addresses is whether a translation will trigger emotions similar to the source poem and what implications this may have for pedagogical stylistics. In an earlier study (Chesnokova et al. 2017), five hundred Language and Literature students from two different countries (Brazil and Ukraine) read E.A. Poe’s ‘The Lake’ (1827) in its original version2 in English or in its translation into the respondents’ mother tongues (Portuguese, Ukrainian and Russian). They were divided into five groups (Table 10.1). Aiming at examining collective responses, the participants answered a five-point semantic differential scale questionnaire. A Kolmogorov– Smirnov test showed that the data were not normally distributed, so non-parametric Mann–Whitney and Kruskall–Wallis tests were applied to compare their responses. The results indicated that the groups showed significant differences: Brazilians found the poem more negative and Table 10.1

Participant grouping

Group

Nationality

Poem

Number of participants

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Brazilian

Original in English Transl. into Portuguese Original in English Transl. into Ukrainian Transl. into Russian

100 100 100 100 100

Ukrainian

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considered the original in English darker, lonelier, more mysterious, more mystical, more solitary and gloomier than Ukrainians. The results of the ratings of the poem in the respondents’ first language also differed. Brazilians considered the translated version darker, more nostalgic and less exciting than the Ukrainians did. The most positive response was obtained from Ukrainian participants who had Russian as their first language: they found the poem less sad, less melancholic, less lonely and less gloomy than the other groups did. In contrast, the Ukrainian version read by participants who spoke this language as their L1 was evaluated as darker, more mystical and less dreamy. In this chapter we present a detailed step-by-step comparative analysis in order to study the decisions each translator took and match them against the readers’ reactions obtained in Chesnokova et al. (2017). We work through three translations of the same poem stylistically on a line-by-line basis to see possible effects of the different versions on the students who participated in the previous study.

Criteria for Text Selection To celebrate the 150th anniversary of Poe’s death, Vines (1999) collected essays on the poet’s impact and reputation in 20 different countries and regions. He also discussed Poe’s influence over major world writers as predictably as the French Romantics Baudelaire, Mallarmé and Valéry, but also on Fernando Pessoa, Kafka, Strindberg, Borges, and Cortázar, among others. Due to his relevance over the centuries, Poe has been widely translated into many different languages (see Esplin and Vale de Gato 2014). In Portugal, the first translations appeared in journals (A Opinião, 1857; Diário de Lisboa, 1858), and the first volume was published in 1886. Poe’s influence extended to Brazilian writers such as Monteiro Lobato, Álvares de Azevedo, Hugo de Carvalho Ramos, Cruz e Souza and the renowned Brazilian novelist Machado de Assis offered the first Brazilian translation of ‘The Raven’ in 1883 (for a detailed account, see Daghlian 1999; Alves 2015). As the poem analysed here (‘The Lake’) has not been translated by any Brazilian author, in this study we opted

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for an acknowledged Portuguese translator, Margarida Isabel de Oliveira Vale de Gato (2009).3 In Ukraine, the first translations of Poe date back to the late nineteenth – early twentieth centuries when Pavlo Hrabovskyi and Vasyl Shchurat first translated his ‘Annabel Lee’, ‘The Raven’, ‘Eldorado’ and ‘Bells’ (Rykhlo 2002). These texts gradually became part of local culture, and the themes were later used in allusions and intertextual parallels in a number of works by Ukrainian authors. The Ukrainian version selected for this study was written by the award-winning translator Anatoly Onyshko (2004).4 In Russia, with its powerful Romantic tradition (Chironova 2016), Poe’s poetic heritage, full of deep symbolic implications, found resonance in Russian Symbolists, especially Balmont, Merezhkovsky and Bryusov, and his verses have always been quite popular among translators. Besides having translated the verses into Russian, Balmont wrote several essays on the author’s life and style (see Balmont 1911). In one of them, he claims that Poe ‘stands the closest of all writers to our [Russian] complicated wounded soul’ (Balmont 1895), thus justifying the attempts of Symbolists to bring Poe’s works closer to the Russian audience. The translation into Russian we opted for in this study was by Valery Bryusov (1924)5 since, as a well-known poet himself and one of leading figures of the Russian Symbolist movement, he has authored reputably the best Russian translations of Poe. (See the Appendix for full texts of the poem: in the original and in each of the three translations used.)

The Study In this chapter, we match the results found in Chesnokova et al. (2017) to the translators’ stylistic choices so as to see if the variations in reactions can be attributed to the translators’ choices. By systematically comparing the lines from a stylistic perspective, we show how the changes are likely to have affected students’ emotional responses. Additionally, for the sake of validity, we also asked three expert readers of each language to read the original poem and compare it as much as possible on a line-by-line basis with its translation. The rationale was to check their responses against

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our own and to see whether they differed at any point. According to Fabb (2014: 2), verse is processed ‘line by line, such that each line is held as a whole sequence in the limited capacity of working memory’, and Tsur (1998: 55–57) draws on Gestalt theory to argue that in poetry the line is a psychological whole against which variation is established, thus it is a whole unit in a reader’s short-term memory. Here, we prioritise stylistic patterns as they appear—as much as possible—within a line but also by extending beyond the line for the sake of meaning. The 23 lines of the original poem are divided into four stanzas (6–6– 5–6 lines respectively), and this layout has been kept in the translations. At the same time, the original and the three translated versions of ‘The Lake’ belong to different language groups (Germanic, Romance and Slavic). This difference inevitably brings about grammatical incompatibilities, phonetic and syntactic nuances and consequently limits the linguistic and stylistic possibilities each translator potentially has at hand.

Stylistic Analysis In this section, we compare the versions as much as possible line by line, but give priority to stylistic patterns. This is why, occasionally, we analyse two lines together for the sake of clarity and the integrity of the pattern. Rather than offering an exhaustive analysis, we intend to show moments in the poem where choices have been made which may have influenced the readers’ responses. So that the analysis can be followed by our readers, we have back translated the texts. In doing so, we made an attempt to stay as close as possible to the grammatical structures and word connotation of the target text. As the authors of this chapter are native speakers of Portuguese, Russian and Ukrainian, sensitive to verbal nuances of the languages, at times synonyms were supplied when we believed that no full equivalent of a lexeme in the English language was available. At points, we had to preserve the syntactic pattern of the translation, even when ungrammatical in English, as we find the change relevant. We are aware of the limitations of this strategy, but we agreed that it may serve the purposes of understanding the participants’ responses.

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Before we begin the analysis, it is important to note the way the translators dealt with the dedication. In the original, Poe left it blank (‘To –’). This is faithfully preserved in the Portuguese (‘Para –’) and Russian (‘K –’) versions, both of which leave the enigma of who the poet addressed unsolved. The Ukrainian translator, however, dropped the dedication, thus doing away with the cryptic prelude (see Appendix). Here are the versions (O = original; P = Portuguese; U = Ukrainian; R = Russian), compared and discussed line by line. Line 1: O: In spring of youth it was my lot P: Had I in my youth the occasion U: I at the dawn of young days R: I, in the morning of my life, was attracted

In the original, the poem opens on a positive note, fronting the adverbial phrase which introduces the idea of innocence and freshness. In the Portuguese version, instead of starting with the adverbial (‘In spring of youth’), the translator opts for a different inversion and omits ‘spring’. This choice reduces the happy mood conveyed by the original text, making this version more neutral and informative. ‘Lot’ in the original is more related to ‘chance’, a term which introduces more vagueness than ‘occasion’. Both Ukrainian and Russian translators preserve the adverbial phrase in the opening line, but offer a semantic change to it: instead of ‘spring’, there is ‘dawn’ (Ukrainian), and ‘morning’ (Russian), which make it more factual, diminishing the idea of blossoming spring brings, but still keeping the positive mood which is lost in the Portuguese version. Additionally, both versions start with ‘I’ so that the poem becomes narrator-centred from the start. Line 2: O: To haunt of the wide world a spot P: To find from the vast world a place U: [with] A desire strange was burning R: In the wide world [to] a corner,

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The intensity and the unpleasant feeling that the original evokes (‘haunt’ as associated to ‘torment’, ‘plague’) are neutralised in the Portuguese version by the use of a more matter-of-fact verb (‘find’). By changing ‘wide’ to ‘vast’, the translator seems to reduce the semantic possibilities of the adjective. The Ukrainian text creates suspense with the phrase ‘[with] A desire strange was burning’ where ‘strange’ is in the focus. In contrast, the Russian translator opts for leaving the sentence inconclusive. Line 3: O: Which I could not love the less – P: Which I could not love anymore U: To the quiet lake to go, R: Which I loved, loved so deeply!

The rendering of the line in Portuguese may lead to the opposite meaning, i.e. that the poet cannot love any longer. The Ukrainian translator has changed the line completely, altering the positive feeling of love for the factual note on the author’s intention to go to the lake. In the Russian version, the additional emotional colouring is added with the repetition of the lexeme ‘loved’ enhanced with the exclamatory construction. Line 4: O: So lovely was the loneliness P: As enchanted me the solitude U: Where my shelter of loneliness R: Was beautiful the silence

In all three versions, the inversion of the original ‘so lovely was’ and the intensifier ‘so’ are removed. In the Portuguese translation the ‘me’ is inserted as the experiencer, replacing ‘loneliness’ as the focus of the poem. In the Ukrainian text the feeling of loneliness is also shifted from the outside world to the narrator himself, and the positive connotation disappears with ‘shelter’ adding to the feeling of insecurity, of a need for protection. In the Russian version, ‘lovely’ is replaced by ‘beautiful’, thus adding to the positive feeling of the line.

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Line 5: O: Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, P: Of a wild lake by rocks U: Amidst black, wild mountains R: [of ] Gloomy waters and black rocks,

The opening phrase is faithfully rendered in Portuguese, but ‘rock’ is pluralised and the adjective ‘black’ is removed, making the rocks more general and less powerful. The choice of ‘black rock(s)’ is kept in the Russian version as the translator enhances the oxymoron-like ‘beautiful silence’ in Line 4 (‘lovely loneliness’ in the original) of ‘gloomy waters and black rocks’ (‘wild lake’ and ‘black rock bound’ in the original). In contrast, the Ukrainian translator adds negative feeling to the line as the rocks additionally become ‘wild’. At the same time, the romantic flavour of rocks is diminished as they turn into ‘mountains’. Line 6: O: And the tall pines that towered around. P: Surrounded, and by tall thickets U: [was] Surrounded [by] a thick pine forest. R: That the pine forest solemn surrounded.

In the Portuguese translation the original ‘pines’ become ‘thickets’, and the defining clause that follows is omitted, reducing the strength of the original ‘towered’. On the other hand, a rhyme is created (‘penedos / arvoredos’), but the words differ in terms of syllables (three in ‘pe-nedos’, four in ‘ar-vo-re-dos’) and do not have the rhythmic impact of the monosyllable ‘bound’ and the two-syllable ‘around’ of the original. In both the Ukrainian and the Russian versions ‘pines’ (which could be individual and scattered) turn into ‘pine forest’. The Russian translator has additionally defined it as ‘solemn’. Moreover, the adjective is placed not before the noun, but after it, making the construction sound emphatic

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and in a way fairy-tale-like (Golub 1997). In his turn, the Ukrainian translator has made the line explicitly negatively coloured: the defining adjective can be understood as both ‘thick’ and ‘the one there is no way out from / one where you are lost’. Lines 7 and 8: O: But when the Night had thrown her pall / Upon that spot, as upon all, P: But when the night its shroud / Lay in such a place, and all around U: And only the night was laying again / Upon everything around its cover, R: When the Night, the queen of dreams, / Upon everything threw her / its cover

In the original version, ‘Night’ is capitalised and thus personified. In the translation into Portuguese personification remains because of the verb (‘lay’) in Line 8, and the negative implications of ‘pall’ (a cloth made of velvet to place over a coffin) are transferred to ‘shroud’ reminding one of death, which in both Ukrainian and Russian versions is neutralised to ‘cover’ in Line 8. The Ukrainian translator leaves the noun ‘night’ lowercase, and the respective possessive pronoun in both Ukrainian and Russian is grammatically ambiguous (‘her’ / ‘its’). In the Russian version ‘Night’ is not only capitalised, but also conceptualised as a queen of dreams, thus adding a positive romantic flavour to the poem. In both the Ukrainian and Russian texts, the restricted notion of ‘spot’ is omitted and generalised by ‘everything’. Lines 9 and 10: O: And the mystic wind went by / Murmuring in melody – P: And the mysterious wind was loose / And the wind a song murmured U: As suddenly the wind would fly, / Mysterious something to branches whispered… R: And the wind mysterious in the shadow / [was] Murmuring a melody: go to sleep! –

In all three translations, the assonance and alliteration of the original (/mrmrIŋ n mEldi/) disappear. The Portuguese version introduces

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instead a parallelism with the repetition of the phrase ‘E o vento’ (‘and the wind’), and ‘mystic’ is changed to ‘mysterious’. The phrase ‘murmuring in melody’ in the original becomes ‘murmuring a song’, which makes the option more straightforward. In the Russian version, the word ‘wind’ is presented in its archaic form, and, similarly to Line 6, the adjective ‘mysterious’ is placed after the noun ‘wind’, thus shifting the tone of the poem to emphatic and romantic. Additionally, the translator places the wind ‘in the shadow’. As a result, the romantic quietness of the text is enhanced. In general, the syntax of the Russian translation is fairly different from the other versions. It is the only one out of four versions in which exclamatory sentences have been used three times, making the text sound more emotional and positive. Thus, the wind does not just murmur its melody, but addresses the narrator, saying ‘go to sleep!’—the direct imperative with lulling specification that has been introduced by the translator. At the same time, the Russian translation has made an attempt to preserve the numerous dashes of the original that contribute to the narrative pace of the poem. Unlike the other two translated versions, the Ukrainian one stands out as having a more negative tone. In the Ukrainian version, the wind has no adjectival characteristics, but it flies ‘suddenly’, so it is described as abrupt and thus ominous. It is not ‘murmuring in melody’, but whispering ‘mysterious something’ with the adjective in the emphatic primary position (no melody/song), so that the feeling of scary suspense is created and enhanced with an addition of suspension points at the end of the line. On the whole, in the Ukrainian version all the dashes of the original but one are lost, and in Line 18 a dash is added by the translator. Line 11: O: Then – ah then I would awake P: Ah… it was then that I would wake U: Then woke up in the chest the terror, R: I would awake suddenly with a dream

In the original, the line opens with emphatic repetition, and the rhythm is enhanced with the dash between the repeated elements and with the usage of the interjection ‘ah’. In the Portuguese version, the pause remains, but the repetition is lost. Both pause and repetition are lost in

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the Ukrainian and Russian texts. The slightly negative ‘suddenly’ in the translation into Russian is softened with ‘a dream’ being added. In the Ukrainian version, the negative tone is amplified on a metaphorical level when not the semantically neutral I -narrator, but the ‘terror’ (living in the narrator’s chest) becomes the agent of the action. Line 12: O: To the terror of the lone lake. P: To the terror of the solitary lake U: Which lived in waters in winds. R: To the terror of the land empty.

The alliteration and the rhythm contained in two one-syllable words (‘lone lake’) (/lon lek/) in the original disappear in the translations. In the Portuguese version, ‘lone’ is replaced by ‘solitary’, while in the Russian text ‘the lone lake’ is generalised to ‘the empty land’, enhancing the solitary tone of the text. Similarly to Lines 6 and 9, the adjective ‘empty’ is placed in post-position to the noun ‘land’, thus making it sound romantic and emphatic. In the Ukrainian translation, the line has the dramatic alliteration of /v/ (‘Щo жив y вoдax y вiтpax’) that, combined with the repetition of /zh/ and /sh/ in Lines 10 and 11, might evoke the feeling of wind being around. Line 13: O: Yet that terror was not fright, P: Yet such terror did not scare me U: But no, not the terror, but the feeling R: Yet this terror was not fright,

In the Portuguese translation, the narrator (‘me’) is inserted, turning the explanation (‘that terror was not fright’) into a personal experience (‘the terror did not scare me’). The Russian version is almost identical to the original (except for ‘that’/‘this’ change) while the Ukrainian one is dramatically emphatic with the repetition of ‘no’ and ‘not’ negations. Line 14: O: But a tremulous delight –

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P: But with tremors I delighted myself U: [of ] Some self-oblivion, R: There was a tremulous delight in the dreams:

The line starts with a contrastive conjunction ‘but’, which is only preserved in the Portuguese translation. In this version, the noun phrase ‘tremulous delight’ becomes a sentence: ‘with tremors I delighted myself ’, again shifting the emphasis to the narrator as the experiencer and keeping the reader in the role of observer. In the Ukrainian text ‘tremulous delight’ is replaced by ‘the feeling (Line 13) [of ] … self-oblivion’ that adds to the negative emotion evoked. The Russian version, similarly to Line 11, has an addition of ‘dreams’, which enhances the light positive effect. Lines 15 and 16: O: A feeling not the jewelled mine / Could teach or bribe me to define – P: Such a feeling the mystery of which / Exceeds a thousand ore deposits U: That [I] would not take (understand, comprehend), [I] won’t conceal, / Either for a heavenly colossus, R: One could not define it [the feeling] better / Then with the magnificent glitter of Golkonda entire,

In all three translations, the sentence and the corresponding image are completely transformed. Instead of focusing on the possible results of such feelings on the poet, the texts define the emotion itself. In the Portuguese version, ‘the jewelled mine’ of the original is transformed into neutral and almost technical ‘thousand ore deposits’, while in Russian the image of shine and splendour is not just faithfully kept, but enhanced with the ‘magnificent glitter of Golkonda’ (an Indian citadel famous for its diamonds). The emphatic placement of the adjective ‘entire’ after the noun in the Russian translation yet again lifts the tone of the text. The ‘heavenly colossus’ of the Ukrainian version destroys the metaphor of shine by substituting it for HEIGHT. Moreover, the noun chosen by the translator (‘colossus / something huge’) is very rare and virtually never used, so the whole image could be lost on readers. Line 17:

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O: Nor Love – although the Love were thine. P: And also your Love … which I coveted U: Or even for love thine. R: With the gift of Love – at least thine!

In the original, the lexeme ‘Love’ is capitalised, and the anadiplosis in combination with the emphatic dash indicates the paradox the poet possibly intends. The Portuguese translator has changed the meaning completely, having added ‘which I coveted’. The Russian version yet again displays the emphatic exclamatory construction with the dash preserved, giving more prominence to the already powerful ‘gift’. Unlike the other three versions, the Ukrainian is the only one where the capitalisation of Love disappears and where the line is much reduced, thus losing impact. Line 18: O: Death was in that poisonous wave, P: In the poison of the wave there was an intention U: I knew – was waiting the death, R: But Death was hiding there, in the waves

The original places the negatively coloured noun ‘Death’ in the emphatic primary position while in the Portuguese translation, the nucleus of the nominal phrase ‘poisonous wave’ is moved to ‘poison’, and the word ‘Death’ disappears, making the sentence less dramatic. In the Ukrainian version, the ‘waves’ per se are missing, but the lexeme, which is not ‘death’ straightforwardly, but rather ‘perdition / dying / perishing’, remains, though lower case. End of life is ‘waiting’ in the lake to happen to the narrator, which enhances the ominous implication of coming danger. The Russian version introduces suspense, emphasizing that ‘Death was hiding’—capitalised and thus personified—and delaying disclosure of the place. Line 19: O: And in its gulf a fitting grave P: And in its vortex a fitting coffin U: A grave in the darkness of depths

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R: Noxious, there was in them a sarcophagus –

The Portuguese translation offers a more object-focused choice as ‘grave’ is changed to ‘coffin’. The Ukrainian version keeps ‘grave’ without any qualifiers or implications, and the ‘darkness of depths’ is added, which destroys the DEATH IS POISON metaphor (Line 18), replacing it with DEATH IS DARKNESS. Alternatively, the Russian translator opts for a richer and more solemn ‘sarcophagus’ and for fronting the adjective with which he qualifies waves (‘noxious’). Line 20: O: For him who thence could solace bring P: For him who thence went for solace U: [for] Him, who would wish to find R: For all who would be looking there

In the Portuguese translation, ‘to bring solace’ is changed into ‘to go for solace’, inverting the movement and distancing the person referred to. The agent in the Russian version is also active, and will be deliberately ‘looking [for comfort]’. At the same time, in the Ukrainian text the agent is only wishing to find something (‘a shelter’ as indicated in the next line). Line 21: O: To his lone imagining – P: From an exiled imaginative spirit U: A shelter in the kingdom of loneliness, R: [for] Comfort to lonely dreams,

The Ukrainian option for the noun phrase ‘kingdom of loneliness’ instead of ‘lone imagining’ makes solitude lasting and ubiquitous. Additionally, the agent in the Ukrainian version is looking not for the positively coloured solace, but (similarly to Line 4) for ‘a shelter / refuge / asylum’—the lexeme bearing the implication of loneliness, poverty and homelessness. On the contrary, the Russian translator replaces ‘lone imagining’ with a lighter choice (‘lonely dreams’). The Portuguese version is even lighter and less compromising as it introduces a straightforward phrase (‘an exiled imaginative spirit’).

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Line 22: O: Whose solitary soul could make P: Raising, in its wayward ecstasy, U: [for] A soul joy from sorrows R: Who with a mournful dream – the dim land

The assonance and alliteration (/saltEri sol/) of the original are lost in all the translated versions. The ‘solitary soul’ does not appear at all in the same line in Portuguese. In fact, its reference is expanded in the previous line as an imaginative spirit. This choice reduces the melancholic tone of the original. In the Russian translation, a negatively coloured ‘mournful dream’ is added, but Line 23 fully neutralises the emotion with ‘a light paradise’ coda. Line 23: O: An Eden of that dim lake. P: An Eden in the sombre and grim lake U: In an Eden of dark waters. R: Would turn into a light paradise.

In the Portuguese translation, ‘dim lake’ is placed in an adverbial phrase and rendered more negatively as ‘grim’. One more negative adjective (‘sombre’) is added, thus making the poem even more pessimistic and negative than the original. This seems to be an attempt by the translator to counter-balance all the previous neutralizing choices in an effort to keep the romantic undertones of the poem. The Ukrainian version also places ‘Eden’ in an adverbial phrase, but is not as negative as the Portuguese translation. The Russian version, on the other hand, ends on a much more positive note than the two other versions. The darkness and grimness are dissolved by the use of the contrasting ‘light’, and Eden is replaced by ‘paradise’.

Earlier Findings The statistically significant differences between the readers’ responses to the original poem and to its three translations have been detailed

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and discussed in Chesnokova et al. (2017). Here we present the results obtained from each group in terms of their reactions to the original and to the translation so that we can see how they compare to the stylistic analysis in Sect. “Stylistic Analysis”. Tables 10.2 and 10.3 show the differences within the two national groups (Brazilians and Ukrainians) when responding to the original poem and its translation into the participants’ mother tongues. The lower the value for the reported mean, the closer the reaction of the group is to the left-hand adjective in the line. As can be seen from the first line in Table 10.2, Brazilians evaluated the original (mean = 1.92) as more mystical than the translated version Table 10.2

Brazilians’ responses to original (English) vs. translation (Portuguese)

Adjectives

Means

P

English

Portuguese

Mystical—Physical Gloomy—Cheerful Nostalgic—Not longing for the past Mysterious—Clear

1.92 1.83 2.22

2.38 2.11 2.03

1.68

2.02

Exciting—Dull

2.93

3.19

0.001 0.024 0.057 (tendency) 0.050 (tendency) 0.069 (tendency)

Table 10.3 Ukrainians’ responses to original (English) vs. translations (Ukrainian and Russian) Adjectives

Sad—Happy Dark—Light Melancholic— Encouraging Lonely—Gregarious Interesting—Boring Mysterious—Clear Dreamy—Down-to-earth Exciting—Dull Solitary—Social Gloomy—Cheerful

Means

P

English Ukrainian Russian (ENG) (UKR) (RUS)

ENG– UKR

2.09 2.45 1.81

2.04 2.47 2.01

2.40 2.89 2.55

0.011

1.80 2.40 2.17 2.08 2.63 2.24 2.30

1.40 1.87 2.06 2.45 2.31 1.64 1.98

1.78 2.12 1.78 2.05 2.56 1.72 2.50

0.029 0.002

ENG– RUS 0.004 0.000

0.025 0.034 0.000 0.027

0.001

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(mean = 2.38). They also considered the original gloomier, more mysterious and therefore, more exciting. The Portuguese text was considered duller. There was a tendency to see the translation as more nostalgic (mean = 2.03 as compared to 2.22 for the original)—perhaps, as consequence of the translator’s choices for the last line. How the readers reacted to the poem step by step as we and our external judges did is still to be checked: in this study, we only looked at the overall reactions. What we can state, so far, is that there are strong tendencies suggesting that they have assessed the Portuguese version as more nostalgic, less mysterious and less exciting than the original in English. The results we obtained from the Brazilian expert reader confirm that the translated version renders the poem more factual, less poetic, less vague and that the melancholic tone is turned into something rather funereal. According to the expert, the translation ‘banalizes the experience’ and ‘diminishes the poetical impact’. It ‘misses the amorous lament’ and ‘does away with the feeling of vagueness’. Similarly to the Brazilian participants, the Ukrainians who read only the translated version also demonstrated considerable differences which are explicit between native speakers of Ukrainian and Russian (see Table 10.3). Thus, the Russian translation appeared to be the most positively coloured one: it was evaluated as lighter and more encouraging than the original. At the same time, the participants perceived it as more mysterious and more solitary than the English version. The results we obtained from the expert reading the Russian version appeared to be in line with our observation as the expert noted that ‘the translated version sounds more positive’ as it has ‘a more elevated tone’. The expert also noticed the important changes in syntax (e.g. extensive use of exclamatory sentences), imagery (e.g. conceptualizing the night as queen of dreams) and wording (e.g. repetition of ‘[day]dream’) in triggering the positive response. Alternatively, the poem in Ukrainian appeared to the participants to be sadder, gloomier, lonelier and more solitary than the text in the original. Simultaneously, it was evaluated as more interesting and more exciting. The reading by the expert validated our analysis as a loss of ‘Poe’s enigmatic feeling’ was noted while ‘the lake becomes a shelter of loneliness’. ‘A shift to the negative connotation’ was also marked by the expert.

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Comparing the Results Matching the findings from Sects. “Stylistic Analysis” and “Earlier Findings”, we see that the choices the translators have made may have indeed affected the readers’ responses. The happy mood of the opening in the original remains in Line 1 of the Ukrainian and Russian versions, but is considerably lowered in the Portuguese text, which also reduces the contrast between happiness and sadness the poem sustains. In the hands of the Portuguese translator, the poem has definitely become more factual and more neutral (e.g. Lines 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9–10, 15–16, 19, 21), distancing the reader emotionally from the experience (Lines 4, 14, 15–16, 20) and resulting in a ‘dull’ and ‘less mystical’ characterisation. Rhythm and musicality also take their toll on the translated version (e.g. Lines 9–10, 11, 12), making readers perceive it as more insipid than the original. The narrator as experiencer is also made more obvious in the translation, thus distancing the reader from the text emotionally. The word ‘Death’ does not appear in the translation—a stylistic choice that could have decreased the mysticism often attributed to Poe’s poems and triggered by his macabre supernatural themes. The fact that at the end of the poem the melancholy is actually transferred to Line 23, where it is emphasised, does not help to reduce the distance created throughout the poem, leading the respondents to characterise the original as gloomier, more mystical and as a more exciting experience than reading the translation. The fact that the group that read the poem in Russian reacted in a more positive light also seems to be a consequence of the translation. As a result of the lexical choices and syntactic patterns preferred by the translator, the poem is rendered more emotional (Lines 3, 10, and 17), more emphatic (Line 6) more romantic (Lines 7, 11, and 14), more solitary (Line 12), more positive and happier (Line 4), as well as more solemn (Lines 6 and 19). In the Russian version, repetition of ‘(day)dream’, missing in the original and the other two translations, is recurrent (e.g. Lines 7, 11, 14, and 21), hence a light positive romantic connotation is added and strengthened. The suspense created in Lines 2 and 18 has probably rendered the poem more mysterious than the English version. The straightforwardly emphatic, abounding in exclamatory sentences (Lines 3, 10, and 17) and adjective-noun inversion (e.g. Lines 6, 9 and 12) syntax contributes towards making the translation more optimistic

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than the original. The translator’s choice of ‘light paradise’ in Line 23 has turned lightness, strongly perceived by the readers, into the emphatic coda of the Russian translation. The participants’ responses to the Ukrainian translation are justified textually as well. The suspense created in Lines 2, 9, and 18 makes the poem more interesting and exciting. The conceptual shift (Lines 4, 11, and 21) and the lexical substitution of the adjective (Line 6) emphasise the idea of loneliness and solitude. The omissions and additions used by the translator contribute to a gloomier and lonelier tone to the text (Lines 6 and 14), and the readers seem to acknowledge the effects of replacing ‘delight’ with ‘self-oblivion’ in Line 14, leading them to see the translation as sadder than the original. We are fully aware that this line-by-line analysis could be much more extensive and rigorous, but it is not our purpose to produce an exhaustive stylistic study. Our purpose is to provide evidence to show that different renderings of the same poem affect the way students reacted. Our point is that teachers should be aware that opting for translations may have unpredicted implications.

A Final Word As reported by Paul Valéry (Kearns 1989: 88), when Degas complained that the difficulty of artistic creation was not lack of ideas, Mallarmé replied: ‘Mais, Degas, ce n’est point avec de idées que l’on fait des vers … c’est avec des mots’ (‘But Degas, you can’t make a poem with ideas. … You make it with words’). In this study, we have checked the readers’ responses found in a previous study (Chesnokova et al. 2017) with a comparative stylistic analysis of the original poem and its translation into three different languages—where words and structures come into play. The results indicate that the translators’ linguistic options created different contexts which indeed influenced the students’ reading experience. Future work in this line may look at these differences and check them against the cultures the readers come from. Here we avoided stereotypes and generalisations about the cultures; we preferred to indicate that

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differences did occur. Why they did so in these specific contexts, albeit relevant, is a matter for future studies. The findings have implications beyond pedagogical stylistics. Thus, translators should be aware that their stylistic choices will necessarily create a new text. We have demonstrated that even when acknowledged translations are used, the choices influenced the way readers were moved. The main contribution of this chapter is to shed a warning light on working with translated texts, as students may not respond to the work of art as they would if they read it in the original. However, in relation to pedagogical stylistics, working with translations may help students notice the way different linguistic renderings of the same poem trigger unanticipated responses. Acknowledgements We would like to thank Juliana Jandre, Olivia Fialho and three anonymous reviewers for commenting on an earlier draft. We would also like to acknowledge our three external readers, who helped us validate the analysis.

Appendix The Texts The Lake To – In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less— So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by

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Murmuring in melody— Then—ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight— A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define— Nor Love—although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.

Translation into Portuguese O Lago Para – Tive eu na mocidade ocasião De achar do mundo vasto um lugar O qual eu não podia mais amar… Porquanto me encantou a solidão De um agreste lago por penedos Circundado, e por altos arvoredos. Mas quando a noite o seu sudário Deitava em tal lugar, e em tudo à volta, E o vento misterioso andava à solta… E o vento um canto murmurava… Ah… era então que eu despertava Para o terror do lago solitário. Contudo tal terror não me assustava,

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Mas com tremores me deleitava… Um sentimento tal cujo mistério Excede mil jazigos de minério… E mesmo o teu Amor… que eu cobiçava. No veneno da onda havia dolo, E em seu vórtice um esquife apropriado A quem aí buscava o consolo De um espírito inventivo desterrado, Erguendo, em seu delírio transviado, Um Éden no sombrio e torvo lago.

Translation into Ukrainian Oзepo Я нa cвiтaнкy юниx днiв Бaжaнням дивним пaлeнiв Ha тиxe oзepo пiти, Дe мiй пpитyлoк caмoти Пocepeд чopниx, дикиx гip Oбcтaв глyxий cocнoвий бip. I тiльки нiч cтeлилa знoв Ha вce нaвкoлo cвiй пoкpoв, Як paптoм вiтep пpилiтaв, Taємнe щocь гiлкaм шeптaв… Toдi бyдивcь y гpyдяx жax, Щo жив y вoдax y вiтpax. Ta нi, нe жax, a вiдчyття Якoгocь caмoзaбyття, Щo нe cпpийняв би, нe втaю, Aнi зa paйcькy oзiю, Hi нaвiть зa любoв твoю. Я знaв – oчiкyє зaгин,

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Moгилa в мopoцi глибин Toгo, xтo би xoтiв знaйти Пpитyлoк в цapcтвi caмoти, Дyшi вiдpaдy вiд cкopбoт B Eдeмi тeмниx вoд.

Translation into Russian Oзepo К– Meня, нa yтpe жизни, влeк B пpocтopнoм миpe yгoлoк, Чтo я любил, любил дo днa! Былa пpeкpacнa тишинa Угpюмыx вoд и чepныx cкaл, Чтo бop тopжecтвeнный oбcтaл. Кoгдa жe Hoчь, цapицa cнoв, Ha вce бpocaлa cвoй пoкpoв И вeтp тaинcтвeнный в тeни Poптaл мeлoдию: ycни! — Я пpoбyждaлcя вдpyг мeчтoй Для yжaca cтpaны пycтoй. Ho этoт yжac нe был cтpax, Был тpeпeтный вocтopг в мeчтax: He выpaзить eгo пoлнeй Зa пышный блecк Гoлкoнды вceй, Зa дap Любви — xoтя б твoeй! Ho Cмepть cкpывaлacь тaм, в вoлнax Tлeтвopныx, был в ниx capкoфaг — Для вcex, ктo cтaл иcкaть бы тaм Пoкoя oдинoким cнaм, Ктo cкopбнoй гpeзoй — мpaчный кpaй Пpeoбpaзил бы в cвeтлый paй.

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Notes 1. ‘Um poema é uma impressão intelectualizada, ou uma idéia convertida em emoção, comunicada a outros por meio de um ritmo. Este ritmo é duplo num só, como os aspectos côncavo e convexo do mesmo arco: é constituído por um ritmo verbal ou musical e por um ritmo visual ou de imagem que lhe corresponde internamente. A tradução de um poema deve, portanto, conformar-se absolutamente (1) à idéia ou emoção que o constitui, (2) ao ritmo verbal em que essa idéia ou emoção é expressa; deve conformar-se em relação ao ritmo interno ou visual, aderindo às próprias imagens quando possa mas aderindo sempre ao tipo de imagem’. 2. Different versions of the poem were published in Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), Wilmer manuscript (1828); Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (1829), Poems (1831), The Missionary Memorial (1846), The Raven and Other Poems (1845) and Works (1850) (for more details, see https://www.eapoe.org/works/mabbott/tom1p027. htm). We do not know which of these versions the translators used, but the stylistic differences between them are not relevant to the purposes of the study. We opted for the 1845 version, and our interest was to check the effect this version and each of the translations had on the students’ experience. The focus was to see whether the differences in reaction could be attributed to each translator’s stylistic choices. 3. Poe, Edgar Allan. 2009. Obra poética completa. Trad., introdução e notas de M. Vale de Gato. Lisboa: Tinta-da-China. 4. Poe, Edgar Allan. 2004. Eldorado. Poems, ed. Anatoly Onyshko [In English with parallel translation into Ukrainian]. Ternopil: Bohdan. 5. Poe, Edgar Allan. 1924. Poems. Trans. and preface V. Bryusov [In Russian]. Moscow, Leningrad: World Literature Publisher.

References Alves, Francisco Francimar de Sousa. 2015. Poe: uma história de traduções, inspirações e popularidade. TradTerm 26: 147–159.

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Balmont, Konstantin D. 1895. The genius of revelation (Edgar Poe) [In Russian]. http://balmont.lit-info.ru/balmont/edgar-po/genij-otkrytiya.htm. Accessed 26 Oct 2020. Balmont, Konstantin D. 1911. A sketch of the life of Edgar Poe [In Russian]. http://az.lib.ru/b/balxmont_k_d/text_0160.shtml. Accessed 26 Oct 2020. Borges, Jorge Luis. 1999. Jorge Luis Borges en sur, 1931–1980. Barcelona: Emecé Editores. Carter, Ronald. 2010. Issues in pedagogical stylistics: A coda. Language and Literature 19 (1): 115–122. Chesnokova, Anna, Sonia Zyngier, Vander Viana, Juliana Jandre, Anna Rumbesht, and Fernanda Ribeiro. 2017. Cross-cultural reader response to original and translated poetry: An empirical study in four languages. Comparative Literature Studies 54 (1): 824–849. Chironova, Irina I. 2016. The role of dominant cultural ideas in Russian translation tradition. Skase Journal of Translation and Interpretation 10 (2): 16–28. Daghlian, Carlos. 1999. A recepção de Poe na literatura brasileira. Revista Fragmentos 17: 7–17. Esplin, Emron, and Margarida Vale de Gato (eds.). 2014. Translated Poe (Perspectives on Edgar Allan Poe). Bethlehem: Lehigh University Press. Fabb, Nigel. 2014. The verse-line as a whole unit in working memory, ease of processing, and the aesthetic effects of form. Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplement 75: 29–50. https://strathprints.strath.ac.uk/50951/. Accessed 26 Oct 2020. Fialho, Olivia. 2019. What is literature for? The role of transformative reading. Cogent Arts and Humanities 6 (1): 1–16. Fialho, Olivia, Sonia Zyngier, and Michael Burke. 2016. Empirical approaches to the study of literature in learning environments: An overview. In Scientific approaches to literature in learning environments, ed. Michael Burke, Olivia Fialho, and Sonia Zyngier, 1–16. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Fox, Geoff, and Brian Merrick. 1987. Thirty-six things to do with a poem. In English literature in schools: Exploring the curriculum, ed. Victor J. Lee, 332–336. Milton Keynes, Philadelphia: Open University Press. Golub, Irina B. 1997. Stylistics of the Russian language [In Russian]. Moscow: Rolf; Ayris-Press. http://www.hi-edu.ru/e-books/xbook028/01/. Accessed 26 Oct 2020. Hall, Geoff. 2007. Stylistics in second language context: A critical perspective. In Literature and stylistics for language learners: Theory and practice, ed. Greg Watson and Sonia Zyngier, 3–14. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Hall, Geoff. 2014. Pedagogical stylistics. In The Routledge handbook of stylistics, ed. Michael Burke, 239–252. Abingdon: Routledge. Jakobson, Roman. 1959. On linguistic aspects of translation. In On translation, ed. Reuben Arthur Brower, 232–239. Boston: Harvard University Press. Kearns, James. 1989. Symbolist landscapes: The place of painting in the poetry and criticism of Mallarmé and his circle. London: The Modern Humanities Research Association. Pessoa, Fernando. 1923/1966. Páginas de estética e de teoria literárias. Lisboa: Ática. Rojo, Ana, Marina Ramos, and Javier Valenzuela. 2014. The emotional impact of translation: A heart rate study. Journal of Pragmatics 71: 31–44. Rosenblatt, Louise. 1938/1995. Literature as exploration, 5th ed. New York: Modern Language Association of America. Rykhlo, Olexander P. 2002. Rendering Poe’s language and style in Ukrainian translations [In Ukrainian]. Unpublished dissertation, Taras Shevchenko National University. Short, Mick, ed. 1988. Reading, analysing and teaching literature. London, New York: Longman. Simpson, Paul. 2014. Stylistics: A resource book for students, 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge. Stockwell, Peter. 2009. Texture: A cognitive aesthetics of reading. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Tsur, Reuven. 1998. Poetic rhythm: Structure and performance: An empirical study in cognitive poetics. Berne: Peter Lang. Verdonk, Peter. 2002. Stylistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vines, Lois Davis. 1999. Poe abroad: Influence, reputation, affinities. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Widdowson, Henry G. 1992. Practical stylistics: An approach to poetry. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zhang, Yehong, and Gerhard Lauer. 2015. How culture shapes the reading of fairy tales: A cross-cultural approach. Comparative Literature Studies 52 (4): 663–681. Zyngier, Sonia. 1994. At the crossroads of language and literature: Literary awareness, stylistics, and the acquisition of literary skills in a EFLit context. Unpublished dissertation, University of Birmingham. Zyngier, Sonia. 2006. Stylistics: Pedagogical applications. In Encyclopaedia of language and linguistics, vol. 12, 2nd ed, ed. Keith Brown, 226–232. Oxford: Elsevier.

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Zyngier, Sonia, and Olivia Fialho. 2016. Pedagogical stylistics: Charting outcomes. In The Bloomsbury companion to stylistics, ed. Violeta Sotirova, 208–230. London, New York: Bloomsbury. Zyngier, Sonia, and Vander Viana. 2016. Literary awareness in a high-school EFL learning environment: An empirical evaluation. In Scientific approaches to literature in learning environments, ed. Michael Burke, Olivia Fialho, and Sonia Zyngier, 271–302. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

11 Teachers’ Intertextual Identities and English Education Jessica Mason

Abstract The sociocultural weight of associations between reading and identity presses heavily on many individuals, especially those who discuss texts as part of their profession. Goodwyn, (English Teaching: Practice and Critique 1:66–78, 2002), for example, finds that around 75% of trainee English teachers will cite a ‘love of reading’ as their primary reason for wanting to enter the profession, not necessarily because this is true, but because they feel that this is what they ‘ought’ to say. Spiro (Creativity in language and literature: The state of the art. Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke, pp. 231–244, 2011) shows that when biographical information and knowledge of literary accolades about authors are removed, readers’ assessments about whether poems are high quality or otherwise can be completely transformed. Talking about books, in any setting, is both socially and culturally loaded, with every admission of a literary preference or a gap in narrative knowledge a potential risk to J. Mason (B) Sheffield Hallam University, Sheffield, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_11

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identity. This chapter explores 300 teachers’ anonymous reports about their experiences of embarrassment in relation to their reading histories and practices. Keywords Identity · Intertextuality · Booktalks · Embarrassment · Reading history · Teacher practice

Introduction This chapter explores the role English education can play in cultivating our existing reading identities, and the ones that we choose to perform. Studying fiction is, paradoxically, both a highly unusual way of reading a text, and one of the most common in many individuals’ formative years. In almost no other context except school are we asked to read along with other people in a manner that is typically incremental and fragmented. Reading is often interspersed with tasks to be completed, conversations to be had, essays to be written and then, often, graded. In almost no other context is the power to choose the text, or to stop reading it, removed. At the very time at which young people begin to navigate and determine what they like to read, and indeed whether they like to read at all, classroom reading can form the experiential backbone of their understanding of what it means to label oneself as ‘a reader’, especially for those who do not read at home. The sociocultural weight of these associations between reading and identity continues to press heavily on individuals as they progress into adulthood. Goodwyn (2002), for example, finds that around 75% of trainee English teachers will cite a ‘love of reading’ as their primary reason for wanting to enter the profession, not necessarily because this is true, but because they feel that this is what they ‘ought’ to say. Spiro (2011) shows that when biographical information and knowledge of literary accolades about authors are removed, readers’ assessments about whether poems are high quality or otherwise can be completely transformed. As such, talking about books, in any setting, is both socially and culturally loaded, with every admission of a literary preference or a gap in narrative knowledge a potential risk to identity.

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This chapter thus explores the relationship between reading and identity at the intersection of cognitive stylistics, English education and reader response research, focusing in particular on the notion of embarrassment. Looking reflexively at discourses about texts in the secondary English classroom, this chapter explores how conversations between teachers and students can close or exacerbate the gaps between what young people think about books, and what they are willing to say out loud.

Pedagogical Stylistics as a Way of Approaching the Classroom Interest in pedagogical stylistics has grown rapidly in recent years (for example, Burke 2010a; Giovanelli and Clayton 2016; Zyngier and Fialho 2016; Zyngier 2020). In Burke (2010b), Language and Literature published a special issue with a wealth of articles championing this dimension of the field and, in particular, highlighting that the value of pedagogical stylistics had long been acknowledged and utilised in relation to second language teaching (Carter 2010; see also Burke et al. 2012; Paran 2008; Watson and Zyngier 2007). Clark and Zyngier explained, ‘since the 1950s, pedagogical stylistics has been intrinsically linked with the teaching of written texts (and especially literary texts) to speakers of English as a second language’ (2003, p. 339). The general consensus of recent work is that opportunities have been missed to develop work at the intersection of stylistics and education in first language English classrooms, and that this was a relationship that stood to mutually benefit both disciplines. Authors variously offer insights as to the innovative opportunities for students of both language and literature in applying stylistic approaches (Clark and Zyngier 2003; Yáñez Prieto 2010). Investigations have also been conducted to further our conceptions of best practice in relation to the teaching of stylistics itself, including contributions exploring how students develop their knowledge and understanding of stylistics (for example, Bellard-Thomson 2010) and write stylistics papers (for example Burke 2010a).

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More recently, research has built on these strong foundations, with Text World Theory in particular coming to the fore as an aspect of stylistics that has been productively deployed in schools at many age ranges and in complement with topics in both literary and linguistic study (Ahmed 2018; Cushing 2018; Gavins 2019; Giovanelli 2017, 2019). Alongside this, however, a new area of interest has also grown: using pedagogical stylistics as a way of supporting teachers to reflect on their own practice and inform both lesson and course design (Cushing 2019; Giovanelli and Mason 2015; Mason and Giovanelli 2017, 2021). In this iteration of the field, interventions tend not to orient around the actual teaching of stylistics, but rather presenting stylistics as a ‘tool to think with’ (Giovanelli and Mason 2015, p. 53, Hanauer, this volume) when planning classroom interaction and activity. Giovanelli and Mason believe ‘such work would have much to offer in foregrounding the value of meta-processes concerned with how interpretations develop in the classroom, and how readings are created’ (2015, p. 53). Ahmed (2018) similarly demonstrates how teachers can utilise knowledge of cognitive stylistics, specifically schema theory, to make literature classrooms more inclusive for students from different cultures by thinking systematically about the distinct understanding of concepts such as love and marriage that they bring to the classroom. Cushing (2018) has also undertaken work in this area, outlining the value of Transactional Theory (Rosenblatt 1978) and Text World Theory (Werth 1999, Gavins 2007) as approaches that teachers can utilise to ‘inform ways of thinking about reading in the classroom, suggesting that a blending of the theories offers an enabling, accessible and powerful pedagogy that serves to foreground the reader’s autonomy and authenticity as a meaning-maker’ (Cushing 2018, p. 18). This work in turn has prompted reflections on the social minefield of booktalk in the classroom (Allington 2012; Mason 2019; Mason and Giovanelli 2021; Peplow 2016a). This body of research argues consideration of the stylistic choices that characterise and shape talk about texts in education spaces is both productive and vital, but needs to be carefully contextualised. In particular, it suggests that identity work, social and environmental factors, power dynamics, fear or anticipation of judgement and emotions can play an instrumental role in what both teachers and students do and do not say when discussing a literary text. This

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‘sociology of booktalk’ has been fruitfully examined in other contexts, in particular in relation to reading groups (Allington 2011; Peplow 2011, 2016b; Peplow et al. 2015), but has rarely been synthesised with pedagogical stylistics. It is this area that forms the focus of this chapter, which examines anonymous disclosures from teachers about their own booktalk practices. Specifically, the chapter explores participants’ insights as to the role fear of judgement and embarrassment can play in their willingness to accurately share their text knowledge and preferences.

Reading and the Secondary Literature Classroom Reading works of fiction is a staple element of the ‘English’ curriculum in classrooms around the world across a diverse range of student ages and phases of education. This is with good reason. The plethora of benefits that result from engendering reading for enjoyment as a practice young people voluntarily undertake in their leisure time is well researched and documented. Some of these benefits relate to academics, ranging from improved chance of formal success in national examinations (OECD 2010) and improved performance in school subjects, including seemingly unrelated ones such as mathematics (Sullivan and Brown 2015), to increased general knowledge (Clark and Rumbold 2006). Other advantages involve social interaction. For example, Kidd and Castano (2017) demonstrate that reading fiction develops the capacity to understand others’ mental states, also sometimes referred to as Theory of Mind (Premack and Woodruff 1978). Similarly, Djikic et al. (2013) found that reading for enjoyment has the ability to make people more open-minded and empathetic, primarily as a natural by-product of the demand fiction places on readers to first cope with ambiguity and multiple possibilities of the direction a plot could take, and second to accept that their initial ideas may prove to be wrong and require reassessment as more information comes to light. Reading for pleasure has also been shown to have a positive impact on an individual’s sense of personal and emotional wellbeing (Clark and Rumbold 2006; Djikic et al. 2013). As such, it is

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unsurprising that the practice of reading and studying fiction remains a central practice within schools and the discipline of ‘English’ specifically. Whilst engendering a love of reading amongst young people thus rightly sits as a primary goal in schools, at the same time a number of barriers exist for teachers to provide students with experiences that resemble or recreate that of reading in other contexts (see Bon and Burke, this volume). For example, reading is typically a solitary endeavour with an individual reader engaging with a text they have chosen, at their own pace: none of these components can be easily recreated in the context of studying fiction. The classroom environment does not resemble the typical space in which most readers would choose to read: sitting at a desk in a room with twenty other people, possibly in a uniform, with a copy of the text that will often be required to be left in class, is not the vision many would paint as their ideal space for reading. Equally, whereas we tend to avoid talking to others about a text they have finished when we are only part way through it, teachers are required to do this on a daily basis. In other words, teachers must act as ‘re-readers talking to first time readers’ in school English classes (Giovanelli and Mason 2015). In addition, discussion about the text is frequently interspersed with actual reading in many lessons and course designs. This can lead to instances of ‘manufactured reading’, where young people learn about the text rather than personally engaging with and responding to it themselves (Giovanelli and Mason 2015; Mason and Giovanelli 2017). This is certainly not to blame teachers for these points of slippage between experiences of reading for enjoyment and the study of fiction in secondary schools. It is well known that high-stakes assessment pressures result in a narrowing of curricula and teaching to the test (Au 2007). The burdens for teachers of performance-related pay and school league tables, which exist in many education systems around the world, must also be acknowledged as a strong contributory factor. There are, too, challenges for English that specifically contribute to this divergence, in particular the tendency for young people to see teachers as ‘gatekeepers to meaning’ which, in turn, encourages the latter to take up this role (Xerri 2013, p. 135). Attempts to assign reading prior to a class will not necessarily result in students actually doing it, and this is often not feasible for many schools in the first instance: it is a reality for many teachers

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that their students in Tuesday’s lesson cannot take copies of the text away with them as the cohort on Wednesday will also be using them. In many areas of economic deprivation, asking parents and caregivers with already strained finances to purchase young people their own copies of the texts they study is similarly unrealistic. Thus, even though English teachers consistently cite personal growth and response as their primary aim when studying fiction with young people (Carter 2010; Goodwyn 2012; Goodwyn and Findlay 1999), this can be difficult to achieve in practice. Taken together, all of these factors generate an environment which is fertile for English teachers to feel that they must present themselves as confident, highly knowledgeable and avid readers with prolific reading histories, regardless of whether this identity reflects reality. It is this phenomenon and its potential consequences for booktalk in classrooms that the Talking About Texts study explored (see Sect. “The Talking About Texts Project”).

Intertextuality and Booktalk Cognitive stylistic investigation of the referencing of texts in booktalk can, I posit, offer a useful and productive lens to explore the interaction between reading and identity in education settings. ‘Intertextuality’ is a term first coined by Mikhail Bakhtin (1981 [1975]), developed by Julia Kristeva (1980, 1981, 1986), and has since expanded into a field of study that has mainly been dominated by researchers working in literary criticism. Most scholars agree that the concept refers to connections between texts. However, the vast majority of intertextuality studies have historically been overwhelmingly focused on either: • Defining what counts as intertextuality; or, • Attempting to identify ‘authorially intended’ intertextual references in literary works. In other words, most of this research has been theoretical and focused on the idea of intertextuality as a concept, or at looking at very specific historical associations between different works. This, of course, has its

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own value, but as a result not a lot of attention has been given to what I would call intertextuality ‘in practice’ which, I argue, is highly salient to pedagogical stylistics and consideration of booktalk in schools (Mason 2019). More specifically, this means thinking about intertextuality in an applied way, asking questions like: • When readers make and encounter references to other texts, what does it look like? • What do they do and say? • How do we decide which connections to share and which to keep to ourselves? • How does it make us feel when we come across references we do or don’t recognise? These questions were all explored in the Talking About Texts study (see Sect. The Talking About Texts Project). In practice, whenever there is a reference to another text or story, whether that is in a literary work or in the course of a conversation, some people will recognise the reference that is being made, and others will not. For those that do, this can be a pleasurable experience, making us feel smart (even a little smug!) and it can perform positive identity work. Equally, being placed in a context where a text is being referenced and a person is not familiar with it can make individuals feel alienated or even stupid (Mason 2019). When booktalk takes place in educational settings, understanding the potential identity benefits and costs that can come along with being involved in talk about a text we do or do not know, like or dislike, is vital. Reference recognition can impact our sense of identity and this may have significant consequences for young people. That is, finding oneself part of a conversation about a book one has not read, or did not like, can prompt a range of emotional reactions. These reactions can then influence readers’ actions and behaviours, for example, engaging with or removing themselves from discussions about reading, feeling empowered and confident, or alternatively embarrassed and worried. Given the wealth of research outlined above detailing the advantages offered by students reading for enjoyment, it seems imperative that researchers and practitioners are knowledgeable about the ways in which talk in

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English classrooms can promote or discourage young peoples’ willingness to discuss their reading. In recent years, stylistics and cognitive poetics have experienced a turn towards examining the words of real readers in reviews and exchanges with one another as a means of better understanding their thinking processes and responses (see Peplow et al. 2015; Nuttall 2015, 2017; Nuttall and Harrison 2020). From a pedagogical point of view, this is a valuable resource for both educators and researchers, in particular with a view to empowering teachers to make informed decisions about how to design and run tasks, activities and discussions with young people. However, I argue, much of this work passively assumes that readers are honest in their representations of their thoughts, feelings, attitudes towards and knowledge of the texts they discuss. This study therefore aimed to add sociocultural and contextual nuance to this vital body of work by asking readers to reflect on factors that may inform what they do and do not say in the course of booktalk.

The Talking About Texts Project The Talking About Texts: Reading and Identity project ran in the summer of 2019. It took the form of an anonymous online questionnaire which was predominantly distributed on the social networking site Twitter. The project involved 653 participants, ultimately yielding 644 valid responses. Most of the respondents (75%) worked in education, and 46% identified themselves as teachers. It is the responses of these teacher participants that will be explored in the rest of this chapter. The questionnaire asked participants questions such as: • Have you ever read and enjoyed a book you’d be reluctant to tell others about? • Are there any circumstances in which you might lie about reading a book you hadn’t read? • Do you ever feel embarrassed about books you haven’t read?

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It is the teachers’ responses to this final question that will form the focus of the analysis in this chapter. As the survey was anonymous, the participants had no need to worry about the impact their answers may have on how they were viewed. This meant, hopefully, that participants were honest in their responses. Indeed, the penultimate question in the survey was ‘Reflecting on your answers, are there any responses where you haven’t been entirely honest, or felt a temptation to lie?’: 86% of respondents said ‘No’.

Analysis: Do Teachers Feel Embarrassed About Books They Haven’t Read? In response to this question, 132 (44.6%) of the teachers who completed the survey said ‘Yes’, they did, and 164 (55.4%) said ‘No’. This mirrors closely the split amongst all participants’ responses: in the full sample, 45.8% said ‘Yes’ and 54.2% said ‘No’. In other words, teachers appear to align with those working in other professions in this regard. The stated professions of the individuals who completed Talking About Texts were wide ranging, including, for example: IT technician, barrister, journalist, ambulance driver, stay at home parent, nurse, writer, retail manager, Baptist minister, freelance musician and carer, to name but a few. After this initial Yes/No question, participants were then asked to follow up with a narrative response: ‘Could you say a bit more about this?’. These answers offer insight as to the thinking and reasoning underpinning the teachers’ responses. I will first provide an outline of the key themes that emerge from these accounts, and then analyse some of the patterns across this aspect of the dataset in more detail. Teachers who said they did not feel embarrassed tended to offer one or more of four explanations for this. First, and most frequently, they rationalised their lack of embarrassment by adopting the position that it is impossible to read everything (which is, of course, perfectly true) and that therefore not having read a particular work is simply a reflection of this fact rather than a reflection on them as an individual. Here are some representative examples of such responses:

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• I have read a fair few classics so I don’t mind owning the ones I haven’t read. (Participant 150) • I read such a lot. Don’t feel I’ve got anything to prove (Participant 28) • I’ve got a healthy reading list under my belt. If something has been missed off the list it wouldn’t bother me. (Participant 36) • Even though I’m an English teacher, there are many classics I’ve not read, including Shakespeare. But I read widely and regularly so it’s not a competition! (Participant 85) • I feel confident in what I have read so I don’t need to make up when I haven’t (Participant 37). Often these explanations were accompanied by a statement of selfassurance that he or she was comfortable with what they had read, either in terms of content (such as Participants 37 and 85) or volume (such as Participants 28, 36 and 150). As such, it appears for many teachers there exists a threshold of ‘reading enough’, which, if the individual feels they exceed, inoculates them from judgement and therefore protects their sense of identity as either a ‘good teacher’ or a ‘good reader’ (this sits in interesting contrast to the participants who do experience embarrassment, which will be discussed below). Participant 36’s metaphorical invocation of ‘I’ve got a healthy reading list under my belt ’ (my emphasis) offers particular insight here, as though one’s past reading can be carried around like a shield or talisman to protect prolific readers from being shamed by others about books they happen not to have read. This raises important questions about whether those who do experience such sensations of embarrassment perhaps feel that this is a protective barrier they lack. Participant 85’s use of the coordinating conjunction ‘so’ is interesting in this regard: ‘I read widely and regularly so it’s not a competition!’ (my emphasis). Participant 150 uses the same conjunction to express a similar sentiment: ‘I have read a fair few classics so I don’t mind owning the ones I haven’t’ (my emphasis). Both participants’ explanations here do seem to tacitly reveal a sense that ‘not having read’ texts can be a source of negative judgement but that as individuals they are immune to it by virtue of what they have read: perhaps it is not a competition if you’re winning? Though these participants do not experience

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embarrassment in relation to their own reading histories, there are also noticeable consistencies in where they perceive a sense of embarrassment would potentially arise from. This tended to orient around ‘not having read’ particular types of books, namely ‘the classics’ or ‘canonical works’, rather than a matter of volume. From a pedagogical point of view, this offers valuable insights as to the ways in which embarrassment, reading knowledge and intertextual booktalk appear to intersect. Those who read what they perceive to be ‘a lot’ or ‘enough’ are less likely to worry about others’ perceptions of their reading choices, especially if some ‘classics’ are represented within their arsenal. The second account of teachers who reported not feeling embarrassment in relation to their reading histories focused on having overcome or renounced this practice of self-critique. In other words, they explained that they did not feel this way anymore. For example: • I’m too old to give a damn. (Participant 43) • I probably did when I was younger. These days I’ve read more books than lots of folk I talk about books with and hopefully I’m mature enough not to mind. (Participant 88) • I used to think I ‘should’ (and shouldn’t) read certain types of books, but now I feel it’s just a matter of taste. (Participant 119) • I used to, but I read for pleasure and if I don’t enjoy it, or the genre, then I won’t read it. (Participant 136) • I did in the past, but now I know that I am fairly ‘well-read’ but have gaps in my knowledge. Now, rather than feeling like I should have read something, I’m much happier admitting that I haven’t read something and asking what it’s like (Participant 148). The stylistic consistency of these responses is, in itself, interesting here. Participants 88, 119, 136 and 148 all construct a past enactor of themselves who did experience embarrassment (and thus would presumably have answered ‘Yes’ to the question posed by the survey), followed swiftly by a present enactor who has eschewed this feeling (for further discussion of ‘enactors’ see Gavins 2007). This is invariably viewed as a positive shift. From a pedagogical viewpoint this is highly salient. It narrates a clear trajectory from individuals who have ultimately chosen to progress

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into a job role involving reading that a transition from anxiety to confidence took place. It therefore seems uncontroversial to suggest that many young people in literature classrooms around the world are much more likely than their teachers to experience embarrassment about what they have and have not read. At the same time, asking these same students about their reading histories, knowledge and preferences is a norm of classroom interaction. As such, school classrooms seem fertile ground for fostering, rather than challenging, the idea that one should worry about what one has and has not read. This is consistently represented across the Talking About Texts dataset, and not only from the teachers in the sample. In other words, embarrassment about reading appears to be more acute for young people. The third reason offered by participants as to why they do not experience embarrassment in relation to their reading inventory is an assertion that reading is a personal choice. That is, it is viewed as a leisure activity that is partitioned from other aspects of their life, such as social status or professional identity. As such, embarrassment is not a relevant emotion because it requires perceiving other people’s views as having a bearing on how individuals choose to spend their time: • I don’t have time to worry about books that I haven’t read. Reading is a pleasure not an obligation. (Participant 52) • I’m a lifelong learner and am generally very okay modelling that with people knowing that. (Participant 58) • It’s an investment of *my* time and energy. If I don’t think it’s worth it, it probably isn’t for me (Participant 59). From many participants there is also often an accompanying statement about their lack of regard for ‘would-be-critics’ of their reading practices. This seems to be a position about identity that is highly robust and largely impervious to the comments of others, for instance: • University English can be a little snobbish but it depends on how much you spend time with those people (Participant 14) • I have never been in company that made me feel this way and I am happy to not have read some books! (Participant 116)

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• I find book snobs annoying and I don’t care what they think (Participant 79). As is clearly narrated in these comments, the view that is offered is not only that those who would critique an individual’s personal reading choices are not able to infiltrate their own stance about their reading but that attempting to do so offers a poor character assessment of the critic. This sort of behaviour is an indicator of bad character and, more holistically, this is not a person the participant would choose to spend time with. Finally, a very small proportion of respondents express incredulity that anyone would ever feel embarrassed about what they had or had not read: • Why should I feel embarrassed? (Participant 75) • Why would I feel embarrassed? Books are there, you read them or you don’t (Participant 106). As someone who has had innumerable occasions of bending the truth or feeling judged about narrative knowledge and preferences, it is informative to know that this viewpoint exists, albeit held by a very small number of participants within the sample. In relation to the formal education of young people, and contemplating the daily unfolding interactions that take place within literature classrooms, it is therefore salient to reflect on the fluctuating levels of awareness teachers may have about students’ propensity to feel embarrassed about their own reading history. This chapter now turns to the 44.6% of teacher participants who reported that they did feel embarrassed about books they had not read. Four patterns emerged in their responses. First is a negative view of perceived gaps in their own reading inventory. Notably, the ways in which these teachers metaphorically construct their reading histories as an object with gaps is not conceptually distinct from those who report not experiencing embarrassment. Across respondents, many invoked this ‘gaps’ metaphor. The key distinction is the attitude towards it. For some teachers, the gaps are sites of shame:

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• There is so much I want to read and I am constantly embarrassed about my literary holes! (Participant 244) • Only a little bit—but in a very academic department, I am conscious of lacunae– e.g. Russian novelists (of whom I have read very few), some more contemporary writers that nearly everyone seems to have read (e.g. Angela Carter, Ken Kesey) and some other major literary landmarks e.g. Milton, Joyce. (Participant 265) • As an English teacher, there are always gaps that you think should fill (Participant 268). By contrast, those who did not report embarrassment saw these gaps as inevitable and therefore neither problematic nor a reflection on themselves as either a teacher or a reader: • I have read a lot, and while there are, of course, gaps, I slowly fill them, and don’t see why I should feel embarrassed. (Participant 21) • There’s so much to read, it’s no surprise we don’t all read the same texts. (Participant 39) • You can’t read everything. Not enough time. And I have eclectic taste so spread the net wide. (Participant 46) • I did in the past, but now I know that I am fairly ‘well-read’ but have gaps in my knowledge. Now, rather than feeling like I should have read something, I’m much happier admitting that I haven’t read something and asking what it’s like. (Participant 148) • I don’t think that anyone can have read everything! I’m always open to suggestions. (Participant 67) • I feel I’ve read a good range of authors and genres, and don’t feel less intelligent if I haven’t read something (Participant 100). From a pedagogical point of view, this latter conceptualisation of absences and gaps in every person’s reading history seems to be more productive, positive and accurate. It is a simple reality that we cannot read all the books, and thus that at some point everyone will find themselves in a conversation about a book they have not read, especially in an English class, whether as a teacher or a student. As such, perhaps

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highlighting this truth would help to militate against alternative conceptualisations that are likely to silence intertextual booktalk, or at least provoke anxiety and encourage people to misrepresent what they have and have not read. Second, these teachers’ responses also reinforced the comments of their counterparts in identifying ‘the classics’ or ‘canonical’ texts as those most likely to provoke feelings of embarrassment at ‘not having read’: • I have sometimes felt that I should have read all the ‘classics’ or every book in my areas of interest. Sometimes I don’t feel up to date in my reading. (Participant 167) • As an English teacher I feel I should have read all the classics. (Participant 172) • As an English teacher there is a bit of pressure or expectation that you’ve read and enjoyed the canonical works. (Participant 177) • As an English graduate, I feel embarrassed to have not read a huge amount of ‘classic’ literature. I feel almost fraudulent, as though my taste is not appropriate for my chosen specialism (Participant 293). The use of the premodifying adverbial phrase ‘as an English teacher/graduate’, or similar, is a prominent pattern throughout the Talking About Texts dataset (for further discussion, see Mason and Giovanelli 2021). Here it signals a perceived relationship between professional identity and reading preferences and knowledge. This raises interesting and important questions about the legitimacy of this notion that English teachers ‘should’ have read and should enjoy classics and works within the canon. Furthermore, if teachers feel this way, it seems uncontroversial to suggest that this idea, tacitly if not explicitly, may be being passed on to students: that in order to be a (good) English student you must read and enjoy, or at least appreciate, these kinds of texts. Reflecting on the breadth and range of English as an academic subject, this seems problematic, not least in terms of the already sometimes maligned status of language and linguistics within the discipline (Cushing 2018; Giovanelli 2015). This seems to be an idea about English as a subject that is likely to self-perpetuate if, as this research suggests, many English teachers feel compelled to misrepresent what they have

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and have not read as a result of emotions such as embarrassment. This is reinforced by another aspect of the Talking About Texts data. Participants were also asked if there were any circumstances in which they might lie about reading a book they had not read. Of the teachers who participated, 120 (40.5%) confirmed that they would. In other words, this perception that English teachers will have read and enjoyed certain works, in particular the classics, can not only provoke acute emotional responses such as embarrassment in the course of booktalk, but, further than this, actually alter the content of the booktalk itself, especially in terms of disclosures about text knowledge. The teachers offered a range of specific texts and authors that their embarrassment orients around, including Shakespeare, Dickens, the Brontës, James Joyce, Trollope and Austen. Intriguingly, five of the 132 teacher participants who affirmed that they experienced embarrassment (and one who did not) mentioned James Joyce’s Ulysses specifically in their elaborations: • I haven’t ever managed to read Ulysses, but I should have tried harder. (Participant 178) • Although I am highly educated, there are some great classics that I just cannot enjoy no matter how much I try to force myself. I should have read Joyce’s Ulysses for a class during my BA, I never could pass the 1st few pages (Participant 200) • Well, I hold myself to a high standard because I teach books for a living. So when there are really important books that I haven’t read (like Joyce’s Ulysses), I feel embarrassed. (Participant 202) • I would love to have been able to get to grips with Joyce’s Ulysses but it’s never going to happen. (Participant 239) • Ulysses because it is supposed to be a masterpiece but it makes no sense to me (Participant 294). The duality echoed in several of these comments that this novel is one the teachers ‘should’ have read and enjoyed on the one hand, accompanied by sentiments of extreme effort or confusion on the other, speaks to a persistent sense that there exists a relationship between literary preferences and intelligence. Participant 178’s damning self-assessment ‘should

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have tried harder’ and Participant 200’s confession ‘there are some great classics that I just cannot enjoy no matter how much I try to force myself ’ in particular, offer a conception of reading notoriously challenging works as akin to being made to eat all your vegetables or dragging yourself to the gym when you would rather stay in bed. This again raises salient reflections about booktalk and pedagogy: is this a conceptualisation of reading fiction that we are comfortable to promote to young people? How do such feelings affect teachers’ confidence as readers and professionals? Fourth and finally, regardless of how the teachers answered the question, the data also showed a view common across the responses that certain people or groups present more of an identity-threat with regard to disclosing one’s own text knowledge and ‘gaps’ than others. However, whereas the participants who rejected sensations of embarrassment saw this as a poor reflection on those ‘would-be-critics’, those who felt this emotion were more likely to conceive of this as an indictment of themselves: • I’m an English teacher. I’m supposed to have read *all the books* (or all the *proper books*). I’m sometimes embarrassed by my own rather eclectic, autodidactic history of books compared to colleagues’ culturally privileged awareness of really boring, worthy nineteenth century novels and/or critically acclaimed realist novels about tedious people who do nothing. It *is* pretty embarrassing when other English teachers are all saying, ‘Oh, I loved John Williams’ “Stoner”!’ and I’m thinking, ‘I couldn’t finish it. It was as dull as ditchwater. Maybe that means I’m not as good at reading as them…’ (Participant 212) • I feel that I’m excluded from a ‘club’ or that I am looked down upon if I haven’t fallen for the same author or book. (Participant 280) • There’s a pressure to look intelligent and well-read, especially if people around you are readers. If you consider yourself a reader and you haven’t read a particularly well-regarded novel, people might doubt how much you read (Participant 217). In contrast to the earlier comments about those who would judge an individual based on their reading history as people to be avoided, these

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responses all suggest a desire to be included in these groups and interact with them. This indicates that the distinction is to do with attitudes towards the person or group perceived as potentially judgemental. In the context of English lessons, it seems reasonable to posit that many students would want their teacher to have a positive assessment of them as both individuals and readers. It is also the case that these young people, excepting truanting, cannot simply choose to avoid interacting with their teachers and being involved in intertextual booktalk with them. As such, careful reflection on how to navigate and manage perceptions of an English teacher as being potentially judgemental about what a student has or has not read seems key in counteracting their propensity for embarrassment.

Conclusion This chapter has explored both teachers’ outlooks on embarrassment in relation to reading and the potential consequences of their feelings for their students. It has demonstrated the value of systematically contemplating the sociology of booktalk for pedagogical stylistics. In particular, it has argued that talk about texts in education spaces cannot be straightforwardly understood as teachers and students sharing their knowledge and opinions with one another. Instead, it has highlighted that what people are and are not willing to say is informed by their perceptions of how this may be received by others. If there are concerns that this may lead to judgement or negative assessments then, for some, this offers inducements to lie about, or at least misrepresent, which texts they do and do not know, and what they do and do not like. Finally, the chapter has reflected on the pressures and assumptions that many teachers feel come hand-in-hand with their professional identity, in particular the idea that they will have both read and enjoyed, if not all the books, then certainly the classics.

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Part IV Innovations in the Educational Setting

12 Why Do I Write This Way? Tracking the Stylistic Leap from Professional to Academic Writing Jane Spiro

Abstract Studies suggest that doctoral writing is often experienced by students as an alien culture with tacit values and expectations (Leitch, Qualitative Inquiry 12:1–12, 2006; French, Studies in Higher Education 45:1605–1617, 2020). Discourse analysis offers the opportunity to make these expectations transparent by unravelling the structures of disciplinary texts, such as moves in academic genres (Bazerman. Shaping Written Knowledge: The Genre and Activity of the Experimental Article in Science, University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, 1988) or the visibility of the author (Hyland, Journal of Pragmatics 34:1091–1112, 2002). Whilst discourse awareness provides rich opportunities for appreciating the mechanisms of doctoral text types, the impact of this new writing culture is less understood. This chapter asks how and with what benefits a discourse approach may enhance a student’s sense of self as a doctoral writer. It tracks an approach to writing development for nine J. Spiro (B) Education and TESOL, Oxford Brookes School of Education, Oxford, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_12

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cohorts of doctoral students at a post-1992 UK university between 2011 and 2019. Examples of learning activities are shared as well as student response to these from first entry to doctoral completion and publication. The chapter suggests that a scaffolded approach to discourse combined with reflection into personal writing voice can enable writers to acquire ownership of their target writing community. Keywords Academic writing · Discourse awareness · Doctoral writer · Scaffolded approach · Learning activities · Student response

Introduction Research into student experience in higher education suggests that writing academically is perceived as a major challenge and source of tension (French 2020; Cotterall 2013). Whatever the familiarity with content and subject discipline, a higher degree is likely to constitute a leap into a new writing culture that has the qualities of an unfamiliar tribe (Trowler 2008; Becher and Trowler 2001) with all its hidden values and tacit knowledge (Jalongo et al. 2014). Discourse pedagogies have helped to democratise these hidden cultures by making their conventions transparent, for example, unravelling aspects of text organisation (Bazerman 1988), focusing on disciplinary distinctiveness (Hyland 2013) or features of academic text types (Wingate 2012). These discourse approaches are grounded in both analysis of the mechanisms of academic texts and appreciation of their deep structure as windows into underlying values, systems and approaches to knowledge (North 2005). This chapter tracks a discourse approach to doctoral writing which takes account of the doctoral writers’ sense of self as they make the shift into new forms of writing for new audiences. It demonstrates the steps towards a doctoral voice by drawing on the ethnography of a writing programme evolved over nine years in a post-1992 UK university. The data used to evidence this gradual mastery include discourse awareness activities, classroom field notes of student responses and peer review exchanges. The data has been honed and classified to reveal overarching

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patterns of response and to arrive at insights into a writing pedagogy which combines discourse knowledge with reflection into personal writing voice and participation in the target writing community.

Student Writing and Discourse as Pedagogy Section “Introduction” suggests that the acquisition of a doctoral writing voice entails not only appreciation of discourse choices but also appreciation of disciplinary cultures lying under the surface of texts. It also acknowledges that these new disciplinary cultures may entail a leap in a writers’ sense of who they are and how they relate to their new audience. To take account of these multiple threads, several kinds of literature need to be addressed: first, studies into discourse as a tool to support the development of writers, acknowledging both its value and its potential limitations; secondly, studies into the way that writing choices might impact on writers themselves, and their sense of distance or ownership from their new writing community and thirdly, studies into the nature of these new writing communities and the qualities of an enabling writing community in which writers are equal participants. This section will consider each of these three aspects of the writing endeavour.

Discourse as Pedagogy Implicit in a discourse approach to texts is that no writing choices are accidental. Whether they are recognised by the writer or whether they are instinctive, still these writing decisions are made in the cause of communication and for a purpose. The pedagogy of discourse aims to reveal these purposes, uncover the structures and mechanisms of a text and thus ensure that writing decisions are principled and connected. Bazerman (1988) suggests that subject disciplines generate stable ‘rhetorical solutions for accomplishing goals’ and, as a result, writers ‘no longer need make so many fundamental choices and perform virtuosities of communication’ (Bazerman 1988: 23). It is with the aim of revealing

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these ‘rhetorical solutions’ that discourse is suggested as a framework for understanding the target competence. Discourse knowledge offers appreciation of micro-structures such as how the author occludes or reveals their presence (Hyland 2002; Lillis 2001), how claims to knowledge are hedged (Lillis and Scott 2007) and how discourse markers flag moves in a text (Fung and Carter 2007). Recognising the links between surface features and the disciplinary values which underpin them (North 2005; Becher and Trowler 2001) offers student writers the tools to critique what is being read and to take on the mantle of authority as writers. Studies into student responses to discourse-based writing programmes testify to this sense of empowerment. Santelmann et al. (2018), for example, conducted a writing development programme for MA TESOL students that included explicit instruction in text structures. Student responses revealed their perception of multiple benefits, including a better understanding of academic expectations and increased capacity to edit and revise their own work. Wilder (2012) taught the rhetoric of literary writing to her groups of undergraduate literature students. She found the literature-specific discourse to be particularly appreciated by her learners. However, she noted concerns that are shared by other educators: discourse tools might be perceived by some as mechanical, even coercive, and they leave out the students’ unease about what lies under the surface of rhetorical choices (see also Cotterall 2013). Thus, whilst we might view discourse tools as essential for making writing conventions transparent, these alone are not sufficient to take account of writers themselves and the deeper changes that writing choices signify.

Academic Discourse and Identity As suggested in section “Discourse as pedagogy”, discourse features of doctoral writing can coerce writers to become not just another kind of writer but another kind of person. Ivani´c (1998) tracks this discomfort both in case studies and in life-history narratives of mature-age students. What is valued may seem out of reach, hidden (Kisida et al. 2014; French 2020) and even undesirable. Leitch (2006) focuses on her own painful

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transition into the academy, beset by a sense of herself as an imposter and the stretch between personal values and her aspirational future self. The behavioural and emotional blocks she describes, corroborated in other studies such as Keen (2007), suggest that writing blocks can equally be attributed to the struggle with what is valued, as to the writing endeavour itself. It is a challenge to know how a discourse pedagogy might take account of these deeper issues of identity. O’Farrell’s writing programme focuses on holistic goals (O’Farrell 2013), and Morss and Murray’s (2001) Writing for Publication programme balances the ‘hard’ outcomes of journal publication and the ‘soft’ outcomes of self-confidence and sense of fit with the new target audience. These approaches problematise academic writing as more than mimicking the language of the target community, drawing back from it to interrogate its deep structures. In so doing, we are led to question the limits to a discourse pedagogy and to interrogate which borders it should helpfully cross. In turning from the writing to the writer, there may well be a danger of deflecting attention from the very tools that will give the writer ownership of their new audience.

Discourse and Communities of Practice Doctoral writers might find themselves in multiple groups: for example, a WhatsApp group with fellow students, a professional team working towards a shared goal or a study group in a formal learning setting. Wenger (2010) first named these co-constructed sites as communities of practice, identifying three key characteristics: a joint enterprise, mutual engagement and shared repertoire. His account does not prescribe how communities might be built in an ideal world; rather, Wenger describes those which are successful and deconstructs the qualities which make them so. The value of supportive writing groups is reported in several studies such as Aitchison (2009), Rickard et al. (2009) and Lee and Boud (2003). Support may come from online communities such as the one described by Kirkpatrick (2019), or in real space, and from co-partnership with a supervisor as in McAlpine and Asghar’s study

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(2010), or with student peers. All these communities demonstrate the qualities of shared endeavour, commitment to the process and transparent ways of engaging. An initiative at Anglia Ruskin University (Wisker et al. 2007) generated three kinds of communities: supervisorstudent support; student to student support; and supervisor to supervisor support. Everyone here is positioned as both mentor and mentee, supporter and supported.

Teaching Through Discourse: From Current to Future Writing Selves Whilst the literature in section “Student Writing and Discourse as Pedagogy” lays a foundation for the interweaving of discourse and self-awareness in doctoral writing development, there are only partial suggestions of what this may mean in practice for a principled writing programme. Section “Teaching Through Discourse: From Current to Future Writing Selves” maps out practical examples of the writing process: from reading a text appreciatively to reading as a writer and from writing as an individual to writing within a supportive community of practice that draws on the best principles of mentor–mentee co-support.

Discourse Pedagogy in Practice The discourse pedagogy described in this section took place in a post1992 university doctoral programme between 2011 and 2019 and ongoing. The participants were professionals in a wide range of disciplines including design and technology, nursing, maths and science, prison education, school leadership and literacy. However, a doctorate in education was the shared goal for all, and it was studied part-time alongside their professional careers. The writing programme was designed to offer a scaffolded approach from first arrival as professionals in multiple fields to doctoral writers able to contribute confidently to their new research community.

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In tracking the steps towards learning, data was drawn from an archive gathered between 2011 and 2019, including: • Teaching activities. • Student responses to activities, from teacher notes and transcripts. • Online discussion postings, anonymised and extracted from context so none can be identified, and, where necessary, to shield identity they were paraphrased. • Writing published by students as an outcome of the doctoral programme and now in the public domain.

Kinds of Writing The first activity placed two text types side by side, using discoursebased tools to analyse the differences. These texts came from two distinct groups: the first were text types typically read and written by the students, by their own report: blogs, reports, evaluations, lesson plans, policy papers, presentations, professional practice papers and practical guidelines. The second list included target writing for doctoral study: successful doctorate theses; research papers in peer-reviewed journals; monographs and scholarly books. Four discourse features were introduced as tools for analysis. Only one in every ten students was a language specialist, and a detailed scrutiny of discourse in this way was new to most of them. For this reason, metalanguage was minimised (Table 12.1). In selecting texts for analysis, I positioned myself as a peer in the learning process by sharing my own texts across writing domains, submitting them to analysis and evaluation just as the students would later in the programme. In addition, the texts both related to the same area of knowledge/concern, but addressed different audiences and for different purposes. Activity 1: Here are two texts written by the same author, one a transcript of a development session for teachers and one an abstract for an academic journal, but both relate to the same area of knowledge/concern. Use the questions below to interrogate the differences between the two.

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Table 12.1

Four discourse tools for analysing texts

Questions

Examples

1. Is there a reflective I and how does the author reveal or occlude her presence?

Authors may hide their presence through: Passive forms: the research was conducted -ing forms: Having collected the data ‘It’ clauses: It is important to note Literature may be cited: At the start of the sentence: Rogers (2020) notes In parenthesis at the end: -----(Rogers 2020) Verbs reveal author attitude to the literature: comments, suggests, claims, states, confirms Typical ‘moves’ might be: Establishing the terrain: Doctoral writers Connecting with the community: Studies show that/Literature suggests that --Establishing a gap: however, few studies -Occupying the niche: This study aims to Explaining the process: Data was gathered-Showing significance: The study reveals--Evaluating: However, although, whilst -Opinion might be hedged in verb choices: Claims that, suggests that Verb forms: it may be/might be/could be Or revealed eg. In adjective choices: It is important/interesting/clear/unclear

2. How are other authors/literature cited and referenced ?

3. How are the different parts (moves) indicated and what is their purpose?

4. How strong or hedged are the claims to knowledge? How and where are opinion/judgement/values revealed?

TEXT A Transcript of development session Will students from different parts of the world, with different languages and coming from different learning backgrounds, start chatting when they sit next to each other in class? Will they sit next to each other at all, or gravitate to others who look and sound the same as themselves? I

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have been in too many classes where I hoped the first would happen; and too many where it just didn’t happen, where learners created their own separate silos with the people who seemed most familiar or most comfortable. Then as a teacher I would be utterly conflicted. Do I ‘engineer’ seating arrangements so students mix with one another across cultures? or do I accept that these are adults and will find their own solutions? Do I accept the unfairness that some students are finding comfortable solutions; whilst others are being left out? Then I began creating activities where students across cultures needed to talk to each other, and observed with fascination the difference this gentle ‘engineering’ made, how quickly and enthusiastically students came to appreciate one another. TEXT B Abstract This study explores the view that student engagement with one another is critical in the internationalisation mission. On the one hand, universities make powerful claims regarding their international mission and goals. On the other hand, international and home students report isolation from one another. Whilst the literature is rich in its discussion of policy, institutional meanings, and student voice, it offers us less insight into how internationalization might be translated into classroom practice. The study shares examples of four small-scale projects in which students engage with one another across cultural boundaries in practical and problem-solving activities. What students value in the approach is explored through interview, focus groups, diary reflections and evaluations. The findings suggest that students who engage with one another across cultural boundaries in practical and pragmatic ways, experience significant change in their assumptions, and feel more readily able to view themselves as members of an international learning community. The study arrives at the view that the evolution of communities of practice, based on principles of equality, shared goals and guided reciprocity can bring international and home students together in a process of effective mutual learning that meets some of the goals of the internationalisation. (Spiro 2014)

Below is the analysis of text differences noted in class discussion, drawing on the four discourse analytical tools (Table 12.2). Discussion followed regarding reasons for these perceived differences. The quotations selected are those that represent the most common

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Comparing text types

Discourse feature

Text A transcript

Text B abstract

1. The reflective I

I have been in too many classes I was utterly conflicted Do I ---- or do I ----? Then I began --------

2. Reference to others

none

3. Moves

I have been in too many classes where ----- (introduces the situation) I would be utterly conflicted (suggests the problem) Do I --- do I ---- (process of finding answers) Then I began ----(finding a solution) I observed (how the gap was filled)

4. Opinion/judgement

‘separate silos’ ‘unfairness’ ‘most comfortable’ (used negatively?) ‘fascination’ enthusiastically

Strategies for hiding the author: Noun phrases: the study explores/ shares/arrives at Passive voice: the approach is explored Literature is suggested: ----Students report that--Literature is rich in its discussion of ----This study explores (introduces terrain) The literature --offers less insight into ---(indicates gap in the literature) The study shares examples (explains how the gap is filled) The findings suggest that (suggests significance) ‘Critical’ ‘Powerful’ ‘Rich’ ‘Effective mutual learning’ (suggests this is what the author values)

Any other features you noticed?

Use of questions at the start: Will students ----? Will they --------?

responses, and some have been paraphrased. Actual student words are presented between quotation marks: paraphrases are presented in italics. This convention will be used throughout the chapter.

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(a) Why does the transcript use the ‘I’ so many more times than the abstract? You are using your own experience to inspire the audience // It’s about your own practice – it wouldn’t be so interesting if it just came from the literature The abstract presents the problem as something missing in the literature, not something problematic in your own teaching. // In the abstract you are really saying the problem is much bigger than just something that happens in your own class.// you imply there is the literature out there, without saying what that actually is.

(b) Why are the transcript and the abstract organised differently? The transcript starts with your own teaching situation. That’s what you would expect in a teacher development session, and would hook in the audience. // The transcript follows the thinking you would have as a teacher, it follows your thought processes and so I think it’s easy to identify with. // What seems to be important in the abstract is how it establishes that there is a gap first in the literature, and only because of that you are asking the question.

(c) Why are the expressions of opinion different in the transcript and the abstract? In the talk you are showing quite a bit your own passions to enthuse the audience // There’s no point suggesting stuff that works to teachers unless you show you care about it and are enthusiastic about it. // The transcript seems to use quite a lot of words that describe feelings: conflicted, hope, fascination. I would think you shouldn’t really use those in a research paper. There are opinions but never connected specifically with the author – ‘universities make powerful claims’ – like that’s not me saying it, they just do! // ‘students experience significant change’ is obviously where the author thinks something good has happened, but doesn’t mention herself.

Key themes that emerged included whether the text was about personal practice or about the research of others, whether opinions were overtly claimed by the author or hidden, and whether evidence for opinions would come from personal experience or from the literature. I, as

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author, was able to verify that, in spite of these perceived differences, the texts had the same message and were drawn from the same knowledge base. This suggested that knowledge can be ‘cut’ several ways for different audiences and purposes. The doctoral journey is not only about writing a doctorate but about sharing knowledge in several ways with the audiences you most wish to address.

Present and Future Reading Selves The second activity invited learners to plan for the kind of reading/writing of their future doctoral selves drawing on e-journal databases to identify articles related to their focus of broad research interest. The search process involved the selection of keywords to glean the most delimited and precisely relevant set of potential journal readings; and from this short list, to choose one or two of immediate interest. Column B demonstrates ways in which doctoral students used discourse tools to analyse their chosen articles (Table 12.3). Activity 2: Select a journal article that represents the kind of question or enquiry you aspire to in your own writing future. Use the discourse tools to analyse the article.

The discussion was then expanded to include the questions: ‘What do you notice about yourself as a writer today?’ and ‘Where would you like to go as a future doctoral writer?’. Field notes from the discussion reveal patterns of response. Sources of discomfort included the observation that the target writing appeared colder, more detached and distanced than their own writing (‘This is not the stance that I am more naturally drawn towards as an economist’; ‘I find the detachment unconvincing and the writing uninspired’). There were practical realisations about surface accuracy: for example, ‘my use of citations differs from accepted practices. I have a tendency to make greater use of quotes and paraphrase and less use of summation and generalisation’. In a discussion about ‘establishing significance’ as a typical move in research paper abstracts, comments included ‘I have a sense of ‘imposter-hood’ and wouldn’t feel confident establishing significance. But that’s why I am doing this doctoral

(continued)

there are several usages of personal pronouns (we/our) and references (as an insider), which locate the author as a member of the team in the research paper The article is characterised by the distanced nature of the authors. I do find it odd that they would refer to themselves by surname, although this may be a device to determine which of several co-authors is being referred to The author distances herself from the research process by reporting in the third person. And yet it is evident from her writing what her position is in terms of policy and practice, even though she is cautious in her use of language It is notable that there is limited contradictory literature in this article and the author does not explore an alternate perspective The writers used a mixture of present and past tense verbs such as explored, tracked and suggest. These citations appear to be used by the writers to trigger an idea or fill a gap By using integral citations it seems to allow the author to insert herself within the community and debate more than the non-integral citations

1. POSITIONING OF THE AUTHOR Browse the article for explicit references to the author (I, we, the author) Browse the article for implicit references to the author’s actions or opinions Is the author visible and if so how and where in the paper? Is the author ‘occluded’ or hidden, and if so how and where?

2. CITATION OF OTHERS Browse and find the places where other authors are being referred to In which section/s of the paper are most references to others? What verb forms are used when referring to others? What do these verb forms suggest about the purpose of including these references? How many quotations are there, and why are they used? What comes first in the sentence—the ideas or the author?

Column B STUDENT ANALYSIS

Analysing target reading

Column A THREE ANALYTICAL TOOLS

Table 12.3

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Column B STUDENT ANALYSIS Further confidence is demonstrated by Holmes’ strategy (2001) towards hedging. His technique here is to use modal verbs and defensive shields liberally in his literature review but when outlining his own arguments these are rarely employed The authors’ claims, were mostly hedged with words such as, suggest, and appears which were used several times within the introduction, the use of these language patterns, does appear to enable the writers avoid certainty, as well as detach themselves from direct claims Biley and Wright (1997) demonstrate that they do not agree with some of the issues by using phrases such as: ‘give the impression they appear to have lost sight of …’

3. NATURE OF CLAIMS AND OPINIONS Find a part of the text where the writer makes claims about their work How strong are these claims? How are these claims hedged? Find a part of the text where the writer reveals their opinion about the topic How visible is the author? How strong are the opinions and how are they expressed?

(continued)

Column A THREE ANALYTICAL TOOLS

Table 12.3

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programme, to address that’. The extent to which opinions and claims were hedged was also a source of surprise and discomfort, for example, ‘I wince slightly at the parallels with my own approach. I hope that my writing (at least now) communicates my appreciation of the uncertain and tentative nature of findings’. Further comments show that student writers had not appreciated ways in which author opinion could be expressed covertly, or that the author could be present but hidden using a variety of structures. As an outcome of this each writer was able to identify a checklist of personal actions for reviewing and developing their own writing. Move 3 Occupy the niche

Indicate structure of the article Outline purposes

In this article I will discuss a BA programme involving Cultural Studies and Translation as well as English Language and Linguistics I will offer a rationale for a course in critical text analysis It is intended to promote language development and cultural awareness as well as skills of linguistic analysis and critical thinking

Kinds of Doctoral Writing Thus far, the focus has been on the nature of text types as discrete units that can be analysed and compared. This plays pedagogically to what is easy to identify, analyse and compare. However, the long piece of writing, that is, a doctoral thesis contains several different kinds of discourse, depending on its position in the chain from introduction to conclusion. Activity 3 invites comparison between extracts from three different parts of a dissertation. Activity 3: These are three extracts from the same dissertation. Which part of the dissertation do they come from and how do you know? Complete the chart with your observations. Extract A

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In the literature on teachers’ beliefs, it has been well documented that there has been a lack of consensus as to exactly what the term denotes. Clandinin et al. (1997) note how identical terms have been defined in disparate ways and different terms have been used to describe comparable concepts. Kagan (1992: 66) further highlights this lack of agreement, by remarking how the term has not been utilized consistently among researchers, with terms such as; principles of practice, perspectives, practical knowledge and orientations often used interchangeably. Pajares (1992: 309) also reinforces this lack of consistency and difficulty in pinning down a concrete definition of beliefs, and states how the term is often disguised under various aliases, such as; attitudes, values, implicit/explicit theories, personal theories, repertoires of understanding, etc. Extract B Mexican teachers’ beliefs about grammar is a topic I became increasingly interested in my position as a Lead Teacher at a private language institution in Mexico City. While in this role, I observed many Mexican teachers in the EFL classroom. All observations were followed up with a discussion afterwards, formally going through the teachers’ strengths and areas for growth, as well as hearing their rationale and the cognitive processes behind some of their classroom activities. During these conversations, it was fairly common to witness a mismatch between teachers’ espoused beliefs and practices. Incongruences relating to teaching methods were witnessed on numerous occasions, with a teacher espousing allegiance to the communicative language teaching (CLT) method for example, when in fact the more traditional grammar translation method (GTM) was used in practice. Extract C Detailed accounts of classroom observations will be gathered through a whole host of methods. Qualitative field notes will be taken during the observations, as well as audio recordings, instructional documentation, and samples of the students’ written. The data collected will allow the researcher to answer the research question; the degree to which the participants’ beliefs are reflected in classroom practices when teaching grammar. Such data will be analysed after each observation for key episodes which will be used to generate questions.

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These three paragraphs were then compared, drawing on discourse tools relating to authorial visibility, citation and the moves in each paragraph. In this case, the comparisons were intended to reveal not differences in text types but in the purpose of sections within a longer piece (Table 12.4). The analysis addresses several myths students had expressed about the discourse of a thesis. The myth that it is inevitably impersonal can be disclaimed by introductions where the author establishes her own connection with the problem, situating it in experience or practice, a thoroughly legitimated starting point in qualitative research. The Table 12.4

Kinds of writing in a thesis EXTRACT A

EXTRACT B

EXTRACT C

Is the author revealed, or occluded?

Occluded – no direct reference to author

Revealed – I became increasingly ––I observed my position as lead teacher

How are other authors cited?

Citations used to problematise definitions of key term: notes, highlights, reinforces X 3 citations Shows connection with the literature: compares definitions of the term teacher beliefs

No citations

Author is hidden in passive structures: Observations will be gathered Notes will be taken Data will be analysed No citations

What ‘move’ does this section suggest and how?

Likely Role In The Thesis

Literature review

Establishes terrain: teacher beliefs Establishes problem/situation: practice/belief mismatch Establishes researcher role: as lead teacher Introduction

Sequence of events: Accounts/notes –– data ––-will be analysed These must happen in sequence Methodology

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myth that no thesis writing should include purely descriptive writing is disclaimed by the methodology section, where a clear sequence of events needs to be conveyed that does not problematise or mystify. Finally the myth that each point needs to be substantiated with reference to the literature is disclaimed by the fact that literature will be more in evidence in the literature review and less so in the methodology and findings sections (Spiro 2018).

Versions and Drafts: Arriving at Final Versions Thus far, discourse tools have been used to recognise the difference between current and target text types, to identify characteristics of personal writing and reflect on the adaptations to a new audience and to discern different kinds of discourse contained within the genre of the doctoral thesis. Activity 4 takes the step of using these tools to peer review work in progress. In this case, I, as a peer in the group, asked the students to compare two drafts of an abstract about to be submitted to a journal, choose which should be sent and suggest edits. Activity 4: These are two attempted abstract submissions to the journal Compare. The remit of the journal is to present studies which compare two or more educational situations or settings. If you were on the Editorial Board, which abstract would you accept and why? Which would you reject and why? Abstract 1 This paper explores staff and student perceptions of the experience of studying in a UK Higher Education institution. In exploring the data, the core experience of independent learning emerges as an issue of challenge or opportunity for all data groups. The paper problematises this notion by exploring the tensions and synergies between staff and student notions of ‘independent learning’. It explores perceptions across a number of dimensions: international student/home student; staff/student; international staff/local staff. In so doing, the following questions are addressed: do students and their teachers really have a shared understand of ‘independent learning’ as goal and practice in the higher education context?; does independent learning really achieve what it aspires to, as embedded

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in higher education benchmarks and mission statements? The paper ends with recommendations as to how independent learning can be framed to maximise transparency, and to clarify expectations in terms of the rights and obligations of all participants in the independent learning process. Abstract 2 This paper compares the experience of ‘independent learning’ as perceived by two informant groups at a UK institution of Higher Education: teachers, educators and providers of education; and their students or ‘consumers’ of education. Both informant groups are staff and students studying in a culture different to that of their first education. They are identified in their receiving institution as ‘international’, or have identified themselves as such. Their experiences of transition into a UK University were explored through interviews and focus groups over a cycle of two years. In gathering this data, ‘independent learning’ was identified by both informant groups as an issue in their transition from familiar to unfamiliar learning culture. Three key insights emerged from the contrast between these two participants. Firstly, a mismatch is identified between teacher perceptions, and student interpretation of ‘independent learning’ expectations and practice. They have different notions both of what this learning actually means, and how it might be prepared for within the HE learning context. Secondly, it emerges that student experience of the learning culture is in a state of continuous flux, evolving between first arrival and end of programme through cycles of bafflement and empowerment. Finally, the data reveals a number of strategies for dealing with this experience of ‘transitional’ independence, and a notion of ‘phased scaffolding’ is suggested to take account of this. The paper ends by reflecting on how this data can inform the HE educator in negotiating the learner’s transition from dependence to independence, and from first to second learning cultures.

Comments made about the two abstracts demonstrated confident application of discourse tools to advise and evaluate. They included the following: Abstract 1: The moves seem to jump about; the research questions come at the end rather than early on, That would more be the shape of an introduction section than an abstract..// The findings seem to have too many dimensions so you get lost re. what is being compared with what. // The

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recommendations are hedged but they just say, there are some good things, without explaining what exactly. Abstract 2: The first move immediately links up with the journal’s aims about comparison. That’s good - it’s clearer. // There doesn’t seem a move though connecting with the literature. // It takes a while to find the move about finding a gap, identifying the problem. That comes up halfway through about independent learning. // It flags up the recommendations much more clearly than the other one. // The discourse markers make it very clear to read – first, secondly, thirdly. // It establishes significance in the last sentence, much more specifically. Its more clearly marked because new phrases are being presented at the end, in quotation marks as the new contributions to knowledge. What emerges is that the doctoral writers changed as readers. They were able to define precisely what they valued in reading, such as sequencing of ideas, use of discourse markers to flag moves, clear highlighting of new knowledge and clarification of value judgements. In addition, they were aware of exact adaptations a writer might need to make to meet journal guidelines. The reviewers felt nothing had been diminished by the second abstract, where the comparison between the two settings was more clearly explained to match journal mission. These adaptations are not a straitjacket for the writer, but rather a way of making sure the writer can be heard. The peer review was a ‘live’ experience, and the second abstract was indeed the one accepted for publication (Spiro et al. 2012).

Arriving at a Doctoral Platform The activities described in section “Teaching Through Discourse: From Current to Future Writing Selves” suggest that every writer benefits from informed reading and that the writing endeavour is a continuous one which does not stop once a doctorate is completed. Comparing texts in progress, judging and selecting between them, and identifying appropriacy for different purposes, positions the writer well for two new doctoral roles: peer reviewing and potential authorship. A culture

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of collaboration, manifesting the qualities described by Wenger (2010), offers safe ground for these roles to develop and forms the basis for the activities which follow.

Peer Reviewing and Finding a Voice Aiming for this culture of collaboration, the doctoral writers were invited to place their own writing in the ring: a book review for a targeted journal, being a genre realisable as a potential first entry into publication. In conventional peer review processes the reviewer holds the tools of power, making judgements and constructing these as recommendations in the spirit of peer support. In the case of this community of practice, power was handed to the reviewee, rather than the reviewer. Writers were invited to construct their own review questions as two checklists. The first one included features of the targeted journal, such as citation style, word length and journal mission. The second checklist included questions about personal writing goals, posed to the reader to assist in the search for an authentic and effective doctoral voice. Below is a sample of these questions. I don’t want to sound too tentative. I have a tendency to hedge too much ‘just in case’; but does that make me sound vague? // I am actually clear as to my opinion about the book, but am I hedging that too much? I have had a tendency to use citation to confirm my opinion. Could you check the way I am citing others, to see if you think this builds the argument rather than just confirming my opinion all the time! I do have a ‘big sky’ point to make in this review but I am not quite sure how to frame it so it isn’t too sweeping. I have trouble with the impersonal and distanced kind of writing so I am not trying to do that in this book review. I have identified myself and who I am as a reviewer at the start and all through. Is it too much? Whilst the first checklist entailed match with the target journal, the second one was customised to the writer. Finely tuned edits were made as a result of these dialogues: for example, cutting out adjectives that praised a book too highly in an attempt to hedge negative views (‘I don’t need to call the book interesting and engaging because I go on to disprove that

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later on’) or providing an example of what the ‘big sky’ idea might look like in practice (‘In practice, this would mean that…’). These changes mediated between what the reader had come to appreciate in a text and what the writer felt was his/her authentic message.

Authorship and Co-Authorship Many students on the doctoral writing programme were able to publish as an outcome of this stepped process towards targeted writing. They published not only with the doctoral voice but in a range of text types, including regular blogs, contributions to a newspaper, book reviews and practice papers, and managed confidently the different discourses of each. Several of them co-authored and authored papers in which they explicitly addressed the dilemmas of their doctoral writing journey. Arriving at a destination in the writing journey, four students record the changes in their writing selves and demonstrate ownership of their target medium by co-authorship and publication within it. Initially reluctant to share with others my student status, I have increasingly come to see this as an identity that significantly defines who I am. I have moved from seeing myself as a ‘covert Ed.D. student’ to someone increasingly comfortable discussing my doctoral student role with colleagues and academic community including students I teach. (Butcher in Spiro et al. 2015: 74) There is no doubt that our cohort-based course established a community of practice (CoP) (Wenger 2010), whereby we shared a common passion and engaged in shared activity. (Greenway in Spiro et al. 2015: 89) … unlike the traditional Ph.D. endeavour which has been described as ‘largely individual’ (Scott and Morrison 2010: 18), my Ed.D. experience demonstrates that my journey (so far) was not in isolation; contrarily, social exchange was key progression. (Twissel in Spiro et al. 2015: 90)

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Conclusion: The Benefits of Discourse Knowledge This chapter claimed to map what a discourse approach to writing development might actually look like. It also aimed to track the impact of this development on doctoral students’ sense of self. The chapter offers several distinctive responses to these questions. First, attention is given to ‘living’ discourse in the process of construction, for example, drafts of abstracts en route to journal submission, student-chosen target journals and text types ‘outside the box’ of typical doctoral writing as options for alternative audiences. Discourse knowledge provides tools for precise analysis and honing of written texts. The activities lead to real-world events such as co-authorship leading to publication or support of colleagues to shift review responses from reject to accept. Secondly, a shift of power in the peer review process is suggested, so this is driven by the reviewee and not the reviewer. Discourse awareness enables the reviewee to be precise in the questions that might be helpful to pose to a reader. These approaches appear to offer students much more than surface linguistic awareness. They provide a potential frame for entering new writing communities mindfully, understanding what is needed to become a member of that community, in addition to what is needed to hold firmly to one’s own message and purpose whilst enabling it to be heard.

References Aitchison, Claire. 2009. Writing groups for doctoral education. Studies in Higher Education 34 (8): 905–916. Bazerman, Charles. 1988. Shaping written knowledge: The genre and activity of the experimental article in science. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Becher, Tony, and Paul R. Trowler. 2001. Academic tribes and territories: Intellectual enquiry and the culture of disciplines, 2nd ed. Buckingham: SRHE and Open University Press. Biley, Francis C., and Stephen G. Wright. 1997. Towards a defence of nursing routine and ritual. Journal of Clinical Nursing 6: 115–119.

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Clandinin, F. Michael., D. Jean Clandinin, and Ming Fang He. 1997. Teachers’ personal practical knowledge on the professional knowledge landscape. Teaching and Teacher Education 13 (7): 665–671. Cotterall, Sara. 2013. More than just a brain: Emotions and the doctoral experience. Higher Education Research & Development 32 (2): 174–187. French, Amanda. 2020. Academic writing as identity-work in higher education: Forming a ‘professional writing in higher education habitus.’ Studies in Higher Education 45 (8): 1605–1617. Fung, Loretta, and Ronald Carter. 2007. Discourse markers and spoken English: Native and learner use in pedagogic settings. Applied Linguistics 28 (3): 410–439. Holmes, Leonard. 2001. Reconsidering graduate employability: The graduate identity approach. Quality in Higher Education 7 (2): 112–119. Hyland, Ken. 2002. Authority and invisibility: Authorial identity in academic writing. Journal of Pragmatics 34 (8): 1091–1112. Hyland, Ken. 2013. Disciplinary discourses. Michigan: Michigan Classics. Ivani´c, Ros. 1998. Studies in written language and literacy: Writing and identity—The discoursal construction of identity in academic writing. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Jalongo, Mary Renck, Wanda Boyer, and Marjory Ebbeck. 2014. Writing for scholarly publication as ‘tacit knowledge’: A qualitative focus group study of doctoral students in education. Early Childhood Education Journal 42: 241–250. Kagan, Dona M. 1992. Implication of research on teacher belief. Educational Psychologist 27 (1): 65–90. Keen, Adam. 2007. Writing for publication: Pressures, barriers and support strategies. Nurse Education Today 27 (5): 382–388. Kirkpatrick, Katherine J. 2019. Online doctoral students writing for scholarly publication. Computers and Composition 52: 19–36. Kisida, Brian, Jay P. Greene, and Daniel H. Bowen. 2014. Creating cultural consumers: The dynamics of cultural capital acquisition. Sociology of Education 87 (4): 281–295. Lee, Alison, and David Boud. 2003. Writing groups, change and academic identity: Research development as local practice. Studies in Higher Education 28 (2): 187–200. Leitch, Ruth. 2006. Outside the spoon drawer, naked and skinless in pursuit of my professional self-esteem. Qualitative Inquiry 12 (2): 1–12. Lillis, Theresa M. 2001. Student writing: Access, regulation, desire. London and New York: Routledge.

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Lillis, Theresa M., and Mary Scott. 2007. Defining academic literacies research: Issues of epistemology, ideology and strategy. Journal of Applied Linguistics 4 (1): 5–32. McAlpine, Lynne, and A. Asghar. 2010. Enhancing academic climate: Doctoral students as their own developers. International Journal for Academic Development 15 (2): 167–178. Morss, Kate, and Rowena Murray. 2001. Researching academic writing within a structured programme: Insights and outcomes. Studies in Higher Education 26 (1): 35–52. North, Sarah. 2005. Different values, different skills? A comparison of essay writing by students from arts and science backgrounds. Studies in Higher Education 30 (5): 517–533. O’Farrell, Ciara. 2013. Supporting academics to write for publication: A holistic approach. The All Ireland Journal of Teaching and Learning in Higher Education (AISHE-J) 5 (1): 1–29. https://ojs.aishe.org/index.php/aishe-j/art icle/view/103. Accessed 7 Dec 2020. Pajares, M. Frank. 1992. Teachers’ beliefs and educational research: Cleaning up a messy construct. Review of Educational Research 62 (3): 307–332. Rickard, Claire M., Mathew R. McGrail, Rebecca Jones Peter. O’Meara, Anske Robinson, Mollie Burley, and Gillian Ray-Barruel. 2009. Supporting academic publication: Evaluation of a writing course combined with writers’ support group. Nurse Education Today 29 (5): 516–521. Santelmann, Lynn M., Dannelle D. Stevens, and Staci B. Martin. 2018. Fostering master’s students’ metacognition and self-regulation practices for research writing. College Teaching 66 (3): 111–123. Scott, D., and Morrison, M. 2010. New sites and agents for research education in the United Kingdom: Making and taking doctoral identities. Work Based Learning e-Journal 1 (1): 15–34. Spiro, Jane. 2014. Learning interconnectedness: Internationalisation through engagement with one another. Higher Education 68 (1): 65–84. Spiro, Jane. 2018. Researching in your own voice: making the research leap. In Researching in your own voice: Making the research leap, ed. Daniel Xerri and Ceres Pioquinto, 86–92. Switzerland: ETAS. Spiro, Jane, Dan Butcher, Kathleen Greenway, and Jenny Phillips. 2015. Paving the way: Creating space for the doctoral journey. Educational Journal of Living Theories 8 (1): 75–94. Spiro, Jane, Juliet Henderson, and Val Clifford. 2012. Independent learning crossing cultures: Learning cultures and shifting meanings. Compare: A Journal of Comparative and International Education 42 (4): 607–616.

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Trowler, Paul. 2008. Beyond epistemological essentialism: Academic tribes in the 21st century. In The university and its disciplines, ed. Carolin Kreber, 181–195. London: Routledge. Wenger, Etienne. 2010. Communities of practice and social learning systems: The career of a concept. In Social learning systems and communities of practice, ed. Chris Blackmore, 125–143. London: Springer. Wilder, Laura. 2012. Rhetorical strategies and genre conventions in literary studies: Teaching and writing in the disciplines. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Wingate, Ursula. 2012. Using academic literacies and genre-based models for academic writing instruction: A ‘literacy’ journey. Journal of English for Academic Purposes 11 (1): 26–37. Wisker, Gina, Gillian Robinson, and Miri Shacham. 2007. Postgraduate research success: Communities of practice involving cohorts, guardian supervisors and online communities. Innovations in Education and Teaching International 44 (3): 301–320.

13 Revising Role-Based Literature Circles for EFL Classrooms Paul Sevigny

Abstract This chapter evaluates the practice of role-based literature circles (LCs) in English as a Foreign Language (EFL) contexts. Findings from work conducted between 2014 and 2019, while the author was coordinating EFL programs at a Japanese university (Sevigny 2019), form the basis for appraising issues that need to be revised with regard to this teaching method. Four principles for developing successful policies and procedures for English Language Teaching are applied to issues at the micro (classroom), meso (coordinator), and macro (administrator) levels, which impact the practice of implementing LCs. The purpose of this appraisal is to develop a common agenda for stakeholders with an eye toward aligning role-based LC practice to the B1 (intermediate) level of the Common European Framework of Reference (CEFR). New roles recommended within this chapter are the Fellow Reader and the Devil’s Advocate roles. Several other recommendations for best practice are also suggested. P. Sevigny (B) Ritsumeikan Asia Pacific University, Beppu, Japan

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_13

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Keywords Role-based literature circles · EFL classroom · language acquisition · teaching strategies · ELT policies · Japanese students

Introduction Literature circles (LCs) are “small, peer-led discussion groups whose members have chosen to read the same story, poem, article, or book” (Daniels 2002: 2). The word “peer” in this quotation denotes correctly that LCs generally refer to reading groups as practiced in schools, in contrast to book clubs, which are known more as reading groups held in private homes. There is a more fundamental parameter in LC settings, however, and that is whether one is reading and talking about a book in their native or non-native language (L2). To take this one step further for L2 learners, the setting can be English as a Second Language (ESL) or English as a Foreign Language (EFL). ESL contexts are those where the language learner lives in a region where English is the official or dominant language. In EFL situations, on the other hand, language learners are not living in an English-speaking setting, receive less comprehensible input, and produce less comprehensible output than in ESL contexts (Longcope 2009). Students living in rural Japan and studying at universities such as the research site for this chapter generally have very little contact with English outside of the classroom. While LCs have become standard practice in first language (L1) schools around the world, they are not widely implemented in EFL contexts. As evidence for this, Oxford University Press has recently stopped printing the Bookworms Club: Stories for Reading Circles anthologies (Furr 2007), a well-aimed series for EFL situations. Besides the setting, models of reading groups vary in other ways. Questions as to whether group members should be assigned the same role for a discussion or whether each student should be assigned a different role can be raised. In the former approach, all students might be instructed to take notes while they read and bring their questions to the circle. In contrast, the latter approach, which this chapter will explore in more detail, assumes that for EFL students it is helpful to assign individual students of a group different roles, each of which scaffolds a distinct perspective for interpreting a text.

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The most widely practiced role-based LC system in EFL contexts is described in the Oxford Bookworms Club: Stories for Reading Circles Teacher’s Handbook (Furr 2011). This system provides six pre-made role worksheets: Discussion Leader, Summarizer, Connector, Word Master, Passage Person, and Culture Collector. These roles have been adapted from those developed for the Chicago Public Schools’ literacy initiative in the 1990s (Daniels 2002). The role-based approach to LCs has retained greater validity and relevance in EFL contexts (Furr 2007; Shelton-Strong 2012, 2019; Maher 2015a; Sevigny 2019; Xu 2021) but requires commitment and skill from teachers to be implemented. The aim of this chapter is to identify obstacles that have been preventing LCs from being more widely practiced in EFL contexts and to develop a shared set of goals for stakeholders. One way to improve a teaching practice is to evaluate it through the lens of a principle-based framework. The Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL) association has developed an approach that comprises six principles for developing successful language program policies and practices (Mahboob and Tilakaratna 2012). The first four, explored in this chapter, are: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Collaboration (between stakeholders) Relevance (to context) Evidence (for effective learning) Alignment (with student learning objectives).

Reflections shared on these principles are based upon previous work (Sevigny 2019) and implementations made thereafter. Since this chapter is focused on application, it will also provide practical examples of adapted role designs and systems for B1 (intermediate) level learners according to the Common European Framework of Reference (CEFR). The reason for this focus is that very few published articles present LC data for EFL learners at the intermediate level (Mark 2007; GrahamMarr and Pellowe 2016).

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Assumptions Some assumptions need to be clarified at the outset. The first one involves text types and difficulty. Generally speaking, role-based systems need to be designed to scaffold a specific type of literature, such as narrative or informational texts. For instance, for science texts there are four roles: Leader, Summarizer, Detail Master, and Vocabulary Master (Graham-Marr and Pellowe 2016). Texts also need to be appropriate for the students’ reading level. The Oxford Bookworms Stage 1 and 2 anthologies (Furr 2007) referenced in this chapter have been determined to be appropriate for CEFR B1 level students in a pilot study (Sevigny 2019). The second assumption is that students need to be carefully placed into semi-permanent groups. If a role-based system is aligned well with language objectives and the system comprises five roles, it stands to reason that students need to experience each of them to complete the module. This logic supports the notion that the same five students should meet for five scheduled LCs in order for each one of them to rotate through all five roles. This practice helps to simplify logistics and provide the accountability that Wenger (1998) claims as mutual engagement in communities of practice. Another assumption is that issues related to implementing LCs in a Japanese university will be relevant to teachers in other EFL contexts. More awareness of the context will allow teachers to know if the information reported here will be relevant to them. The participants in Sevigny (2019) were members of the same intermediate level class of 19 students who consented to participate in a semester-long study of role-based LCs at a Japanese university. The average paper-based TOEFL score for this class group was 478 (SD 25.2) at the end of the semester. The class was divided into four permanent groups and completed six LCs over the course of the semester. One of these groups (Group 2) is featured in this chapter. Participants’ names referenced are pseudonyms. Group 2 was chosen because the students’ proficiency scores put them near the low end of the CEFR B1 band, and motivation survey results indicated there were both high and low motivation students in this group. It is hoped that the findings shared here will resonate with teachers and coordinators

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in other types of schools in EFL contexts. The next section considers the principle of collaboration between stakeholders.

Principle 1: Collaboration In order to integrate a methodology or system into a language program, it is helpful to consider three spheres of stakeholders and their collaborations: the micro, or classroom level; the meso, or coordinator level; and the macro, or administrative or higher-level influences (The Douglas Fir Group 2016). When working with the administrators of an institution, it is important to explain how a teaching methodology, such as LCs, supports the university mission. The Japanese university where this research was conducted aims to develop Japanese leaders who are multilingual and can participate in organizational decision-making in both Japanese and English. At this university, if domestic undergraduate students qualify to study abroad, they are considered successful language students. (See Xu (2021) for significant impacts of LCs on proficiency test scores). Recognizing how LCs positively contribute to English students’ participation in undergraduate, English-based courses, abroad and within Japan, helps administrators validate the use of LC methodology. The best approach for aligning LCs with the language program mission is to frame objectives in terms of self-efficacy (Bandura 2001) for integrated academic skills. As Japanese students were recently ranked among the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) countries as having nearly the lowest self-efficacy (OECD 2019), shaping discourse, and consequently decision-making, whether at a dinner, in a classroom, or at a boardroom meeting, may be the essence of self-efficacy for text-based discussion. In sum, self-efficacy for LC discussion is a unit of analysis useful for reporting program success for macro-level purposes because it can indicate confidence gains in the integrated skills needed to participate in university-level academic discussion and in the workplace post-graduation.

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Furthermore, in most countries high self-efficacy is correlated with high satisfaction with life. In Japan, students have low scores for satisfaction with life (OECD 2019). The argument here is that if self-efficacy for discussion can be increased through LC discussion practice, it may promote both life satisfaction and success for Japanese university students. If administrators and lecturers of English at the university level think in terms of integrated skills for processing language and content, they may be in a position to agree that “literary discourses can assist students in the development of sense-making procedures of the kind required for the interpretation of or sensitization to language use in any discoursal context” (Carter 2017: 111). Unfortunately, the language of integrated skills does not always translate to the meso-level. Coordinators in language programs need to justify syllabi designs with criterion-referenced assessments, and those are typically conceived to measure one skill at a time. In the intermediate class featured in this chapter, the LCs were implemented in a Speaking, Listening, and Writing class. As reading skills were worked on in a separate Reading and Vocabulary course, the researcher had to answer the question, “Why do you want to put reading skills into a speaking course?” In well-coordinated language programs, there is very little room for tracks that are not assessed. While there is a need to buck assessment mania, showing that LC practice aligns with objectives is a necessary step to justify their existence on a course syllabus. Thus, an important consideration is how LC practice is conceived from an alignment and assessment perspective and how that can be communicated to program coordinators. Fortunately, the solution is simple. For teachers in single-skill model programs, the non-assessed skill can be deemed as no-stakes practice. For example, when LCs were implemented in the Speaking, Listening, and Writing course (Sevigny 2019), the students were given discussion tests at midterm and at the end of the semester. In this case, discussion skills aligned well with LC practice and role specifications. In this scheme, the students knew the reading work was not intensive nor graded (no stakes), but the speaking practice in LCs was aligned with the final test. Speaking courses also featured mini lessons on language needed for discussions.

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In the intermediate class, the students completed an LC selfassessment rubric after each discussion. As part of the research process, the teacher listened to each recorded discussion, compared observations made with the students’ self-assessments, and adjusted the scores up or down accordingly. The teacher-researcher had to assure the course coordinator and students that the LC practice work was aligned with the speaking skill objectives in the syllabus. It may be relevant to mention that teachers in other EFL teaching contexts may have independent control of their syllabus and assessment design, and thus may find it more straightforward to create an integrated skill approach to assessment for LCs (Maher 2015b). In relation to LCs, the most important stakeholders are the teachers and students. Collaboration between them is essential in maintaining a positive classroom atmosphere. An important strategy for collaboration is to give students choices, which is also a simple way to learn about their motivation. In Fig. 13.1, the role schedule (see Furr 2011) for Group 2 in the intermediate class is shown. A Google Sheet version of this figure allowed students to conveniently access the LC reading schedule on their mobile phone.

Fig. 13.1

Intermediate Group 2 role schedule for LCs (Sevigny 2019)

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The schedule in Fig. 13.1 afforded students the opportunity to experience six or seven different roles. During the first half of the semester, the Discussion Leader and Word Master were assigned to one person as a double assignment. Then, after the first half of the semester, the students were asked to reassign roles to include two double-role assignments, making space to add the Devil’s Advocate. After reflection, they decided that the Discussion Leader and Summarizer roles were complementary, as were those of Word Master and Passage Person. Students knew having a double-role assignment would make the workload heavier on some days, but it would be lighter on others when they had only one role. The cells for Nana, Mari, and Asako are gray because they were absent. It should be noted that the negotiation of double-role assignments evidences two aspects of a community of practice (Wenger 1998). First, joint enterprise refers to the ways that members of a community negotiate procedures for operation. The students observed that both the Word Master and Passage Person roles, for example, involved similar tasks requiring the reader to review the text for foregrounded words, phrases, and passages; thus, students quickly agreed to package these roles together. Second, the gradual move toward managing more double-role assignments evidences a gradual automatization of academic skills for reading and participating in discussion. To guarantee collaboration between stakeholders, course planners should determine how LCs will fit into the syllabus, be aligned with course assessments, and be allotted homework credit. The discussion so far may show the possible confusion regarding learning objectives that LCs present to program coordinators, teachers, and students. Getting all of them to understand the fit of LCs into the overall program is very important for empowering a learning community. While collaboration between students is a well-established element of LCs (Shelton-Strong 2019), there is a deeper discourse collaboration at work between the dynamic nature of role assignments, role sheets, and literary texts. After the students read the story, apply instructions from role sheets, and participate in the discussion, a new text is formed—the LC transcript. Thus, it would be helpful to have a common language for

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relating role sheet designs to the moves that form the dominant structure of role-based discussions (see Fig. 13.2). In order to understand the moves of a discussion, one should refer to their first description by Sinclair and Coulthard (1975), later revisited by Tsui (1994). More recently, first language LC researchers have made significant contributions to the development of descriptive language (Young and Mohr 2016). In LC discussion, the Initiation-Response-Follow up (IRF) sequence (Clifton 2006) occurs mostly in a teacher-fronted classroom, later moving to the small group. This pattern multiplies the amount of interaction and talk possible for students, as it puts the group members in charge. The opening sequence of the LC discussion, as depicted in Fig. 13.2, usually begins with the Discussion Leader stating the title of the text and the other students introducing themselves and explaining their assigned roles. Then the Discussion Leader appoints the first role leader, who leads one or more exchanges. According to Sinclair and Coulthard (1975), a series of exchanges is called a transaction. Thus, a role can entail leading an exchange, a transaction, or more than one transaction in the case of someone with

Fig. 13.2

Role-based LC discussion structure

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a double-role assignment, for example. An interpretive exchange initiation can be a directive, request, or question, which usually occurs in a single turn. Interpretive responses could entail just one response or a response sequence, which can then entail many turns. Turns that are part of interpretive response sequences far outnumber initiation and follow-up moves. Most role scaffolding tends to be focused on supporting interpretive exchange initiations. For this reason, initiations tend to be planned, while participating in response sequences tends to be improvised. Another aspect of role design regards whether they elicit dialogic exchanges or monologic contributions. The Summarizer role, for example, tends to generate one monologic turn. Role-based LCs thus provide a learner-centered opportunity for a collaborative interpretation of texts, in this case, literary fiction short stories. In sum, this section has demonstrated ways that collaborations occur between stakeholders at the micro, meso, and macro level with regard to the implementation of LCs. In the next section, the relevance of LCs to the EFL context will be explored.

Principle 2: Relevance The role-based approach to LCs is particularly relevant to EFL contexts because it requires learners to read outside of class (increased input) and plan contributions (increased output) for discussion (Longcope 2009). A second reason why role-based LCs work well in EFL contexts is the need language learners have for developing automatized procedural knowledge of academic skills. Learners need to be oriented to extensive reading systems and learn to differentiate aesthetic reading habits with the development of more pragmatically driven efferent reading habits (for the difference between aesthetic and efferent reading, see Rosenblatt 1978). There are many additional academic skills involved in LCs that cannot be taken for granted: generating good questions for initiating exchanges, managing turn-taking, dealing with lexical challenges, making monologic contributions, pivoting to dialogic exchanges, and identifying and focusing peers on foregrounded passages. Specific role assignments make space for individuals to internalize these subskills. While roles help with

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developing procedural knowledge, there is still the need to support learning with language planning. The next section introduces a jigsaw system for this purpose.

The Jigsaw System for Role-Specific Peer Coaching In order to ensure the relevance of implementing LCs in intermediate EFL class groups, an additional classroom peer-coaching phase was developed, as shown in Fig. 13.3. In this phase, before every discussion, students join role-specific groups to compare their preparation and to help each other plan for their role that day. For example, four Summarizers meet and share their preparation, four Discussion Leaders meet, and so on. At the beginning of class, the teacher rotates among the peer-coaching groups, answers questions, and supports students with language for their role that day. After about ten minutes in the role-specific groups, the students move into their LC groups for the day’s discussion (Fig. 13.4). The LC is timed

Fig. 13.3

Peer-coaching phase in role-specific groups

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Fig. 13.4

LC groups

at about 20 minutes unless all groups need more time, in which case the teacher can add a few minutes to the clock.

How Homogeneity and Heterogeneity Improve Communities of Practice Additional relevance for the use of role-based LCs stems from the greater homogeneity of proficiency in EFL contexts. For example, in Japan, placement test policies usually form class groups with reliably similar levels of ability. In fact, placing students with similar proficiency levels allows for crafting exceptionally well-aligned roles for LCs. A system of

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five or six well-aligned roles that support reading from different perspectives adds heterogeneity and positively contributes to a community of practice because it improves mutual engagement (Wenger 1998). Similar proficiency in placement also contributes to inclusivity because students that speak and process information at a similar rate are more likely to take a near equal share of turns and speak about the same amount over time. Homogeneous proficiencies enable reading and discussion of the same book or story, which is especially helpful for orienting lower proficiency level learners to independent or extensive reading (ER) tracks connected to role-based LCs. Teachers can select popular authors and series they consider suitable. Having all groups read the same book also helps teachers and learners become oriented to LC routines and helps with integrating ER into the lesson (Ramonda 2020). However, for classes and teachers familiar with ER and LC systems, forming LCs around groupchosen books can be motivational (Daniels 2002). This is doable with virtual library systems such as Xreading. Teachers can start by assigning the same book to the whole class at the beginning of the semester and then transition to allowing groups to choose their own books after everyone is on board with ER and LCs. To summarize, homogeneous proficiency groupings and associated similar speech rates are the basis for why role-based LCs contribute to fertile communities of practice for language learning. Just as circles have a constant radius, LCs imply equality of power and proficiency. For this reason, role-based LCs are relevant in EFL contexts, producing efficient learning outcomes while delivering highly inclusive, focused language practice, which results in the greatest self-efficacy gains for all members of the group.

Group Formation While an EFL class may comprise learners at very similar proficiency levels, there are many strengths and weaknesses that can enhance or detract from the success of a reading group. Some factors identified by language researchers have been reading motivation (Guthrie et al.

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2009) and the big five psychological traits, especially extraversion and self-consciousness (Young 2014). Trait-like factors now hold less validity than mental state-related factors that comprise the multi-layered model of willingness to communicate (MacIntyre et al. 1998; Yashima 2009). In Sevigny (2019), Yashima’s (2009) willingness to communicate survey was combined with an intrinsic reading motivation survey (Sevigny and Pattison 2016) and a self-efficacy for literary discussion survey to create a comprehensive pre- and post-semester LC motivation survey. In Table 13.1, the self-efficacy portion of the survey is provided as an example. This LC motivation survey was used to place the intermediate students in long-term groups. All questions were six-point Likert questions, so the scores could be totaled to distribute group members in terms of overall motivation and ensure that each group had members with diverse strengths and weaknesses. Some miscellaneous questions aimed toward resilience were also on the survey, but this part still needs further development. These questions intended to identify students with a good sense of humor and those who had concerns about attendance or their own thoroughness regarding homework. Thus, while Japanese cohorts may have a semblance of homogeneity regarding global language proficiency, underneath there may be a great number of heterogeneous traits and competencies that Wenger (1998) sees as relevant in creating successful communities of practice. The same surveys can be used as a postsemester check to determine whether LC practice has impacted these factors significantly, which leads to the next principle for appraising methodological policies. Table 13.1

Pre- and post-semester survey (Sevigny 2019)

Self-Efficacy for LC discussion (1 Never–6 Always) (Cronbach’s alpha = 0.879) 1. I can explain the main themes of a story (in English) 2. I can retell the events of a story to a friend in a discussion (in English) 3. I can explain the main problems in a story (in English) 4. I can explain the relationships between characters in an English story 5. I can explain where and when a story takes place (in an English storybook) 6. I can ask questions about what I’ve read for discussion (in English) 7. I can direct my classmates’ attention (in spoken English) to a specific line in a story

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Principle 3: Evidence All those involved in the learning experience (students, teachers, program coordinators, and researchers) need to work together to gather appropriate evidence for validating the effectiveness of a particular practice, in this case LCs. Students need to know in what ways they are succeeding and how they can improve. Teachers are expected to determine the extent to which students are achieving standardized objectives for a task, an assessed skill, and the course. In addition, LCs cannot simply be selfassessed instruments of classroom practice. Coordinators need to know how course objectives align with overall program objectives, progress benchmarks, and external testing instruments. In this sense, researchers who study the inner workings of LC discourse can provide evidence to improve all these areas.

Self-Efficacy for LC Discussion Gains Psychometric scales, such as the self-efficacy for LC discussion scale provided in Table 13.1, utilize self-efficacy statements that may help coordinators validate student and teacher judgments regarding an activity. The intermediate class in Sevigny (2019) took the survey shown in Table 13.1 in both the first and the 15th week of the semester. The mean self-efficacy for LC discussion scale scores for this class were compared between the pre- and post-semester survey by conducting a two-tailed, paired t-test. A two-tailed test was used to establish the null hypothesis, which predicted there would be only random correlation between the pre- and post-test observations of self-efficacy for LC discussion. Table 13.2 shows there was a significant, positive change in the mean self-efficacy score from the first to the last week of the semester. Calculating the average increases for each reading group offers insights into self-efficacy at the group level. As the sample came from a normally distributed population, the Shapiro–Wilk test was used and confirmed normality with regard to selfefficacy in both pre- and post-observations. Power Analysis, which helps determine the sample size required to detect an effect of a given size

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Table 13.2

Average changes in self-efficacy by intermediate class group

Increases in self-efficacy for L2-LC discussion groups (n = 18) Group 1 Group 2 Group 3 Group 4 Mean Diff. df p value

0.64 0.74 0.51 0.36 0.57 17 0.000542

with a given degree of confidence, was also used.1 The intermediate class showed an effect size (Cohen’s d, or the difference between two means divided by a standard deviation for the data) of 1.001 with 18 students. The T-statistic, used in a t-test to determine if the null hypothesis should be supported or rejected, was then applied. The T-statistic showed 4.24 for a corresponding power of 0.97, which was higher than what was expected (0.80). Thus, not only was the null hypothesis rejected but the increase in self-efficacy for the intermediate class was significant, and it showed strong effect size. This means that for a sample of 19, such as the intermediate class, if teachers are careful to capture self-efficacy for LC discussion survey results as a pre- and post-test, one would have a 97% chance of finding a significant result with strong effect size. While there was no control group in this study, the self-efficacy for LC discussion survey enables a full experimental study in the future. What could be observed is that Group 2 presented the most significant changes. Nana, Mika, and Asako were three of the lowest proficiency participants in the study, all technically A2+ (pre-intermediate) level on the CEFR. In terms of combined motivation scores for willingness to communicate, intrinsic reading, and self-efficacy for LC discussion, Nana was in the highest quartile for the class, Mika in the second, and Asako in the third. Gin, a solid CEFR B1 student, was in the second quartile for overall motivation. Mari had the highest TOEFL proficiency score in Group 2 (also CEFR B1), but she had one of the lowest scores for 1

This method “allows us to determine the probability of detecting an effect of a given size with a given level of confidence, under sample size constraints” (in https://www.statmethods. net/stats/power.html).

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willingness to communicate in the class and was in the fourth (bottom) quartile for overall motivation. Mari’s self-efficacy for discussion score increased by 0.74. Gin’s increase was 0.57, the same as the class average. The positive gains in self-efficacy for LC discussion, combined with these individuals’ very different motivation profiles, warranted more highly detailed analysis of their discourse data. Another important data point regards the average speech rates for the participants in Group 2. After creating a database with all transcripts for the semester, contributions of each member were quantified in terms of word counts and time holding the floor. Interestingly, the speech rates for Group 2 ranged from 66 to 73 words per minute over the course of six recorded discussions. The co-occurrence of such similar speech rates with large gains in self-efficacy justify framing this relationship more formally. The Literature Circle hypothesis is suggested here as a term referring to the notion that homogeneous proficiency groupings can impact the selfefficacy for all group members equally and significantly. More generally, aligning language skills with macro-stylistic elements of interpretation suggests similar self-efficacy scales could be developed for other literary contexts. This leads to the topic of the next section, the principle of alignment.

Principle 4: Alignment One of the best ways to promote LCs at lower proficiency levels in the EFL context is to offer better alignment between role designs, interpretive objectives, and the language to support those interpretations. In this section, two strategies for alignment will be introduced. The first is a system for researchers to analyze levels of interpretation with the language evidence in LC discourse transcripts (Peplow 2016). The second, for teachers, provides a more general Fellow Reader role sheet to accompany each regular role sheet. The Fellow Reader role sheet was designed and added to LCs at the host institution after Sevigny (2019). It was completed as an alternative to the experimental Unprepared Contributor role.

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Language for Various Levels of Interpretation A useful framework for understanding LC discourse is Bell’s (2011) interpretive arc in Fig. 13.5 (see Peplow 2016). This framework accounts for six steps in the process of interpreting a text. It is meant to work for everyday readers as well as professors and with informational and literary texts. For this reason, the framework is useful for aligning micro-linguistic language elements with macrostylistic cognition related to a text. This framework was applied by Peplow (2016) in conjunction with conversation analysis to align points of disagreement in book club discussion of L1 readers with changes in readers’ interpretations. Following Peplow (2016), the role of Devil’s Advocate was designed and added to Sevigny (2019) to elicit disagreement about interpretations. The Devil’s Advocate role elicits disagreement moves, which are an intermediate speaking objective. The Pearson Teacher Toolkit places this move at the CEFR B1 level on the Global Scale of English (GSE Teacher Toolkit 2020). First, the Devil’s Advocate role sheet design must be considered (see Table 13.3). In each role design, four types of guidance are provided. The first is a short job description (Furr 2011). The second is a visual called the comprehension meter. For the Devil’s Advocate role, the student can see that the teacher expects the person in this role to have an expert level of story comprehension. The third piece is about preparation related

Fig. 13.5

Bell’s (2011) interpretive arc

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Table 13.3

Devil’s Advocate role sheet

The Devil’s Advocate Title: __________________________

Name: _____________________ Date:____________ Group:____

The Devil’s Advocate’s job is to … ●

●

●

Wait until other group members have shared and build up a shared understanding of the text Make a proposition about the meaning of the story and challenge the group to debate it Take the unpopular side of the debate (the devil’s advocate side)

Preparation: You need to be the expert on this story! ● ● ●

Determine the main themes of the story and challenge the group to find evidence about the theme(s) they claim are presented Determine the author’s attitude (tone) toward the characters or the theme. Challenge the group to present evidence on their view(s) Determine how the story can be interpreted in terms of its narration style, symbolic content, and other stylistic elements such as conflicts, language that ‘stands out,’ etc.

Examples of debate propositions based on this story: Literary Meaning: Do you think the narrator is male of female? Why? Thematic: Which theme do you think is the most important in this story? Possible Debate Proposition Statements:

My Claims and Evidence Claim

Evidence and comments

1.

Page: ___ Line: ____

2.

Page: ___ Line: ____

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to stylistic features of the story including the theme, tone, conflicts, and foregrounding. The last element in the role design is the notetaking space for developing a proposition statement, making claims, and locating evidence in the text. Analyzing the discourse of Group 2 helped determine whether the Devil’s Advocate role design adequately aligned speaking with interpretative objectives. What follows is an extract from Group 2’s discussion of the story Omega File 349: London, England (Bassett 2007). However, here is a spoiler alert: it might be helpful to know that beneath the surface of this story is the implication that a corrupt drug company is in cahoots with a government intelligence agency to target a homeless person. This person, Johnny, was going to blow the whistle on the drug company for testing experimental drugs on homeless people without their knowledge. Here is the extract: 80 Asako: 18:09

Thank you experience conn… conn… connector. The next, devil. Devil’s advoca81 Gin: 18:20 Advocate 82 Asako: 18:21 Advocate 83 Nana: 18:27 I think, uh, this story’s tem, tem, theme is human life vs. money and government power, power, so drug company should help human life, but this drug company take, take, uh, their leaves, [lives] a leaves so, what do you think about? 84 Asako: 18:59 [Nana] Do you mean drug company shouldn’t kill[n nn nn nn]Johnny? I agree, but I think the company think about their income to the company, so, ma… uh… yeah 85 Mari: 19:33 I think drug company shouldn’t use the new medicine for people because, mmm, I think it is very dangerous thing 86 Mika: 19:54 (clears throat) It is necessary to kill Judy (sic) because (clears throat) nanteiu Judy (sic) would, would tell someone about the big secret. That is not good

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87 Gin: 20:20 88 Nana: 20:25

89 Gin: 20:54

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Sorry, please say your question again. Okay, uh, usually drug company should help human life, but in this story’s case, this drug company ah takes their leaves (lives), or like, trial, trial medicine, yeah so, what do you think? Mmm, if I work as a workman, I prefer um, environment of company to, mmm, earn money, so, and I, maybe I cannot enjoy working if, if I, (inhale) mmm, mmm, maybe I cannot work, enjoy working.

As can be seen in this extract, in Turn 80, Asako, the Discussion Leader, has invited Nana, the Devil’s Advocate, to lead. Nana attempts to initiate two fairly similar exchanges in this transaction. She first attempts to express the theme with a proposition and quickly adds an open-ended question, ‘What do you think about?’ In Turn 84, Asako clarifies Nana’s position, then expresses agreement, and then some ambivalence. In Turn 85, Mari makes her agreement on the issue very clear and includes her reasoning that trialing drugs on humans is dangerous. In Turn 86, Mika clears her throat (hesitation) expressing disagreement and appears to take the Devil’s Advocate position even though it is not her role. She also confuses Johnny with Jude (mispronouncing it as Judy). In this extract, there are also some missing expressions of politeness, signal phrases for agreement and disagreement. There are no explicit phrases such as “I’m afraid I have to disagree” or “Hmmm, I’m not so sure…” to signal clear disagreement, although Mika explicitly sides with the drug company with a reason. In the last turn, Gin indirectly expresses agreement with Nana, who in the prior turn explains that the drug company was taking human lives instead of helping them. Gin’s indirectness is also an appropriate way to simultaneously and sensitively disagree with Mika from three turns prior. In Nana’s first attempt as the Devil’s Advocate, she has an initial understanding for how to frame a proposition, but she takes the moral high ground rather than advocating for the corrupt corporation. Nonetheless, the challenge helps to bring the discussion upwards along Bell’s

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(2011) interpretive arc. Mari and Gin seem closest to owning their interpretations. Mika’s real position is unclear, but she seems to have some understanding. Although Nana has not fully understood the role of the Devil’s Advocate, she has developed an understanding regarding the collusion of the drug company and intelligence agency and successfully pushes her peers to idealize and shift from evaluating the story events to generalizing from the story. These moves suggest these students are shifting from the understanding to the ownership stage on Bell’s interpretive arc (see Fig. 13.5).

Ensuring Adequate Preparation Another aspect of alignment comes through ensuring that students have adequately read the story and planned for the discussion. In Sevigny (2019), the participants had the option to not read the story once during the semester when in the role of the Unprepared Contributor. Although they did not read the story before a discussion, these students could contribute by back-channeling and asking clarification questions. Overall, they spoke 47% fewer words than those in the other roles. Students expressed anxiety as the Unprepared Contributor because they did not always understand their classmates’ utterances. Mysteriously, three in Group 2 were absent on the day they were assigned the Unprepared Contributor role. Additionally, Group 2 students who were highly motivated expressed that the Unprepared Contributor role was a waste of time. The study found that while the Unprepared Contributor role was an important experiment, it was ultimately eliminated due to the listening anxiety students reported and inability to contribute significantly having not read the story. Therefore, an alternative role was added, as detailed in the following section.

The Fellow Reader Role After analyzing a number of role sheets and many hours of LC discourse, it is clear that for intermediate proficiency learners it is difficult to take part in improvised interpretive response sequences without being

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adequately prepared for a discussion. Going to an LC discussion without having read and prepared for it is like going on a road trip to the desert with an unreliable vehicle, no water, no food, and no sunscreen. To share this idea with intermediate learners, Road Trip (Leather 2014) is perfect for the first LC discussion of the semester. It is a narrative in which college students deal with impetuous preparation. It is also important to note that assigning a double role to each student, such as the Fellow Reader role paired with a second role, is a reasonable solution. The argument is that students demonstrated the ability to manage double roles, and the Fellow Reader worksheet in Table 13.4 supports their contributions in interpretive response sequences rather than interpretive initiations, which are the assigned roles. The elements of the Fellow Reader role sheet are aligned with the items in the self-efficacy for LC discussion survey in Table 13.1. At the beginning of this chapter, two different models for LCs were introduced: (1) a model in which teachers assign all students the same role and (2) the Oxford Bookworms model where students rotate between six roles over one term. If one level below CEFR B1, which is CEFR A2+ (pre-intermediate), is considered, it seems logical that at this level assigning all students just one role, that of the Fellow Reader, could be a reasonable task for introducing basic story elements (see Table 13.4). Pre-intermediate students would also need to be given more time to write notes for each stylistic element. The alignment principle shows that LC scaffolding systems are very much dependent upon the proficiency of students. Assigning the same role to all participants makes perfect sense for those who are not quite fluent enough to maintain discussions. In aligning speaking skills with levels of literary interpretation, this section has explored how estrangement on Bell’s (2011) interpretive arc did not work productively in the role of the Unprepared Contributor. Thus, the Fellow Reader role is suggested as better for supporting learners at the low end of the CEFR B1 level. At the top of the CEFR B1+ band, the Devil’s Advocate role is proposed. As an extension of this study, it would be useful for other researchers to investigate and report upon the alignment of other roles at specific proficiency levels.

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Table 13.4

The Fellow Reader role sheet

The Fellow Reader Title: __________________________

Name: _____________________ Date:____________ Group:____

The ‘Fellow Reader’s’ job is to ….. ● ● ● ● ●

Read the story carefully Take notes while you read Listen carefully and say ‘Mhm’ or ‘Mmm’ to show when you understand Answer questions about the story Repeat or rephrase others’ questions and comments to help understanding

Literary Elements

Notes

Characters—Who are the characters in the story? How are they related to each other? Setting—Where is this story happening? When does the story take place? In the past/present/future? Plot—What are the main characters doing at the beginning/in the middle/at the highpoint/at the end of the story? Problems—What are the main problems in the story that characters must solve? Themes—What is the main theme? You might need to express the theme in your native language first and then translate it. The theme might be a difficult word like “Survival” or a phrase like “Crime does not pay” Questions—My group will probably ask this question Passages—My group will probably notice this passage

Page: ___ Line: ____

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Conclusion This chapter has appraised role-based LCs as they were implemented in a Japanese university at CEFR B1 level. This process of reflection has identified several challenges to LC methodology in EFL contexts by evaluating LCs through four lenses: collaboration, relevance, evidence, and alignment. With regard to stakeholder collaboration, program coordinators need to establish how LCs contribute to the improvement, and not just integration, of the four language skills within course designs. More detailed specifications for how roles can do this will help. Additionally, this chapter has proposed language for describing the structure of LC discussions. In this way, researchers and material developers may be in a better position to collaborate. The contributions of this study are various. In terms of relevance, the LC hypothesis elucidates connections between the homogeneity of proficiency afforded in EFL contexts and resulting gains in self-efficacy for all members involved. Homogeneous proficiencies empower a role-based system because roles can be designed that work for all participants in the group. At the same time, heterogeneity of motivation ensures that group members have complementary motivational strengths. A set of state-ofthe-art motivation surveys with a web-based application to automatically collect surveys, calculate scaled scores, and output grouping suggestions for teachers will help. As regards the principle of evidence, pre- and post-semester surveys demonstrated high-powered gains for self-efficacy for LC discussion. Initially, it was unclear how students’ tendencies toward leniency and severity of self-rating would affect the pre- and post-test scores, and thus the two-tailed t-test was selected. It was only after conducting the two-tailed test that the relationship expressed by the LC hypothesis was discovered. Considering the findings of this study, future researchers could move from the two-tailed to a one-tailed test. Additionally, the use of the LC discussion scale in pre- and post-tests will possibly allow for full experimental studies. In terms of alignment, this chapter has shown how LCs as described here can improve role designs for a wide variety of stylistic elements of

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texts. It has argued that the Devil’s Advocate role elicits speaking skills, especially agreement and disagreement, which are mastered near the top of the CEFR B1 band. At the bottom of the B1 band, the Fellow Reader role was posited as a single role for priming students’ states of mind prior to discussions with an eye toward scaffolding interpretive response sequences in general. Ultimately, the Fellow Reader role has been shown to be important because it can solve one of the most persistent issues with the practice of LCs—the logistical complexity. Assigning the same task to all students simplifies logistics and allows teachers to mix members from one discussion group to the next. In conclusion, designing and offering a variable role system may be the best strategy, assigning the same role initially, and later varying the roles as students progress. With experience, teachers will gradually gain insight into ways to revise role-based LCs in the best interest of their specific settings.

References Bandura, Albert. 2001. Social cognitive theory: An agentic perspective. Annual Review of Psychology 52 (1): 1–26. Bassett, Jennifer. 2007. Omega file 349: London, England. In Bookworms club: Bronze: stories for reading circles, ed. Mark Furr, 43–53. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bell, Allan. 2011. Re-constructing Babel: Discourse analysis, hermeneutics and the interpretive arc. Discourse Studies 13 (5): 519–568. Carter, Ronald. 2017. Directions in the teaching and study of English stylistics. In Stylistics: Critical concepts in linguistics, vol. 3, ed. Michael Burke, 106– 117. London and New York: Routledge. Clifton, Jonathan. 2006. Facilitator talk. ELT Journal 60 (2): 142–150. Daniels, Harvey. 2002. Literature circles: Voice and choice in book clubs and reading groups, 2nd ed. Portland, ME: Stenhouse. Furr, Mark. 2007. Bookworms club: Stories for reading circles. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Furr, Mark. 2011. Bookworms club: Stories for reading circles teacher’s handbook. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Graham-Marr, Alistair, and William Pellowe. 2016. Taking a literature circles approach to teach academic English. Journal of Language and Cultural Education 4 (1): 133–139. GSE teacher toolkit. 2020. Pearson English Global Scale of English. https:// www.english.com/gse/teacher-toolkit/user/lo. Accessed 20 Dec 2020. Guthrie, John, Cassandra Coddington, and Allan Wigfield. 2009. Profiles of motivation for reading among African American and Caucasian students. Journal of Literacy Research 41 (3): 317–353. Leather, Sue. 2014. Road trip. Boston, MA: Heinle ELT. Longcope, Peter. 2009. Differences between the EFL and the ESL language learning contexts. Studies in Language and Culture 30 (2): 303–320. MacIntyre, Peter, Richard Clément, Zoltán Dörnyei, and Kimberly Noels. 1998. Conceptualizing willingness to communicate in a L2: A situational model of L2 confidence and affiliation. The Modern Language Journal 82 (4): 545–562. Mahboob, Ahmar, and Namala Tilakaratna. 2012. A principles-based approach for English Teaching policies and practice. Alexandria, VA: TESOL International Association. https://www.tesol.org/docs/pdf/a-principles-based-app roach-for-english-language-teaching-policies-and-practices-.pdf?sfvrsn=b09 cd108_0. Accessed 30 Dec 2020. Maher, Kevin. 2015a. EFL literature circles: Collaboratively acquiring language and meaning. The Language Teacher 39 (4): 9–12. https://jalt-publications. org/files/pdf-article/39.4tlt-art2.pdf. Accessed 30 Dec 2020. Maher, Kevin. 2015b. EFL literature circles: Implementation and assessment. In KOTESOL 2014 Conference Proceedings, eds. David Shaffer and Maria Pinto, 115–123. Seoul: KOTESOL. https://koreatesol.org/sites/default/files/ pdf_publications/KOTESOL.Proceedings.2014.web_.pdf. Accessed 30 Dec 2020. Mark, Poh Leng. 2007. Building a community of EFL readers: Setting up literature circles in a Japanese university. In JALT 2006 Conference Proceedings, ed. Kim BradfordWatts. Tokyo: JALT. https://jalt-publications.org/archive/ proceedings/2006/E038.pdf. Accessed 30 Dec 2020. OECD. 2019. PISA 2018 results: What school life means for students’ lives, vol. 3. Paris: PISA, OECD Publishing. Peplow, David. 2016. Transforming readings: Reading and interpreting in book groups. In Scientific approaches to literature in learning environments, eds. Michael Burke, Olivia Fialho, and Sonia Zyngier, 57–79. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

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Ramonda, Kris. 2020. Extensive reading and class readers: The case for no choice. ELT Journal 74 (3): 277–286. Rosenblatt, Louise. 1978. The reader, the text, the poem: The transactional theory of the literary work. Carbondale: Southern Illinois Press. Sevigny, Paul. 2019. Designing literature circle discussion: Tools for teachers and researchers. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Birmingham, UK. http://etheses.bham.ac.uk/id/eprint/9345. Sevigny, Paul, and Steven Pattison. 2016. Motivation profiles for guiding extensive reading. Presentation at 7th JALT Oita Language Teaching Symposium, Oita, Japan, October 1. Shelton-Strong, Scott J. 2012. Literature circles in ELT. ELT Journal 66 (2): 214–223. Shelton-Strong, Scott J. 2019. An analysis of collaborative dialogue in literature circles. In Literature, spoken language and speaking skills in second language learning, ed. Christian Jones, 176–201. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sinclair, John, and Malcolm Coulthard. 1975. Towards an analysis of discourse. London: Oxford University Press. The Douglas Fir Group. 2016. A transdisciplinary framework for SLA in a multilingual world. The Modern Language Journal 100 (suppl. 2016): 19– 47. Tsui, Amy. 1994. English conversation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wenger, Etienne. 1998. Communities of practice: Learning, meaning and identity. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Xu, Qi. 2021. Incorporating reading circles into a task-based EAP reading scheme. ELT Journal 75 (3): 341–350. https://doi.org/10.1093/elt/ccab012. Yashima, Tomoko. 2009. International posture and the ideal L2 self in the Japanese EFL context. In Motivation, language identity and the L2 self , eds. Zoltan Dornyei and Ema Ushioda, 144–163. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Young, Chase. 2014. Predictors of quality verbal engagement in third grade literature discussions. International Electronic Journal of Elementary Education 6 (3): 427–440. https://www.iejee.com/index.php/IEJEE/article/view/56. Accessed 30 Dec 2020. Young, Chase, and Kathleen A.J. Mohr. 2016. Student facilitation in peer-led literature group discussions. Journal of Classroom Interaction 51 (1): 42–60. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26174349. Accessed 30 Dec 2020.

14 The Impact of L1 on L2: A Qualitative Stylistic Analysis of EFL Learners’ Writings Azumi Yoshida, Masayuki Teranishi, Takayuki Nishihara, and Masako Nasu

Abstract This study has two purposes. First, we investigate the impact of early L1 (Japanese) and L2 (English) education on English proficiency. Second, we examine whether, and to what extent, a stylistic analysis of their writings might be effective for pedagogical purposes. To investigate this, we conducted a stylistic analysis of writings by Japanese EFL learners chosen from each of four different groups that were divided based on their early L1 and/or L2 education. The results suggest that early L1 and L2 educations have both positive and negative impacts on learners’ A. Yoshida (B) · M. Teranishi The University of Hyogo, Kobe, Japan M. Teranishi e-mail: [email protected] T. Nishihara Hiroshima University, Higashihiroshima, Japan M. Nasu Okayama University, Okayama, Japan

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_14

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ability to express their ideas in English. This paper contributes to a better understanding of how EFL learners acquire a high level of proficiency in English. We argue that stylistics in a pedagogical setting is a useful tool for evaluating and improving a variety of writings in EFL/ESL contexts. Keywords L1/L2 education · Japanese EFL learners · language acquisition · stylistic strategies · proficiency levels · student writing

Introduction In Japanese secondary schools, formal English education has been a part of curricula for a long time. In 2020, it has become a mandatory subject for all elementary school students in the third grade and above, indicating Japan’s eagerness to raise people’s English competencies. Accordingly, studies on L2 acquisition have extensively considered age as a significant factor. For instance, Dixon et al. (2012) suggested that younger learners have particular strengths in certain areas of L2 acquisition, such as pronunciation. Similarly, Djigunovi´c (2010) emphasized the advantages of early age L2 learning, arguing that significant L1-L2 interactions can only appear in this population group. In a quantitative study in Japan, Toyonaga and Sudo (2017) found a positive correlation between English education in lower grades and superior English abilities after entering junior high school. Thus, studies have shown that younger individuals have a better chance to develop their listening abilities and improve their pronunciation (see also Hattori and Takahashi 2007). While early English education has been drawing increasing attention in Japan and worldwide, the argument that proper first language (L1) acquisition should be the first step to improve second language (L2) performance has been deep-rooted. In particular, considering the problems that may be caused by the huge differences between English and Japanese, especially in relation to grammar and pronunciation, some researchers have argued that too much English input might affect individuals’ skills in Japanese negatively. For example, Otsu (2007) insisted that elementary school children are too young to construct firm ideas and logically understand an L2. Saito (2017) also argued that proper Japanese

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knowledge is the essential first step for these English as a foreign language (EFL) learners’ language acquisition. Therefore, early language education is still a controversial issue (Kishi 2019), so further quantitative (Arellano et al. 2018) and qualitative (Nasu 2015) studies should be conducted in order to judge how EFL learners with different educational backgrounds perform in their L1 and L2. Along this line, we investigated the impact of early L1 (Japanese) and L2 (English) education on later L2 proficiency. We also examined whether and to what extent a stylistic analysis of EFL learners’ writings might be an effective method to determine this impact. We focused on childhood reading experience as a barometer of (in)sufficient L1 education, and, as the standard, we set early English education experience obtained at language or tutoring schools. Accordingly, we formulated the following research questions: 1. Does reading in Japanese (L1) influence proficiency in English (L2)? 2. What are the conceivable effects of English education in early childhood? To answer these two research questions, we formulated the following third research question: 3. Is pedagogical stylistics an effective tool for measuring the performance of EFL learners with different educational backgrounds? The remainder of this paper is divided into five sections. Section 14.2 shows how earlier works have applied stylistics for pedagogical purposes. Section 14.3 reviews a previous study that examined the relationship between L1 and L2 proficiency. The findings from these studies have helped structure the methodology of the current chapter. Section 14.4 presents the results of the stylistic analysis of the participants’ writing performance, focusing on significant similarities and differences that may be attributable to early L1 and/or L2 education. Lastly, Sects. 14.5 and 14.6 discuss these results and offer pedagogical implications for L2 education in Japan and worldwide.

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The Role of Pedagogical Stylistics in the EFL Context Due to the demand for communicative and practical English proficiency skills and the possibility of applying a stylistic approach to non-literary texts, pedagogical stylistics has been used in EFL/ESL education, especially for advanced learners who aim to convey subtle nuances in English and/or acquire creative and sophisticated language skills (see Burke 2014; Saito 2020). Using stylistics has also become common practice in both L1 and L2 creative writing classes (see Disney 2014). As Scott (2012: 96) prototypically criticizes a “self-expression” approach in which learners “just write” freely (cf. Takinami 2018), pedagogical stylistics emphasizes the need for critical, theoretical, and practical guidelines (Saito 2016; Iida 2012). Although the abovementioned studies hold that stylistics can help accomplish the challenging task of creative output, ways in which learners can improve the quality of their writing have been given little attention worldwide. In Japan, however, this topic has been the focus of stylisticians, especially with regards to register and formality (Hori 2019). For instance, Nomura (2017) and Tomioka (2017) analyzed Japanese learners’ texts to explain what makes their writing non-idiomatic. Similarly, Kikuchi (2017) showed that Japanese EFL learners usually produced “grammatically correct but stylistically clumsy” English (p. 68). Although these authors did not provide data details (e.g., when, where, and how writing samples were collected), they provided pedagogical implications on how stylistics can contribute to the evaluation of EFL learners’ productions. In current EFL classrooms in Japan, content and accuracy (grammar and vocabulary choice) usually serve as criteria for assessing writing. For example, the in-house rubric at a Japanese national university, which is used for evaluating essays and peer reviews, focuses on grammar, punctuation, and vocabulary quality. However, this type of rubric is lacking in at least two important aspects of language proficiency: (1) idiomatic factors and (2) literariness/creativity. Both elements can only be acquired through long-term learning experiences, rather than short-term drills. Our point is that they should be cultivated through both L1 and L2 learning.

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One way of avoiding stylistically clumsy sentences is teaching the usage of idiomatic expressions properly. However, if one lacks “the advantage of inborn intuition in the target language” (Toyota 2018: xxix), even an advanced EFL learner will not use idiomatic English passages adequately. To improve the quality of EFL writing, we must identify what causes clumsiness. And this is where stylistics can help. On the other hand, EFL learners’ creativity needs to be promoted. Thus, while clumsy expressions should be avoided, learners’ original expressions should be positively interpreted as their willingness to communicate.

Previous Study In an earlier work, the first author handed out a questionnaire to 326 Japanese university students (246 humanities majors and 80 science majors) to investigate their acquisition of L1 and L2 (Yoshida 2020). She also added 10 workers to the sample in order to examine the data of higher-level EFL learners who use English daily in their occupations. In this study, the author asked about reading habits in childhood and current English proficiency to explore the links between L1 reading and later English performance. In this chapter, we only point out the results obtained from the questionnaires that are relevant to the current study. The previous study showed that approximately 70% of respondents enjoyed reading in their childhood, 43% began learning English privately before the fifth grade’s mandatory English education, and there were no striking differences in English proficiency between the early and non-early education groups. In addition, those who enjoyed reading in their childhood were more likely to have a positive attitude toward English. To further investigate the impact of early L1 and L2 education on English proficiency, Yoshida (2020) also conducted interviews with 17 individuals who agreed to participate. The interviews were transcribed, segmented, coded, categorized, and submitted to content analysis. The results of this study indicated that (1) those who read a lot in their childhood recognized how it helped their English learning, especially when guessing the meaning of unknown words and logically handling

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different contexts and (2) Japanese competence affected their English writing skills, as a strong Japanese vocabulary and language processing competency positively contributed to their English writing. While these findings have relevant pedagogical implications, they are only based on participants’ oral testimonies. Therefore, examining their actual performance levels was the next natural step, which is reported in this chapter.

Methodology The present study compared four groups, divided according to the presence or lack of early L1/L2 education (Table 14.1). We paid particular attention to their writing, because this could indicate their overall proficiency in English. 78 participants (32 high school students, 45 university students, and one professional) were offered an English test during the period of November 2019 to March 2020. The professional interviewee was the only representative from this category who agreed to participate. Having a long history of English learning, he was included as a kind Table 14.1

Participants’ background

Childhood reading

Without early English education

Enjoyed reading (N = 52)

N = 24

Did not enjoy reading (N = 26)

N = 16

STEPa 1 STEP pre-1 STEP 2 STEP pre-2 STEP 3 STEP 1 STEP pre-1 STEP 2 STEP pre-2 STEP 3

With early English education 1 1 8 2 5 0 0 4 2 3

N = 28

N = 10

STEP STEP STEP STEP STEP STEP STEP STEP STEP STEP

1 pre-1 2 pre-2 3 1 pre-1 2 pre-2 3

2 0 17 5 1 0 0 5 4 1

Note a The STEP Test is an English language test conducted by a Japanese publicinterest incorporated foundation backed by the Japanese Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. There are seven grades: 5, 4, 3, pre-2, 2, pre-1, and 1 (highest). STEP 3 roughly corresponds to CEFR A1, STEP pre-2 to A2, STEP 2 to B1, STEP pre-1 to B2, and STEP 1 to C1

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of standard to allow a comparison between his production and those of the other younger learners. His inclusion could also bring out the kind of problems proficient speakers would present. Table 14.1 details the participants’ childhood reading experience. Early English education here is defined as having begun to learn English before the fourth grade (the age of ten). The results obtained from whether or not the participants enjoyed reading in childhood depended on their answers to the questionnaire.

The Instrument The test contained ten questions (see Annex). We prepared eight types of translation problems to examine grammar and vocabulary accuracy (four Japanese and four English passages). Considering the criteria of difficulty, familiarity, and recognition, we selected two articles in each language (from The New York Times, CNN Health, Asahi Newspaper, and Asahi Weekly), passages from two English novels (The Remains of the Day and Anne of Green Gables) and two Japanese novels (The Devotion of Suspect X and Silence). We also provided two topics for essay writing1 in order to investigate composition skills, logical organization, and creativity. We arranged the eight translation problems and two essay questions in random order so as to control for motivation and effort. The items had similar lengths, word levels, and degrees of difficulty. Overall, the aim of the test was to examine language levels, as well as the balance between natural structure and appropriate grammar. The participants could take as much time as they needed, and we did not allow the use of dictionaries.

Results Stylistic analysis of the writings by the EFL participants offered sufficient data for examining the possible impact of their educational background. The details of the analysis are shown below. First, we present the general

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data of all the participants and then move on to the analysis of four individual passages.

General Data As the test seemed too difficult and time-consuming, we did not press the participants to complete the task since it was not included in the class activity or grading. Out of 78 tests, only 16 were successfully completed and valid enough for evaluation. The profile of the 16 participants is shown in Table 14.2. We analyzed and evaluated their essays without correcting them. First, we present a general view of these 16 participants who completed the tasks. Figure 14.1 demonstrates their division into four groups, while Table 14.3 illustrates the analytical checklist constructed from the interviews and the aforementioned studies (Kikuchi 2017; Nomura 2017). The participants’ level of English was measured according to their qualification, essay writings, and performance in class, while other items were based on the questionnaire. Table 14.2 suggests that the participants who read a lot in their childhood were more likely to achieve high-level English proficiency. Their profile can be better visualized in Fig. 14.1. For the sake of analysis, we selected the essay written by one participant of each of the four groups. They have been highlighted in Fig. 14.1 (2, 12, 15, and 16). The decision about which features to focus on was based on our experience in L1 and L2 acquisition and on what the interviewees mentioned. For example, Japanese EFL learners usually acquire basic rhetoric skills through L1 education, in particular, at elementary schools, so rhetoric was set as the marker of L1 influence. On the other hand, the aspects of the L2 that completely differ from or contradict the L1 are unlikely to be learned through L1 experiences, so inanimate subjects and collocation in English, for instance, were set as generators of L2 influence (without L1 influence). Table 14.3 details the stylistic features obtained. In the next section we will present the data on passage length. Other factors will be discussed when analyzing the four participants who represent each educational background group.

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Table 14.2

Participants’ profile

Positions

Qualifications

Enjoyed reading in childhood

1

3rd year PHS

STEP pre-2

Somewhat

Low intermediate

2

3rd year PHS

STEP pre-2

Not really

Low intermediate

3

1st year N/PUS 1st year N/PUS 1st year N/PUS

STEP pre-1

Somewhat

STEP 2

Somewhat

STEP 1

Yes

High intermediate High intermediate Advanced

6

1st year N/PUS

STEP 3

Somewhat

Intermediate

7

2nd year N/PUS 2nd year N/PUS

STEP pre-2

Not really

Low intermediate Low intermediate

4 5

8

—

9

2nd year PUS

—

10

2nd year PUS

—

11

2nd year PUS

12

2nd year PUS 2nd year PUS

13

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Not really

English level

Not at all

Low intermediate

Not at all

Low intermediate

STEP 2

Not at all

Intermediate

STEP 2

Not at all

STEP pre-2

Not really

Low intermediate Low intermediate

When they began learning English Lower grade elementary school Intermediate grade elementary school Junior high school Junior high school Between 3 and 5 years old Lower grade elementary school Junior high school Upper grade elementary school Upper grade elementary school Upper grade elementary school Upper grade elementary school Junior high school Intermediate grade elementary school (continued)

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Table 14.2

(continued)

Positions

Qualifications

Enjoyed reading in childhood

14

3rd year N/PUS

STEP 2

Yes

Intermediate

15

3rd year N/PUS Certified public accountant

STEP 1 TOEIC 970 TOEIC 910

Yes

Advanced

Yes

Advanced

16

English level

When they began learning English Upper grade elementary school Junior high school Lower grade elementary school

Key: PHS = public high school student N/PUS = national/public university student PUS = private university student TOEIC = Test of English for International Communication, a registered trademark of Educational Testing Service (ETS)

Enjoyed Reading YES

Participants 3, 4, 14, 15

Learned English

Participants 1, 5, 6, 16

at an early age*

NO

YES

Participants 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Participants 2, 13

NO Fig. 14.1 Participants’ educational background (Note Before the fourth grade [10 years old])

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Table 14.3

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Stylistic checklist

Stylistic features

Likely to be fostered through L1

Likely to be fostered through L2

Passage length

〇



Lexical density Rhetoric

〇 〇

 

Inanimate subjects

×

〇

Collocation Register

× ×

〇 

Cohesion (syntactical) Coherence (logic) Types of sentences and clauses

〇



〇 〇

 

Other items Reflection of general language proficiency Related to literary skills Not natural in Japanese Not taught in early L1/L2 education

Reflection of general language proficiency

Key: 〇 = yes  = possible × = no

Length of the Essays The current study focused on one of the essay writings (the topic was “Describe the situation in 200 years from now”) as it allowed participants to write freely in terms of content and style. There was some difference in passage lengths between those with early English education (average: 203 words) and those without (average: 160 words). There was also a discrepancy in the average number of words used between the early L1 reading group (191 words) and the group that did not read much (160 words). Those who read a lot in their L1 and/or had an early L2 education wrote more.

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Stylistic Analysis As stated earlier, four participants with different educational backgrounds were selected: P12 (no early L1/L2 education), P2 (early L2 education only), P15 (early L1 education only), and P16 (early L1 and L2 education). In the following sections, we will detail each of them.

Participant 12 This participant, a low-intermediate Japanese EFL learner, passed the STEP 2, but had more grammatical and spelling mistakes than would be expected at this level. The passages for analysis are quoted ipsis litteris. We numbered the sentences for the sake of reference. (1) My image for the situation in 200 years from now is develop various technology. (2) I realize convenience the world even now. (3) For example, smartphone is very convenient tool. (4) Many people have it now. (5) When open a smartphone, tap password of finger recognize. (6) But, Face ID that unlock a smartphone lock with owner’s face recently. (7) So just owner’s face faces their face, they can use. (8) When I thought the situation in 200 years from now, more convenient this example. (9) I think no smartphone. (10) Other instrument may be in body instead of smartphon. (11) I think the stress don’t notice in life will reduced like this in 200 years from now. (12) But, I think Japanese culture will lost instead of technology develop. (13) There is almost not Japanese cultur.

Although the story is interesting and easy to follow, in (11), the participant suddenly refers to “stress” and changes the topic again in (12). As the last sentence is irrelevant to the topic sentence, readers may find it difficult to grasp the point of the text. Regarding style, the sentences are generally short (approximately 9.6 words per sentence) and seven of the 12 sentences are simple (1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 9, and 10). The participant’s vocabulary is also simplistic, as evidenced in the repetitions of the same word, in particular “face” in Sentence (7). Similar to other participants, the writer uses “I think” repeatedly: three times between Sentences (9) and (12). In terms of cohesion/coherence, the participant opts for

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two connectors: “But” in Sentences (6) and (12), and “So” in Sentence (7). The use of “but,” followed by a comma, in Sentence (12) creates a rather abrupt topic change, rather than strengthening the logical flow. It is quite interesting to note that even though the participant was not very proficient in English, she was still able to position herself and warn that Japanese culture will tend to disappear as a result of technological advances. It shows that little command of the language may not prevent someone from expressing his or her point of view. Overall, this participant wrote in a style that is common to average Japanese EFL learners. More conspicuous than the style issues are the many instances of awkward grammar and vocabulary. As this participant did not enjoy reading in childhood, this may lead to the question of whether L1 reading may help foster the fundamentals of language proficiency. By the same token, lack of reading in infancy may have a negative effect. It may also be possible that a lack of early L2 education may have influenced this participant’s performance. These are questions that need to be further investigated.

Participant 2 Although P2 did not enjoy reading in L1 as a child, differently from P12, she had had an early English education. Here is an excerpt from her essay: (1) Before, human could lived in the earth. (2) However, the global environment was getting worse by human’s daily life. (3) So, The situation in 200 years is very different from now. (4) I want to talk about past of human beings story. (5) Let’s start a story. (6) One day, the news was announced that our globe would have ruined. (7) “It had only a year to live.” (8) If people kept to live in the earth, they will be ruined with this globe. (9) Eventually, almost all humans migrated to Mars. (10) This planet has water. (11) It was said that human might be able to live there. (12) It took many years to explore by humans. (13) Therefore, a lot of humans decided to move there. (14) Three years later, the earth lost air and water completely after that, every life was die out. (15) At

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that time, people who lived in Mars was developed their town. (16) They lived happily. (17) However, it has not continued for long time. (18) On one morning, the original Martians were noticed about humans. (19) Martians were lived in back of Mars. (20) They thought wipe humans out. (21) And then, they set bombs at every human’s towns. (22) Some people were died. (23) They started big war. (24) It was aliens versus aliens. (25) Finally, Martians were won. (26) The other were extinct. (27) Therefore, human’s destny was extinct. (28) Can you guess why I can talk this story? (29) Because I am robot which created by humans.

While grammar, verb tense, and spelling mistakes are indeed present, P12 structured a coherent story and correctly used several more complex syntax elements and phrases, as seen in Sentences (6) and (11). The story is logical with its clearly marked Labovian elements (cf. Labov 1972). There is an abstract (“How does it begin?,” Sentences 1–5), an orientation (“Who/what does it involve and where/when,” Sentences 6–16), a complicating action (“Then what happened?,” Sentences 6–16), a resolution (Sentences 25–26), and evaluation (“So what?,” Sentence 27), and a coda (“What does it all mean?,” Sentences 28–29). In fact, this participant was the only one who opted for a narrative. In terms of sentence structure and vocabulary, the average sentence length is approximately 7.9 words, 23 of the 29 sentences are simple, and the six complex sentences are still quite short and not particularly complicated. On the other hand, P2 effectively used the passive voice (Sentences 6 and 11) and seemed to understand some idiomatic expressions (“die out” in Sentence 14 and “wipe out” in 20), which is difficult for Japanese EFL learners, although there are several misuses (18, 19, and 22). Despite its simplicity, the vocabulary is somewhat more sophisticated than the one used by P12, as seen in some loanwords, such as “ruin” (6) and “migrate” (9), which have Latin roots. Although Latin words are not always difficult for some EFL learners (for instance, for Brazilians, Spanish, French, and Italians), they are usually learned in higher grades in Japanese schools and not frequently used with beginners. Regarding cohesion/coherence, P2 frequently used connectors, such as “However” (2 and 17), “So” (3), “Eventually” (9), “Therefore” (13 and 27), and “Finally” (25). While they strengthen the cause-and-effect

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relationship in the story, they are somewhat repetitive. Some adverbial phrases were also used to clarify the time flow: “One day” (6), “Three years later” (14), “At that time” (15), and “And then” (21). Although they may also sound repetitive, they serve to effectively convey this fictional story to readers. In terms of the narrative, P2 writes about the extinction of people in the seemingly science fiction story style and chooses a robot as the narrator. However, the style is not consistent, and contains both formal (written) and informal (spoken) registers. Specifically, the connectors, such as “However” and “Therefore,” are formal, while some sentences, phrases, and words are very informal (Sentence 5). Repetitions, one of the features of spoken discourse, are also prominent in this passage (e.g., “story,” “ruined,” and “extinct”). In fact, the writer intends to talk about the story (4) and seems to be conscious of the listeners, presented as “you” in (28). Lastly, the use of inanimate beings or objects as subjects of sentences is not common and often unnatural in Japanese, and many Japanese EFL learners hesitate to use this form of writing. In fact, examples of this are quite rare in the 16 collected passages. However, P2 used inanimate subjects three times, in Sentences (7), (10), and (14), as well as anticipatory subjects in Sentences (11) and (12), which have no equivalence in Japanese. For instance, regarding Sentence (10), which sounds very native-like, Japanese EFL learners would choose to write “On this planet there is water” because in the idiomatic Japanese structure, inanimate things tend to be structured as adverbial phrases. This choice indicates that the participant adopts English language systems and the Japanese system may have had less of an influence on the English writing. In summary, P2 structures a coherent narrative fiction in a creative style, which is rather free from the restrictions of the Japanese language system.

Participant 15 One of the advanced learners holding a STEP 1 qualification, P15, wrote the following:

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(1) No one can not predict what happens in 200 years as the people in 1800s failed to do so. (2) I believe, however, to foretell the future is not impossible in some specific areas. (3) Therefore, I’ll describe what I think will happen in 200 years. (4) First of all, in terms of climate condition, 2020s will be more ominous than today. (5) As most experts in meteology put it, our planet have been getting warmer and warmer. (6) Excessively, high temperature will demolish entire ecosystem including our habitat. (7) Unless people in present days invent some state-of-art technologies that are so cutting-edge that current environmental problems such as the density of CO2 or the rising in sea level can be solved, what will wait us is noting but a dismal consequence. (8) In addition, I also expect the future when over-populated society will no longer be sustainable. (9) No one can deny the principle that the more people there are, the more food supplies we need. (10) Since few lands are already left to raise cattles and plants, the dearth of food will be inevitable.

P15 writes an argumentative essay which is both logical and persuasive. There are only a few grammatical and spelling mistakes (e.g., double negation). The participant’s educational background suggests basic English proficiency, acquired as an adolescent who has mastered the native language. Of the 16 participants, P15’s sentences are the longest, averaging approximately 19.7 words. Moreover, this participant uses one compound-complex sentence (7) and frequently employs complex sentences (1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, and 10). Another feature that distinguishes this essay is the choice of vocabulary, which is richer than that of P12 and P2. The participant frequently uses words with Latin origin, such as “inevitable,” “entire,” “demolish,” “ominous,” and “dismal,” as well as hyphenated adjectives, such as “stateof-art” and “cutting-edge,” increasing the formal quality of the text. As early English education in Japan, which is oriented toward oral communication skills, tends to avoid difficult and formal words, this usage may reflect the fact that the participant had had advanced English after entering junior high school. Synonyms are also prominently used (e.g., “our planet” in Sentence 5,“our habitat” in Sentence 6 and “state-ofart”/“cutting-edge” in Sentence 7), which helps to avoid monotonous repetitions.

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In addition to vocabulary, the participant’s collocations are also quite adventurous in this passage. For example, “dismal consequence” (7) is an idiomatic expression, which reveals a familiarity with idiomatic English usage. Another interesting collocation is the use of “so cuttingedge” (7). While this collocation is statistically quite rare (the Corpus of Contemporary American English only contains seven examples of the “so cutting-edge” expression), it can be seen as a creative application of English grammar and vocabulary. In terms of cohesion/coherence, P15 frequently uses connectors, such as “Therefore” (3), “First of all” (4), and “In addition” (8), and inserts two conjunctions (“as” in Sentence 5 and “since” in Sentence 10), suggesting a concern with cohesion. However, some connector usage is at times inadequate. For example, the adverb “Excessively” (6) is used as a connector, but it is grammatically and semantically out of place. In addition, in Sentence 9, the use of both “In addition” and “also” is redundant. Considering that Japanese speakers frequently use connectors to avoid otherwise illogical sentences, P15’s excessive use of connectors may reflect influence from Japanese. Lastly, the participant uses double negatives, as a kind of evaluative device to emphasize the essay’s worth (Labov 1972). For example, “nothing but” (7) and “No one can deny” (9) help to strengthen textual assertions. On the other hand, “not impossible” (2) effectively avoids a clear affirmation. Therefore, P15 uses double negatives effectively, except for the instance in Sentence (1). Also, the use of an inanimate subject in Sentence (7) is worth noting. The subject in “what will wait us” is not a person, but a thing (that is “dismal consequence”), reflecting a kind of metaphor, which adds to the essay’s literary quality. In summary, P15 was not only an advanced English learner, but also a creative language user.

Participant 16 Finally, we reproduce the essay written by another advanced learner, P16: (1) I think it is simply impossible to predict the situation in 200 years. (2) It is as difficult as one of last samurai imagined smartphones and

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google. (3) However, if I would imagine the next 200 years based on my understanding now in December 2019, future would be the following. (4) In a few years, AI has been making a big progress. (5) In the next 50 years, I think AI will be one of the main topics. (6) Though I’m not sure “Singularity” is coming or not, for sure, AI will be the key technology to change the world. (7) From my personal viewpoint, I hope all taxis will be without drivers and riding a taxi will be like staying in a comfortable private space. (8) Not only taxies, planes can be personalized in 50-100 years. (9) Vehicles have been symbolizing the changes in technologies for a long time, but after the above change, no major change is imaginable. (10) People’s in the future might not be interested in vehicles. (11) In the current world, AI is expected to develop work efficiency and to replace human beings. (12) After AI becomes common, basic skills to produce and customize AI will be one of key skills just like using smartphone in the current years. (13) Instead, most people no longer need to think a lot in working. (14) Thus, I think smarter AI would make less smart human beings. (15) The change would be very small and slow, but AI would surely change the world. (16) If AI (or another technology) makes a big change in productivity in agriculture, it would be the biggest change. (17) Productivity in agriculture and energy might resolve issues due to increasing population. (18) If it occurs, I think people in the future enjoy more peaceful world than ever. (19) It is very difficult to describe the future world and I’m not good at predicting things, but I hope a peaceful world would be coming in 200 years.

P16 is the only professional among the participants and has the longest English learning history. In his interview, he mentioned the importance of word choice, a delicate nuance of expressions, and a sensibility toward correctness, which is reflected in the text. The sentences are moderate in length, averaging approximately 16.6 words, but shorter than P15’s. Compared to the latter, P16 uses more simple sentences (4, 8, 10, 13, and 17) and compound sentences (9, 11, 15, and 19), which are generally less complicated than complex sentences. Also, unlike P15, P16 chooses simple and informal vocabulary, as well as fewer adopted words, aside from “samurai” (Japanese), “vehicle” (Latin), and “Singularity,” which is a technical word in the AI field. The participant also prefers informal and spoken words/phrases, such as “big” (4), “for sure” (6), and “a lot” (13), with the exception of “due to” in Sentence (17).

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Although collocation is a very important and difficult aspect of English learning for Japanese learners (Hori 2019), P16 is quite proficient in using it. For example, “simply impossible” (1) is an idiomatic collocation which most Japanese EFL learners would never use, as there is no equivalent in Japanese language. Similarly, “make progress” (4) and “make a change” (16) are difficult for Japanese learners, as the verbatim English translation of the same terms from Japanese would be “do progress” and “do a change,” respectively. The steady use of adequate collocation evidences the participant’s English proficiency, suggesting a strong awareness of the differences between English and Japanese language systems. In terms of cohesion, P16 uses two connectors, “However” (3) and “Thus” (14), to guarantee semantic and logical coherence. At the beginning of the sentences, he also uses an adverb (“Instead” in Sentence (1)3) and adverbial phrases (“From my personal viewpoint” in Sentence 7 and “In the current world” in Sentence 11), which also helps to connect the sentences and suggests a conscious effort to create a logical discussion. On the other hand, the term “AI” appears nine times, a repetition which makes cohesion more pedestrian. As noted, P16 opts for an informal and spoken style, further strengthened by word, phrase, and grammatical repetitions: “I think” (four times), “AI” (nine times), “big” (three times), and “make” (twice). Additionally, he frequently used modal verbs, positioning himself and reflecting the writer’s uncertainty: “might” (twice), “would” (seven times), and “will” (five times). Similarly, repetitions of “I think,” “I’m not sure” (6), and “I hope” (7) show how he manages to convey his point of view. The fact that he used a variety of modal verbs enriches his text and indicates that he masters different degrees of uncertainty. This usage may reflect the fact that Japanese people tend to speak with reserve and often feel uncomfortable asserting something without adding “I think.” Overall, P16 pays careful attention to content and logic, and opts for a simple, informal, and spoken style which potentially reflects the L1 and L2 educational background. However, his choices prove much more proficiency in language use than the other participants.

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Discussion It seems that people who received early English education, regardless of their reading experience in childhood, are more aspirational and eager to gain a qualification. Advanced learners were rare in the group with neither early L1 nor L2 education. In fact, we could not find any advanced learners that did not read much in their L1. This suggests that L1 reading helps Japanese learners acquire advanced L2 proficiency. On the other hand, our stylistic analysisshows that early L1 and L2 education have positive side-effects, some of which are pedagogical in nature.

Influence of Early L1 and L2 Learning First, what this study shows is that participants with higher L1 reading and/or early English education wrote longer passages, suggesting that they are more accustomed to writing in English or expressing and extending their ideas. As such, learning a language for a longer period seems to help acquire a more complex style. On the other hand, participants with early English education provided more plain descriptions. Second, we hypothesize that reading in Japanese may be reflected in one’s English style and this may be inferred from the use of inanimate subjects, as shown in P2’s analysis. This was not a common result, as the L1 reading group participants hesitated to use these subjects, potentially due to the fact that Japanese proficiency may encourage English writing in a Japanese style and discourage the use of inanimate subjects, a practice which is not idiomatic in Japanese. Meaningful suggestions for future EFL learners have been provided by two advanced learners, P15 and P16. As they both belong to the L1 reading group, their common features, such as grammar correctness and appropriate sentence structure, could have been fostered through reading in Japanese. On the other hand, their differences, both positive and negative, could be due to their different English learning experiences. P15 had acquired a sophisticated writing style and could handle complex construction, but the register was very formal and sometimes excessively complicated. On the other hand, P16 wrote in a highly casual style,

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using simple vocabulary and spoken expressions. Based on these results, instructors should encourage awareness of differences in register, along with the adequate learning of English grammatical skills and vocabulary.

Influence of Other Factors Although some of our results coincide with Yoshida’s (2020) findings and our experiences as EFL teachers, other factors may still have influenced the participants’ writing. For instance, P15 was a university student who was going to the United States on an exchange program and was intensely studying for English proficiency tests. Therefore, his writing might have changed in his attempts to improve his score. On the other hand, P16 was a certified public accountant and had more opportunities to communicate in English compared to the other participants, which may have encouraged his spoken register, even in essay writing.

Conclusion In this chapter we have examined Japanese EFL learners’ English texts to see whether reading in Japanese (L1) influences proficiency in English (L2), what the conceivable effects of English education in early childhood may be, and if stylistics could be an effective tool to measure the performance of EFL learners with different educational backgrounds. Our analysis provisionally suggests that reading in L1 may positively affect one’s ability to express ideas in English. On the other hand, L1 proficiency may also become an obstacle, as it may discourage learners from acquiring English styles. Thus, English teachers should consider ways to convert Japanese proficiency into English proficiency. We also found both positive and negative distinctive effects, as P16’s essay suggests. For example, early L2 education seems to help learners to use sentences, phrases, and words fluently and/or naturally, while distinguishing between different styles of writing seems to be a difficult task, even for individuals who learned English at an early age.

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Although the current work offers limited evidence to decide upon the pros and cons of early English education in Japan, it is clear that this study does have an important role. It is also reasonable to forward pedagogical stylistics as a tool for evaluating EFL learners’ performance. Knowledge of stylistics may be a great aid for teachers, as it can help them evaluate learners’ writing with more precision. It will also help EFL teachers to formulate lesson plans that teach how to write for different occasions and purposes in English. Our stylistic analysis has revealed some subtle, but important differences in L2 writing that could be attributed to different L1 and L2 learning environments. For example, we could determine the delicate nuances in expression, and careful vocabulary and construction choices, which would have been ignored through other rubric evaluations. As a measure for evaluating EFL learners’ writings, stylistics has proven to be a very useful tool which could improve the standard of assessing EFL learners’ performance. In addition, our analysis highlighted some points that need to be improved, even for advanced learners. We suggest instructors provide more notions of stylistics for EFL learners, so that they become more aware of the workings of language. We are aware of the limits of this study and that there is much room for debate. In fact, we collected only 16 completed tasks from 78 participants and conducted an analysis of one participant in each of the four groups. More samples for analysis are needed. Additionally, while we focused on the analysis of one type of essay writing, deeper investigation of other areas would be necessary. Further studies also need to collect more data on EFL learners’ learning environments and their proficiencies in other skills, such as listening and speaking, to statistically demonstrate a correlation between different factors and their English performance. As a provisional conclusion on the impact of L1 on L2, we suggest that early L2 education without extensive reading in L1 is less effective, and that balancing L1 and L2 education, especially in lower grades, should be more strongly encouraged in the EFL field in the future.

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Annex • Translate the underlined sentences into Japanese. The deal would not cover some of the more contentious issues between India and the United States, like India’s barriers to American technology firms, and how both countries should go about countering security threats from China. The two sides have discussed the potential for a broader trade deal in recent months, but negotiators have decided that too many disagreements remain, at least for now. The United StatesIndia trading relationship has become increasingly tense, with the Trump administration deeply frustrated with India’s trade barriers to medical devices, agricultural goods, electronics and digital trade. (The New York Times, September 20, 2019) • Translate the underlined sentences into Japanese. Local chefs teamed up with school nutritionists, kids, parents and other interested community members to brainstorm, create and test healthy recipes that were designed to make a better school lunch. They entered those recipes into a national Recipes for Healthy Kids competition, part of first lady Michelle Obama’s Let’s Move Initiative. While it all happened back in 2010, those winning recipes are still just as tasty – and nutritious – today. Even if your local school is not including these healthy choices in their lunch menus – and they probably should – you can make them part of your back–to–school meal choices. (CNN Health, August 6, 2015) • Translate the underlined sentences into Japanese. But life being what it is, how can ordinary people truly be expected to have “strong opinions” on all manner of things – as Mr Harry Smith rather fancifully claims the villagers here do? And not only are these expectations unrealistic, I rather doubt if they are even desirable. There is, after all, a real limit to how much ordinary people can learn and know, and to demand that each and every one of them contribute “strong

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opinions” to the great debates of the nation cannot, surely, be wise. It is, in any case, absurd that anyone should presume to define a person’s “dignity” in these terms. (Kazuo Ishiguro, The Remains of the Day, 1989) • Translate the underlined sentences into Japanese. The shawl was in a box in her trunk. As Marilla lifted it out, the sunlight, falling through the vines that clustered thickly about the window, struck upon something caught in the shawl – something that glittered and sparked in facets of the violet light. Marilla snatched at it with a gasp. It was the amethyst brooch, hanging to a thread of the lace by its catch! (Lucy M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables, 1908) • Translate the underlined sentences into English.

(Asahi Newspaper, November 1, 2019) • Translate the underlined sentences into English.

(Asahi weekly, October 13, 2019) • Translate the underlined sentences into English.

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(Keigo Higashino, The devotion of Suspect X , 2005) • Translate the underlined sentences into English.

(Shusaku Endo, Silence, 1988) • Write your own opinions on the following topic. What are benefits and downsides of hosting the Olympic Games? • Describe the situation in 200 years from now. (the world, Japan, human beings, culture, science, etc.)

Note 1. The essay topics were “What are benefits and downsides of hosting the Olympic Games?” and “Describe the situation in 200 years from now.”

References Arellano, Brenda, Feng Liu, Ginger Stoker, and Rachel Slama. 2018. Initial Spanish proficiency and English language development among Spanish-speaking

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English learner students in New Mexico (REL 2018–286). Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Education, Institute of Education Sciences, National Center for Education Evaluation and Regional Assistance, Regional Educational Laboratory Southwest. Retrieved from http://ies.ed.gov/ncee/edlabs. Burke, Michael, ed. 2014. The Routledge handbook of stylistics. London: Routledge. Disney, Dan, ed. 2014. Exploring second language creative writing. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Dixon, L. Quentin, Jing Zhao, Jee-Young Shin, Wu Shuang, Jung-Hsuan Su, Renata Burgess-Brigham, Gezer, Unal Melike, and Catherine Snow. 2012. What we know about second language acquisition: A synthesis from four perspectives. Review of Educational Research 82 (1): 5–60. Djigunovi´c, Jelena Mihaljevi´c. 2010. Starting age and L1 and L2 interaction. International Journal of Bilingualism 14 (3): 303–314. Hattori, Takahiko, and Yoshimi Takahashi. 2007. Aims and ideal forms of elementary school English education (published in Japanese). Otsuma Journal of Social Information Studies 16: 199–215. Hori, Masahiro. 2019. Introduction to English stylistics. Tokyo: Taishukan shoten. Iida, Atsushi. 2012. The value of poetry writing: Cross–genre literacy development in a second language. Scientific Study of Literature 2 (1): 60–82. Kikuchi, Shigeo. 2017. Style of sentence (published in Japanese). In Stylistics for English learners, ed. Masanori Toyota, Masahiro Hori, and Osamu Imahayashi, 60–70. Tokyo: Kenkyusha. Kishi, Natsumi. 2019. The pros and cons of introducing English education at a young age in Japan: A study of teaching English at an elementary school (published in Japanese). Immaculata 23: 47–58. Labov, William. 1972. Language in the inner city: Studies in the Black English vernacular. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Nasu, Masako. 2015. The role of literature in foreign language learning. In Literature and language learning in the EFL classroom, ed. Masayuki Teranishi, Yoshifumi Saito, and Katie Wales, 229–247. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Nomura, Keizo. 2017. Word choice and register (published in Japanese). In Stylistics for English learners, ed. Masanori Toyota, Masahiro Hori, and Osamu Imahayashi, 37–47. Tokyo: Kenkyusha. Otsu, Yukio. 2007. Eigo gakushu nanatsu no gokai. Tokyo: Nihon Hoso Shuppan Kyokai.

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Saito, Yoshifumi. 2016. Style and creativity: Towards a theory of creative stylistics. Tokyo: Hituzi Syobo. Saito, Yoshifumi. 2017. Mezase tatsujin! Eigo dojo. Tokyo: Chikumashobo. Saito, Yoshifumi. 2020. Pedagogical stylistics as a discipline for bridging the gap between literary studies and English language teaching in Japan. Studies in English Literature: Regional Branches Combined Issue 12: 129–138. Scott, Jeremy. 2012. Creative writing: A stylistics approach. In Pedagogical stylistics: Current trends in language, literature and ELT , ed. Michael Burke, Szilvia Csabi, Lara Week, and Judit Zerkowitz, 96–112. London: Bloomsbury. Takinami, Wakako. 2018. Influences of topic selection methods on L2 learners’ writing fluency: Replication study. Tottori University Education Center Bulletin 14: 63–78. Tomioka, Tatsuaki. 2017. Style and English writing (published in Japanese). In Stylistics for English learners, ed. Masanori Toyota, Masahiro Hori, and Osamu Imahayashi, 208–222. Tokyo: Kenkyusha. Toyonaga, Kohei, and Kosuke Sudo. 2017. A study on the effects of English education in elementary schools: Criticism of previous research and empirical analyses (published in Japanese). Educational Studies in Japan 84 (2): 215–227. Toyota, Masanori, ed. 2018. Stylistics. New Delhi: SAGE. Yoshida, Azumi. 2020. A study on the correlation between reading in Japanese and English proficiency: A qualitative analysis of interviews with EFL learners. JAILA Journal 6: 2–13.

15 Afterword Michael Toolan

Abstract Bringing the book but not the subject matter to a close, this afterword provides an assessment of all the chapters, showing how each adds to a broad view of how the area of pedagogical stylistics stands in the twenty-first century. It emphasizes the classroom as the locus for creative dialogic interaction, where students may take upon themselves ways of learning and understand how texts work, how rewriting can be made more central in pedagogical stylistics, what the materials and methods for the future may be, an emphasis on multimodal stylistics, and the need to further integrate language and literature, especially in relation to interpretation. As each section is discussed, this chapter weaves an organic whole, offers suggestions for further research and raises certain challenges for the future.

M. Toolan (B) University of Birmingham, Birmingham, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2_15

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Keywords Student learning · Rewriting · Text/context · Stylistic falsifiability · Materials/methods · Multimodal stylistics

Introduction Where might—or should —pedagogical stylistics go from here, in the next few decades? How might it adapt and thrive, and what might be its priorities? The editors of this volume have invited me to use this space to give my views. I understand pedagogical stylistics essentially to be the employment of stylistics in the course of literature study and language learning, where the language involved may be a first or native, or a second, or a foreign one. In a sense, most (all?) stylistics is pedagogical: those who practise it are always trying to learn more about the workings of a language and of specific texts in their sociocultural context of situation, and then sharing what they have learned. Why else would one go to all that trouble, if you did not learn by means of it? The present volume is very fittingly dedicated to the memory of the greatly missed Ronald Carter: is there anything among his many wonderful stylistic publications that is not explicitly pedagogical? On the other hand, we might resist some of the etymological senses of the modifier ‘pedagogical’: in ancient Greek, the OED tells us, a pedagogue was a schoolteacher, particularly of a strict, dogmatic or pedantic nature. Well, no one likes a pedant. And yet, as Jessica Mason discusses in her chapter, this is a quagmire teachers can easily sink into: in the ‘real world’ of schooling, pupils very often end up mostly learning about a text (and its language) from their teacher ‘rather than personally engaging with and responding to it themselves’. The classroom as sterile monologic space, rather than one of creative dialogic interaction. How can teachers hold back, and enable students to do the work of thinking and learning about a text and its language themselves? It is not easy, since we teachers usually know much more about the text or the language than our pupils, not to mention those in the class who ‘hate’ poetry or English/Spanish/Mandarin and are there under duress, or others again who reckon we teachers are paid to be there so should just get on and tell them how to pass the exam and never mind making them work.

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Stylistics as Scaffolding for Student-Led Learning Our answer to the ‘how can we get the students to do the learning?’ question is stylistics, an answer that has been proposed since at least the days of Leech’s Linguistic Guide to English Poetry (1969) and Widdowson’s Stylistics and the Teaching of Literature (1975). If you can get students really to focus upon a few specific features of the language, and get them to see and comment on how these are exploited in an advert or a pop song or a bit of dialogue in a film or novel, then they will learn things— about the text, about the language and about themselves—that are worth knowing. But as Geoff Hall says, it is crucial that we devise good materials and strategies for getting students started on that focussing. Often, I would suggest, this can be done by drawing on suitable corpus data and (for those with already a good proficiency in the language) intuition, and these broad resources are likely to be as relevant in 2050 as they are today. We have to steer our students through the evidence and help them refine their explanations; but they need to do their own thinking. Pedagogical stylistics offers a scaffolding that works quite as well with second or foreign language students as it does with first or native language speakers. And as Hall notes approvingly, increasingly it is used in the course of compulsory secondary education just as effectively as in tertiary education. It can also be used in primary/elementary schools too—why not?—even though the presentation will obviously be simpler. Probably it is already happening, albeit shorn of some of its terminological flourishes. But let us not underestimate the smarts of primary school children: the eight-year-old who can name and distinguish many of the 42 species of dolphin may cope perfectly well with Halliday’s six types of transitivity process (or their counterparts in other traditions such as cognitive linguistics). Regardless of the specific profile of the students engaged with, the aim should always be to use stylistics to equip them with resources which will help them take full ownership of their own reading of the text and of the language the text is made from. These resources need to be broad enough to feed into an inclusive concept of language awareness, and of literature awareness for that matter, because such awareness takes many different

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forms, as is shown in the studies reported here by Spiro, Sevigny and Yoshida, Teranishi, Nishihara and Nasu. Whatever the particular vocabulary adopted—from arrest and release, to open and closed syllables, to clause transitivity trends, to modality, to subject-raising and negative-floating, to trajectors and enactors, or implicatures and face-threatening acts, to T-scores and lexical bundles—a defining feature of all forms of stylistics is the use of a metalanguage, and more particularly one that is largely linguistics-sourced. Of course even literary criticism uses metalanguage, but this is often closer to everyday discourse. Outsiders (including not a few literature teachers) sometimes suspect this metalanguage is a ‘guild’ technical jargon that coats our discourse with a veneer of scientificity without advancing understanding; we insiders argue that the metalanguage helps give a fuller, clearer explanation, a more analytical grasp, of the mechanics and pragmatics of the language in its countless contextualized uses. If there is to be an enduring lively collaboration between tertiary education stylistics lecturers and secondary education teachers, we need to deal with one barrier often noted by stylisticians (e.g. Cushing 2018): teachers’ frequent aversion to linguistics. Some of that aversion is understandable. But those same teachers surely have no such instinctive antipathy to language, in all its versatile and self-renewing applications. As long as stylisticians keep engagement with language rather than linguistics uppermost, it should be possible to win over even reluctant teachers’ hearts and minds. It will be to everyone’s ultimate benefit if we can keep our use of metalanguage within bounds and accessible. For this reason, I see chapters like the one by Giovanelli and Harrison, and the other by Cushing, as likely to be a productive way forward in pedagogical stylistics. Both chapters introduce English teachers to versions of cognitive grammar or theory, and support those teachers as they use these ideas with their students while analysing poems or prose extracts. This way of proceeding has many similarities and some of the difficulties that champions of Hallidayan systemic-functional linguistics faced when taking that grammar out to teachers 40 years ago (including teachers’ performance anxieties with linguistic terms and principles, and the challenge of explaining or ‘translating’ technical terms and ideas for younger learners). Teachers tend to do a fair amount of pick and

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mix with the ideas and metalanguage presented to them, and Giovanelli and Harrison rightly see this as not unreasonable: pedagogical concerns should always outrank theoretical purity in the classroom. The talk, this time from students, flows freely in Cushing’s paper, too: he includes transcripts of the students, armed with Text World Theory concepts, discussing the meanings in a Helen Dunmore poem, ‘To My Nine-Year-Old Self ’. Most interesting here were the moments where a few students proposed an unwarranted interpretation of the speaker (e.g. as having self-harmed or been suicidal) and other students ‘tested’ these claims via counter-claims built on stronger textual evidence. The darker and wayward (my term) interpretations, a surprise to Cushing and the teachers, seem rooted in the word ‘scars’ in the poem. The teachers read Dunmore’s speaker as referring to cuts on knees (the final stanza describes ‘peeling a ripe scab from your knee’), and similar accidental wear and tear over the years. But growing up in a world of mediatized teenage suicide and self-harming, a minority of the students ‘read’ “scars” very differently. Cushing sees the darker interpretations as traceable back to these students’ various ‘experiential discourse-world knowledge’. In lay terms, living in diversified worlds will give rise to multiple interpretations, washing back to prompt different decisions about what is most significant and foregrounded in the text, particularly, where students are rightly encouraged to contribute. I will return to the (permanent) dilemma, of accommodating divergent world knowledges in the classroom. But here let me just register what an enormous task every student takes on, in striving to learn a language in sufficient depth and breadth to be able to use it for innumerable purposes. This is as true for one’s first language as it is for secondary ones, except in the case of the former, hopefully, there is such plentiful and diverse exposure that acquisition feels less of a cognitive burden. There is every reason to think that stylistics should be at the heart of this task, since it aims to promote understanding of ‘how language works’ (Zyngier 2006; see also McIntyre 2011; Toolan 2003 on the ‘centrality’ of stylistics, flanked on either side by Linguistics and Literary Criticism; for more recent reflections on the theory of stylistics, see Toolan 2014, 2018, 2019).

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Stylistics is an aid to language learners and literature students because it is a means of looking analytically at language in use. This means, first, re-reading and rewriting. Re-reading in the sense that analysis depends not merely on noticing or registering a thing, but examining it as thoroughly as need be. How thoroughly? As thoroughly as one would need in order to replicate it.

Rewriting As I draft these pages on my laptop, I am looking across the room towards the kitchen table. Look at that wooden table, I say to myself. Notice how it is put together. Now, just how much detail must one go into, in one’s analysis, in order to be able to reproduce it, or something very like it in all essential respects? I am guessing the table top is about 1.5 inches thick and maybe 3 feet by 4 feet, with a leg at each corner rising about 30 inches from the floor, but, for a more detailed and exportable analysis, I will have to resort to ‘writing’ in the form of a labelled diagram, and probably photographs. I mean exportable in the sense that I can take the analysis away from the thing, the table, and still have a hope of making a similar table. All this is premised on the idea that a good test (arguably the best) that one understands a thing is if one can in some sense reproduce it. For a historical fact, a simple statement may demonstrate understanding (e.g. ‘William of Normandy invaded England in 1066’), for a sonnet recitation from memory would be a good sign (e.g. ‘That time of year thou mayst in me behold…’), for a symphony or a bicycle, being able to talk intelligently about its parts and how they fit together might count as understanding. I see pedagogical stylistics in the past, present, and future as entailing analysis of the kind that carries the promise of replication. It means looking at the language of a poem, or a soap advert, or Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’ so closely that one can comment on its form and meaning relevantly and informatively, and preferably via descriptions that are falsifiable but not obviously false. Ideally, the close analysis will suggest that one could produce a half-way decent reproduction of the analysed object

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(in the sense of reproduction furniture). One may not come up with something quite as catchy as Sheeran’s chorus in that song– I’m in love with the shape of you We push and pull like a magnet do Although my heart is falling too I’m in love with your body

—but stylistics should help produce something with a family resemblance to it and in dialogue with it. Take that ‘Shape of You’ chorus, simple stylistic analysis of the source might prompt you to aim for these conditions in your reproduction: 1. Ensure that most lines have four beats or feet and are roughly octosyllabic, but if one line is short of eight syllables, make it the fourth and final. 2. Adopt an aaab rhyme scheme with a final open syllable in each line. 3. Have mostly simple clauses, and a full clause in each line. 4. Have a simple verb (or compound verb) in each line. 5. Have a first-person pronoun in every line and some second-person pronouns, too. 6. Ensure that most words are monosyllabic and ‘core vocabulary’, or natural in speech. 7. The sense (message) need not be rigorously developed; it should be largely literal or use conventional metaphors, with the repeated message ‘I desire you’. 8. Select language that fits the ‘I desire you’ message in physical bodily terms, just as the original uses words connoting the physical and embodied: ‘shape’, ‘push’, ‘pull’, ‘heart’, ‘fall’ and ‘body’. I know: not everyone rates Ed Sheeran. But I cannot help feeling that with regard to the uses of stylistics in language and literature classrooms with younger students, we will tend to have more success, more engaged and semi-autonomous learning, if we use Ed Sheeran and Adele songs, and the dialogue in films, rather than the That time of year sonnet— although we can build towards student encounter with and appreciation

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of the latter, having first ‘made contact’ with learners via the former. Who doubts that the lyrics of pop songs and the dialogue in films often amount to the popular poetry and drama of our time? Not the Nobelist Bob Dylan anyway. Sometimes stylistic rewriting is as much about removal as creation. As Martin Bridle and Dan McIntyre note in their chapter, when it comes to training students in academic writing, it is easier to identify the don’ts than the dos. Do not contract, park your idioms and bin the slang, cut phrasal verbs out. Once students know what these are, they can hunt them down and remove them from their draft academic papers: a useful practise. And splash them about in more informal situations of English use. Bridle and McIntyre emphasize that they kept the methodology basic, the corpus software simple and user-friendly, and this helped the students ‘to investigate for themselves’ how their English diverged from the norms of academic English. We have here another example of materials and a method enabling students to review and rewrite so as to align with a target style. Student response and the sharing of these in rewritings lies at the heart of Hakemulder’s chapter, too: students were invited to formulate their own research questions and to use these in assessing the stylistic artistry of literary texts, going on to examine how their own rewritings of those texts might affect other readers’ responses. This is related to the Literary Circle sharing Sevigny advocates, and not so different from the text-to-effect shuttling that Cushing describes. In a similar vein, if we allow that Romeo’s words at the beginning of the balcony scene (discussed here by Peter Stockwell) could be ‘updated’ for a twenty-firstcentury audience, then what bits of ‘But soft, what light breaks from yonder window? It is Juliet, and she is the sun’ might be targeted for revision? Not to improve on the Shakespeare of course, but by way of considered and appreciative response, a kind of Bakhtinian dialogue. Or, assuming typical 19-year-olds today find Pound’s passion for troubadour Occitan culture forbiddingly remote, could we instead set them the task of writing a poem that resembles Pound’s, deploying the past perfect and other tense-aspect pairs in similar ways, but do so in relation to a popular text world of today, such as Game of Thrones?

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I have always enjoyed teaching students English syntax, where, as in much linguistics, a few basic manipulations of the syntagm can be enormously helpful in sensitising oneself and the students to the particular function(s) a selected form is performing. Manipulation by rephrasing or rewriting, and checking this against corpus evidence and one’s own and others’ intuitions of acceptability and implication, can be immensely illuminating. In one of his numerous contributions to pedagogical stylistics, Carter (2005: 117) also mentions the idea of ‘the manipulation (in both positive and negative senses) of textual form’, and, more recently, Sorlin (2019) has written on stylistic manipulation of the reader. One may claim, as stylistician, that a specific choice of tense, or modal verb, or preposition, or fronted adverbial, or FID mode of discourse, is crucial to the effect, to the meaning. As one important support of the claim (not the only support, and, only a support, not a proof ), one may use evidence that close alternative wordings really do not have the same effect. Coining a celebrated phrase, ‘the enormous condescension of posterity’, E. P. Thompson (1963: 2) cautioned modernists against dismissing the artisans and craftspeople of 1800 for resisting the ‘progress’ of industrialization. Do we agree that, in the given context, this phrase works better—making us smile but feel rightly chastened—than any of these alternatives: the huge condescension of posterity the enormous superiority of posterity, the enormous condescension of future times posterity’s enormous condescension

and many more near-equivalents? If so, can we proceed to say why? Rewriting from a stylistic perspective can be related to some of the fundamental analytical operations of linguistics: transformation, movement, substitution, insertion and deletion. I would like to see these manipulations at the heart of future pedagogical stylistics. When they are applied wholesale to a source literary text, they generate pastiches, parodies, adaptations, translations and plenty of intertextuality. Used at the absolutely local or micro-level, these are the alterations that a writer does repeatedly, working through many drafts of a poem, play or story.

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A translation or transformation of a source text always creates a new and different text, carrying pleasures and the danger that the reworking diverges from the original in unintended ways (as Chesnokova and Zyngier report in their study of highly skilled alternative translations and their diverging reception by readers). We should be warned. But mostly there is no alternative to such rewriting, which is why I have never read Chekhov, sadly, nor ever will: lacking Russian I must make do with the English rewritten versions. I believe it is to the role of rewriting as integral to classroom stylistics that Carter (2005) alludes in his phrase ‘transformative text analysis’. That phrase condenses what, in the classroom, could be more fully described as transformative text production that entails prior analysis. Carter also cites the work of Rob Pope as a good exemplar of the encouragement of rewriting that is needed. Pope’s proposals strike me as just as relevant and central now as they were when published in 1994.

The Limits to Stylistic Falsifiability Once someone has rewritten the chorus of ‘Shape of You’ by following the stylistic ‘recipe’ proposed above, a third party can assess whether the reproduction is acceptable and the sponsoring recipe/analysis adequate. This is where stylistic falsifiability comes in, but is demonstrably less objective and more debatable than stylisticians sometimes imply. Falsifiability goes beyond quantification and agreeing to the so-called linguistic facts, because it always brings some idea of foregrounding, of stylistic prominence, into the discussion. It is not simply a matter of finding a marked (in)frequency of some form or other (such as incomplete sentences, open vowels at line endings or first-person pronouns). It is additionally contending that these features are important to the overall effect (foregrounded), and important because they promote a particular tone or theme. And, on this last matter—the linking of the formal profile (or text style) with theme or meaning—strict falsifiability is inescapably attenuated. Even in the preparation of the formal profile (such as my seven linguistic observations about the Sheeran chorus), systematicity and

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rigour are inevitably selective or partial: the stylistic observations are selected on grounds of relevance, and claims about relevance entail interpretation, judgement and subjectivity. The Sheeran chorus has a concessive clause in line 3: objective fact. But how significant is this, stylistically? Must a good pastiche of the chorus have a concessive clause in line 3? This is a matter of contextualized opinion. Then, consider line 4 again, and how close it is in sense to line 1: should a reproduction be similarly constrained? No two stylisticians’ ‘recipes’ will be identical. Likewise, the Sheeran quartet has exactly one word from the determiner class in each line, and, arguably (as we say), they form a pattern: ‘the’, ‘a’, ‘my’ and ‘your’. This is an objective, falsifiable fact. Is this stylistically important, to the point that a similar pattern (e.g. ‘our’, ‘our’, ‘a’ and ‘the’) should appear in a reproduction? And must therewrite be in present tense, like the source? Maybe, maybe not: these are all matters of judgement and beyond easy falsification. Which is why I always emphasize the civil law standard of proof (on the balance of probabilities, ‘is this language-based claim reasonable?’) rather than the scientific one (‘can this be proved wrong but hasn’t been?’) as central to the practise of stylistics. Only at the initial stage of stylistic analysis, where linguistic parts are identified and their markedness or otherwise is mooted, is there straightforward replicability because there is general agreement in the community about what counts as an adjective, or a finite clause, or passive voice. At the more important stage where a pattern is both identified and claimed to be foregrounded and to have a particular interpretive value, persuasiveness is a firmer footing than falsifiability, since the absoluteness of the latter is rarely attainable. This is evident in Violeta Sotirova’s chapter, which describes how she has gone about teaching ‘Provincia Deserta’, a poem by Ezra Pound (one of the most elitist of elite poets), in which he describes his affinity with the long-gone medieval French troubadours. Sotirova argues persuasively for an integration or synthesis of text-based linguistic description and context-attentive literary knowledge in the teaching and learning of poetry like Pound’s: ‘The historical and cultural knowledge that we gain from criticism can illuminate stylistic meaning, just as significantly as linguistic analysis can illuminate critical interpretation’.

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Sotirova begins by noting—verifiable fact—the plentiful use of present perfect verb forms, with the poem’s speaker as subject, in a subset of the predicates in the poem, where other tense-aspect choices are mostly simple past or simple present. Thus she elects to focus on one feature of the poem’s form in much the same way that one might in another text notice and focus on fronted adverbials, or initial negation followed by Subj-Aux inversion, or ‘the N of N’ constructions (Toolan 1996), or any of a sizeable inventory of forms and systems (broad ones, like Hallidayan transitivity, Conceptual Metaphor Theory or Text World Theory; narrower ones, like semi-modal verbs) that may be exploited in one or another language event. Is there a particular order to this inventory? Not as far as I can see (though one might want to start with predicate types), so that does not sound ‘systematic’. But are all these topics (fronted adverbials, negative inversion, etc.) real elements in the repertoire of, in this case, English? Yes, I would say so: one would want them in one’s Cambridge Grammar in a way that one would not want a list of personal names, or frequent verbs, or 30-words-long sentences. In her conclusion, Sotirova argues that in Pound’s ‘Provincia Deserta’, ‘its extensive use of the present perfect provides the temporal and aspectual bridge that brings together the cultural heritage of the troubadours and the Occitan counts of the eleventh and twelfth centuries and the poetic voice of the early twentieth century Pound’. Is that a rigorous or falsifiable claim, of the kind some stylisticians aspire to? One test of it would surely be to replace the present perfect constructions in the poem and see whether the temporal and aspectual bridge collapses without them. For example (the bolding is added), one might amend Pound’s wording: I have lain in Rocafixada, level with sunset, Have seen the copper come down tingeing the mountains, I have seen the fields, pale, clear as an emerald, Sharp peaks, high spurs, distant castles.

to:

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I lay in Rocafixada, level with sunset, Saw the copper come down tingeing the mountains, I saw the fields, pale, clear as an emerald, Sharp peaks, high spurs, distant castles.

Something is certainly lost, but perhaps not the whole bridge. Stylisticians’ conclusions can thus vary to some extent, while strongly agreeing on the value of the initial assignment: having students think hard about just what it is that the perfect aspect in use means, what it brings to the text it is used in. Very many grammarians from Sweet (1960 [1894]) to Comrie (1976) to Huddleston (2001 [1988]) have struggled to encapsulate the present perfect’s implications of ‘present relevance of a past-initiated event or state’. The invitation to view the past-initiated event as still in effect in the present is clearly an important element, an invitation not made or implied by the simple past or past perfect. The process or event began in the past, but it is an event that still has some present-day validity. This is why the much-used colloquial dismissal runs ‘[I have] been there, done that’ and not the more past-and-finishedwith ‘[I] was there, did that’. If we compare what Wordsworth wrote in ‘Tintern Abbey’.1 How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!

with what he might have written but did not: How oft, in spirit, did I turn to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods, How often did my spirit turn to thee!

1 “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey”, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798.

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we may well agree that Wordsworth’s version carries the implication that ‘turning’ to the sylvan river Wye is something the speaker might in spirit do again, now, whereas the turning is explicitly over and done with in the amended version.

Text and Context But if the bread and butter of using stylistics in language and literature teaching is encouraging students to think about forms (fronted adverbials, negative inversions, the present perfect tense-aspect combination, etc.) and their distinctive patterning in specific texts, how can this also give due attention to the history and cultural context of that text, as Violeta Sotirova urges? How much cultural knowledge needs to be included? Not surprisingly this question arises in most of the chapters here. It will always need to be negotiated in the stylistics-using classroom: How much preparatory ‘stuff ’ need the teacher prime the learners with—historical stuff, cultural stuff, author-biographical stuff, grammatical or linguistic stuff—before presenting them with the text (poem, film, play, advert, etc.) and asking them to analyse it, explain how it achieves its effects, evaluate it, and maybe rewrite or otherwise reply to it? The answer will vary from case to case, depending on the kind of students involved, and the perceived closeness or remoteness of the text to their culture and history, but there will always have to be a balance and a compromise. And it is easy to get the balance wrong: picking one of Seamus Heaney’s Glanmore sonnets to study, but spending 20 minutes on the poet’s background and The Troubles, ten minutes reviewing modality and pronouns, leaving not nearly enough time to go deep into the poem itself (the added irony being that the Glanmore sonnets have nothing to do with The Troubles). In the hope of sharply reducing the need for much cultural briefing, and also in hopes of using material the students will find relatable, teachers may opt for contemporary texts by young writers (e.g. Ocean Vuong, Amanda Gorman, Sally Rooney and Sarah Howe) or newcomers with little known background. But as these tend not to be on exam board syllabuses and are not yet part of the (now crumbling) canon, there may be institutional resistance to this. Still, as

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in the case of starting stylistically with Sheeran’s love poem and then working one’s way back to Shakespeare’s love poetry, I would like to see pedagogical stylistics use mostly contemporary literature (in the broad sense indicated earlier, thus including songs and films) rather than the canon.

Materials and Methods What kind of materials will the stylistics of 2040 look at, and how will it look at them? By comparison with today, we can assume greatly enhanced but simpler-to-use computational tools, for different languages, more widely distributed across nations and the classes and genders within nations. These will enable various ways of searching and counting and comparing, thus certain kinds of analysis and learning. But the more complex questions, such as what precisely the perfective aspect brings to a predicate, or whether Ed Sheeran’s chorus is offensively objectifying of the addressee’s body, will remain beyond the reach of computation, being inherently subjective or contingent upon surrounding conditions. As for the materials that digital computation will subject to counts and pattern-hunting and estimations of framing and foregrounding, I have no doubt these will still include literature from writers of the past and the present, along with other established and emerging art-forms. It is likely that we will still want to devote some of our precious time to music, dance, film and visual art. No more than those other arts will literature die out, for the compelling reason one poet gave for visiting churches even if one is an atheist: literature is a site where we can examine our compulsions seriously, and someone will forever be surprising a hunger in herself to be more serious. In recent years, two influential movements in language studies— corpus linguistics and cognitive linguistics—have had a considerable influence on stylistics, particularly as practised in Britain. New blended sub-disciplines have emerged: corpus stylistics and cognitive stylistics (or poetics), respectively. This is not to imply that all contemporary stylistics now falls under the aegis of corpus or cognitivist stylistics, since plenty is published without significant influence from either; but these

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two streams are prominent at present. I would expect that in the years to come, pedagogical stylistics will continue to take from these subdisciplines and seek to deploy their methods and insights and principles (e.g. the cognitive interest in ‘embodiment’) in concrete teaching situations. There should be scope, too, for teachers using these theories to ‘give back’, becoming an invaluable source of testimony as to what stands the test of classroom application, what works and might be taken further, and what seems less compelling, or simply less instructive, when used with students. It is customary to speculate that stylistics will not, and perhaps should not, remain primarily literary. Nor has it, having opened out, sometimes with modifiers (feminist, critical, political, discourse stylistics, etc.) to analyse the language and style of advertising, political discourse, newspaper discourse, popular songs, film dialogue and so on. There will continue to be an interest in the ‘broad-based stylistic analyses of political discourse’ that David Hanauer argues for, seeing it as a kind of cleansing agent to be applied to the political discourses in our so-called democracies. Hanauer wants to see the analyses carry across from classroom settings to public settings, and this raises questions about setting itself. After these anni horribili of internet-enabled remote classes and meetings Zoomed into the private cave of one’s home, plus greatly increased dependence on mass media and social media, this fundamental component of sociolinguistics—setting or place—looks ripe for reconsideration. Where will we hold our literature and language classes or meetings in the coming years? Via the rabbit-hole of a laptop screen? In the same room but literally out of touch with each other, our facial communication masked? The global consumption-driven flows of raw materials and finished goods will probably continue, but might the movement of people and their interests between, say, India, Britain and Brazil be curtailed by virus fears and restrictions, with a choking effect on the cultural and linguistic exchange, and even in time on curricula? In light of Covid-19, in the nearer future anyone practising pedagogical stylistics would be as well to enhance their skills in deploying a variety of kinds of software to compensate in part for what is lost where classes must depart from John Lyons’s canonical situation of utterance (Lyons 1977: 637), and its privileging of physical face-to-face immediacy.

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This all raises another question: is setting with regard to teaching and learning typically different from setting with regard to reading? If Bon and Burke’s findings have general applicability, students as readers are not adopting the post-hybrid affordances of digital screens as rapidly as we might assume. They still quite like print-on-paper books rather than digital readers, and single out finding somewhere ‘comfortable’ to read as their key requirement. I could not agree more: the happy reader needs a room or curtained window-seat of their own, or at least a cosy sofa, a train seat, some corner of a foreign Starbucks; de minimis, these days, noise-cancelling headphones. Blending these privacy requirements of reading with the public, sharing norms of specifically stylistics-based learning and teaching, will need ingenuous strategies of adjustment in the next few years.

Multimodal (Integrational) Stylistics Increasingly, stylisticians are recognising the intersectionality of many different art-forms. Ekphrasis of the kind where a painting prompts a poem, story or novel is a part of this, but only a part. Look at all the music that has been inspired by and incorporates a text of some sort. I have just been listening to a work by Helena Paish, one of the seven young composers the BBC commissioned in 2020 to write a seven-part a cappella choral work entitled ‘Seven Ages of Woman’. Paish’s contribution is entitled ‘Life’ (it may still be heard online at: https://www.bbc. co.uk/sounds/play/p08rsygz). As soon as it begins, it is apparent that it uses the opening lines of a Charlotte Bronte poem: ‘Life, believe, is not a dream/ So dark as sages say;/ Oft a little morning rain/ Foretells a pleasant day’. The poem has been re-registered here, integrated into Paish’s beautiful vocal setting. There is plenty of scope for pedagogical stylistics to develop in ways that can encompass and enrich our understanding of integrated multimodal communications of this kind. Analysis, ‘untying’, is all about taking things apart, the better to see just what all the essential components are and where they fit in the totality (the total speech act). In doing this we often have to keep in mind that the boundary or edges of a text or event are often a matter of degree

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and determined pragmatically, rather than absolute. Is Paish’s ‘Life’ freestanding, for example, or should it be taken in the context of the six other compositions to which it is a partner?

Final Thoughts I see no reason why pedagogical stylistics should not flourish at all levels of formal education and beyond, in reading groups, for example, provided it focusses on getting the learners (language or literature) to reproduce the language (typically in writing) of the texts to which it introduces those learners. The child or student in the stylistics-using classroom needs to be authoring, on the basis of the language analysis which they have been guided to undertake as necessary preparation for that authoring. What they produce will be a text ‘transformation’, which they and their peers can compare and contrast with the original; a virtuous circle of learning and creating and learning is created. But I would rein in the emphasis on rigour and falsifiability: yes, there’s a systematic definitiveness about many linguistic features and categories, but the things we can agree and be definite about are quite preliminary steps in the use of stylistics to engage, to encourage creativity, and to inspire learning.

References Carter, Ronald. 2005. Issues in pedagogical stylistics: A coda. Language and Literature 19 (1): 115–122. Comrie, Bernard. 1976. Aspect: An introduction to the study of verbal aspect and related problems. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cushing, Ian. 2018. Stylistics goes to school. Language and Literature 27 (4): 271–285. Huddleston, Rodney. 2001 [1988]. English grammar: An outline. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leech, Geoffrey N. 1969. A linguistic guide to English poetry. London: Longman.

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Lyons, John. 1977. Semantics. Cambridge: CUP. McIntyre, Dan. 2011. The place of stylistics in the English curriculum. In Teaching stylistics, ed. Lesley Jeffries and Dan McIntyre, 9–29. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Pope, Rob. 1994. Textual intervention: Critical and creative strategies for literary studies. London: Routledge. Sorlin, Sandrine (ed.). 2019. Stylistic manipulation of the reader in contemporary fiction. London: Bloomsbury. Sweet, Henry. 1960 [1894]. A new English grammar, logical and historical , Part 1. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thompson, Edward P. 1963. The making of the English working class. London: Gollancz. Toolan, Michael. 1996. Language, English studies, and democracy: An inaugural lecture. Birmingham: School of English, University of Birmingham. Toolan, Michael. 2003. On the centrality of stylistics. In Proceedings from the 8th Nordic conference on English studies, Gothenburg Studies in English, vol. 84, eds. K. Aijmer and B. Olinder, 33–43. Toolan, Michael. 2014. The theory and philosophy of stylistics. In The Cambridge handbook of stylistics, eds. Peter Stockwell and Sara Whiteley, 13–31. Cambridge: CUP. Toolan, Michael. 2018. Chapter 5: Stylistics. In A companion to literary theory, ed. David H. Richter, 60–71. Oxford: Wiley/Blackwell. Toolan, Michael. 2019. Literary stylistics. In The Oxford encyclopedia of literary theory, ed. John Frow. Online: https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/978019020 1098.013.1008 (Print publication September 2021). Widdowson, Henry. 1975. Stylistics and the teaching of literature. Oxford: OUP. Zyngier, Sonia. 2006. Stylistics: Pedagogical applications. In Encyclopedia of language and linguistics, vol. 12, ed. K. Brown, 226–232. Oxford: Elsevier.

Index

A

Abbuhl, R. 81 academic register 76, 77, 90, 91, 94, 97, 98, 100 academic writing 81, 89, 91, 93–96, 293 Adamson, S. 39, 40, 42, 47 adaptations 12, 306, 308 Admiraal, W. 185 agency (personal) 69 agency (societal) 69 Aghekyan, E. 56 Ahmed, F. 12, 19, 161, 266 Aitchison, C. 293 Alexander, M. 46, 47 Alexander, O. 81, 99 Allington, D. 266, 267 alliteration 244, 246, 250 Alter, G. 16 Alves, F.F.S. 238

analogy 134, 149 analysis 15, 32, 34, 35, 37, 41, 42, 48–50, 59, 60, 62, 63, 65–70, 77, 79, 99, 108, 111, 112, 117, 118, 120, 124, 125, 135, 142–144, 150–152, 161, 167, 177, 188, 224, 227, 235, 238, 240, 241, 252, 254, 255, 290, 295, 297, 305, 311, 319, 329, 331, 332, 345, 347, 349, 354, 362, 364 Anderson, C. 137 Anderson, T. 138 Andringa, E. 210, 226 anticipation 217, 266 Archibald, A. 81 Arellano, B. 345 Argent, S. 81, 99 arrest 374 Asghar, A. 293

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 S. Zyngier and G. Watson (eds.), Pedagogical Stylistics in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-83609-2

391

392

Index

assessment 10, 14, 137, 152, 154, 163, 264, 268, 276, 281, 320–322 Auchincloss, L.C. 66, 68 autonomy 81, 82, 266 Au, W. 268 awareness, language and literary 5, 33, 118, 125, 134–136

B

Baccino, T. 190 Bächtiger, A. 65, 68 Bailey, S. 86 Bakhtin, M.M. 33, 269 Bal, M. 225 Balmont, K.D. 239 Banarjee, J. 81, 99 Bandura, A. 319 Barab, S. 165 Barad, K. 212 Bargh, J.A. 186 Barsalou, L.W. 186 Barthes, R. 109 Bassett, J. 334 Basturkmen, H. 81 Bateson, F.W. 35, 36 Bazerman, C. 290, 291 Beasley, A. 67 Beattie, A. 222 Becher, T. 290, 292 Bell, A. 332, 335–337 Bellard-Thomson, C. 265 Benedetto, S. 190 Benson, P. 83 Bernstein, B. 136 Bhatia, R. 56 Biley, F.C. 302

biographical criticism 35 Birch, D. 111 Blake, J. 136 Bland, J. 19 Bloemert, J. 5, 7, 19, 21–23 Blommaert, J. 63, 111 Bluett, J. 136 Boers, F. 9 Bon, E.V. 184–187, 196, 268 booktalks 266, 267, 269–271, 274, 278–281 Borges, J.L. 236, 238 Borowski, T. 220 Bortolussi, M. 212, 225 Boud, D. 293 Boulton, A. 84 Bowen, D.H. 292 Boyd, J. 41, 43 Boyd, R. 164 Boyd, Z. 41, 43 Boyer, W. 290 Braaksma, M. 213 Branchaw, J.L. 66, 68 Brandt, C. 56 Breen, M.P. 78 Brenner, M. 188 Brewer, W.F. 216, 217 Bridle, M. 83, 98 British National Corpus (BNC) 77, 86 Bronte, C. 279 Brown, G. 111 Brown, M. 267 Browse, S. 132 Bruce, I. 81, 85 Brumfit, C.J. 32 Bucholtz, M. 111 Buckledee, S. 56

Index

Bulcaen, C. 63 Burgess-Brigham, R. 344 Burgess, J. 82 Burke, M. 11, 23, 33, 66, 68, 184, 185, 187, 196, 235, 265, 346 Burkhardt, von A. 63 Burley, M. 293 Burston, J. 84 Busse, B. 32, 120 Butcher, D. 310 Byars-Winston, A. 66

C

Cacioppo, J.T. 218 Candlin, C. 83, 99 Canning. P. 11, 16 Cantos-Gomez, P. 81, 99 Carter, R. 5, 19, 22, 32, 33, 65, 118, 125, 135, 138, 212, 234, 265, 269, 292, 320 Castano, E. 267 Cenoz, J. 21 Chambers, A. 83, 98 Chambers, S. 65, 68 Charmaz, K. 188 Chen, I-C. 9 Chesnokova, A. 227, 237–239, 251, 254 Chilton, P. 61, 63 Chironova, I.I. 239 choice 14, 36, 41, 42, 48, 49, 62, 79, 89, 143, 151, 152, 186–189, 194, 195, 197, 198, 202, 204, 226, 235, 237, 241, 243, 249, 250, 253, 254, 275, 357, 358, 360 Cho, Y. 81

393

Christie, F. 134 Chu, H. 185 Clabeaux, D. 86 Clandinin, F.M. 304, 312 Clark, B. 12, 137 Clark, C. 267 Clark, U. 33, 136, 174, 213, 265 classroom discourse 160, 165, 173 classroom settings 69 clause transitivity 374 Clayton, D. 10, 265 Clément, R. 328 Cliff, H.G. 173 Clifford, V. 308 Clifton, J. 323 close reading 13, 14, 118, 125, 216, 219 Cobb, T. 83, 98 Cockcroft, S. 137 Coddington, C. 328 cognition 133, 140, 186, 187, 332 cognitive approaches 211 cognitive grammar 120, 132–136, 139–143, 145, 146, 149–153 cognitive linguistics 133, 138, 140 cognitive poetics 35, 36, 120, 271 cognitive stylistics 16, 160, 177, 265, 266 Cohen, J. 65, 68 collaborative work 132, 139 collocation 6, 19, 77, 350, 359, 361 Common European Framework of Reference (CEFR) 317 comprehension 16, 18, 210, 213, 332 Comrie, B. 43, 49 concordance 77, 82, 83, 87, 91, 93–99

394

Index

Connors, R.J. 218 consciousness 45, 110, 113 contextual 13, 37, 45, 47, 48, 61, 97, 121, 125, 271 contextualizing 33, 139, 152, 266 Cook, G. 21 Coole, D. 212 Corbett, E.P.J. 218 corpus (corpora) 13, 77, 79, 82–85, 87, 96–100, 118 corpus data 76, 83, 86, 99 corpus evidence 379 corpus linguistics 18, 19, 77, 82, 85, 100 corpus stylistics 18, 76, 79, 82, 86, 120 Cots, J.M. 5 Cotterall, S. 290, 292 Coulthard, M. 323 Council of Europe (CoE) CEFR 15, 20 Course-based research experience (CURE) 67 Couzijn, M. 213 Coxhead, A. 85 creative dialogic interaction 372 creative writing 15, 16, 20, 21, 142–145, 147, 151, 224, 346 creativity 17, 20, 163, 346, 347, 349 Cresswell, A. 84 critical awareness ix critical pedagogy ix, x, 213, 346 critical stylistics ix, x, 34 critical writing 36, 45, 69 Crouch, C. 56 Crystal, D. 13, 115 Csábi, S. 33 Culpeper, J. 12, 13, 18, 19, 223

cultural differences 5 Curato, N. 64 Curme, G.O. 43 Cushing, I. 11, 15, 17, 19, 136, 138, 161, 266, 278

D

Daghlian, C. 238 Daniels, H. 316, 327 Davies, C. 185 Davies, M. 87 Davis, S. 226 de Beaugrande, R. 109 De Chazal, E. 86 DeCourcy, D. 112 defamiliarisation 79, 214 deictics 44, 119, 120, 170 Delanoy, W. 23 deletion 216 democracy 56–58, 61, 64–66, 68–70 Denham, K. 165 Department for Education (DfE) 15 deviation 78, 143, 152, 214–216, 330 Devil’s Advocate role 315, 332–334, 337, 340 Dhinga, S. 60 digital readers 387 discourse analysis 111 discourse awareness 290, 311 Disney, D. 20, 346 distractions 186–189, 195, 196, 198, 200 Dixon, L.Q. 344 Dixon, P. 212, 225 Djigunovi´c, J.M. 344

Index

Djikic, M. 267 doctoral writer 290, 293, 294, 300, 308, 309 Doicaru, M. 217, 218 Dolan, E.L. 66, 68 Dong, J. 111 Dörnyei, Z. 328 Drai-Zerbib, V. 190 Druckman, J.N. 65, 68 Dryzek, J.S. 64, 65, 68 Dunham, J. 56 Dunmore, H. 166

E

Eagan, K. 66, 68 Earthman, E.A. 210 Ebbeck, M. 290 e-book 139, 185, 190, 191, 197 Eddington, S.M. 60 Edelhoff, C.A. 9 EFL classroom 304, 346 Eikmeyer, H.J. 111 Eisenmann, M. 23 Ellis, R. 7–9, 12 Ellis, V. 137, 166 ELT policies 8, 16, 23 embarrassment 265, 267, 272–281 embodiment 386 Emmott, C. 111, 224 emotions 116, 217, 225, 236, 237, 266, 279 empirical methods xi empirical research 177, 228 empirical studies 7, 12, 235 empowerment 292 engagement 5, 19, 36, 45, 65–67, 70, 151, 176, 186, 213, 218, 293, 318

395

English as a first language (L1) 13 English as a Foreign Language (EFL) 88, 316, 345 English as a Second Language (ESL) 316 English as a second language (L2) 265 English for Academic Purposes (EAP) 80 Ercan, S.A. 64 e-readers 184–186, 189–191, 197, 199, 200, 202, 203 e-reading devices xi Esplin, E. 238 Etherington, S. 82 evaluation 15, 34, 35, 48, 49, 64, 176, 216, 226, 295, 346, 350, 356, 364 Evans, N. 82 Evans, V. 133 Evert, S. 87 experimental studies 339

F

Fabb, N. 240 face-threatening acts 374 Fairchild, L. 112 Fairclough, N. 33 falsifiability 380, 381, 388 Farrell, D.M. 65, 68 feeling 12, 22, 43, 57, 122, 125, 191, 200, 219–221, 242, 243, 245–247, 252, 270, 271, 274, 276–278, 280, 281 Felicetti, A. 65, 68 Fellow Reader role 331, 336–338, 340 Ferrara, A. 56, 57

396

Index

Fialho, O. 7, 33, 213, 225, 235, 265 fictional worlds 161, 164, 166, 177 Findlay, K. 269 Fishkin, J.S. 65, 68 Fletcher, W. 81, 99 Flowerdew, L. 18 Fludernik, M. 219 Fogal, G. 7 Follet, R. 112 Folse, K. 86 foregrounding 11, 77–79, 91, 93, 98–100, 149, 150, 152, 214–216, 224, 266, 334 Fowler, R. 35, 36, 109 Fox, G. 237 Frankenberg-Garcia, A. 83, 84, 99 Frederick, J. 66 Freeman, D. 33, 35 French, A. 290, 292 Frost, S.L. 212 Fung, A. 65, 68 Fung, L. 292 Furr, M. 316, 318, 321

Gilbert, F.J. 163 Gillett, A. 81, 99 Gillings, M. 12, 13, 18, 19 Gilmore, A. 83, 84, 98 Giovanelli, M. xi, 12, 16, 17, 19, 132, 134–138, 149, 161, 168, 169, 265, 266, 268, 278 Glaeser, E.L. 64, 65 Glanmore sonnets 384 Golub, I.B. 244 Goodwyn, A. 10, 11, 17, 137, 264, 269 Gorter, D. 21 Graham, M. 66, 68 Graham-Marr, A. 317, 318 Gravani, M. 139 Greene, J.P. 292 Greenway, K. 310 Gregory, C.L. 185 Griffiths, C. 81 Groeben, N. 210 GSE Teacher Toolkit 332 Guthrie, J. 327 Gutmann, A. 65, 68

G

García, O. 21 Garrett, P. 5 Gaskell, D. 83, 98 Gavins, J. 17, 35, 121, 161, 172–175, 266, 274 Gee, J.P. 172 General Academic Purpose courses 76, 80 genre 6, 76, 120, 121, 188, 201, 214, 235, 274, 277, 306, 309 Gilbert, D. 120

H

Hakemulder, F. 6, 7, 212, 225, 226 Hakemulder, J. 214, 215, 218, 220, 222 Hall, G. ix, 4, 10, 33, 234 Halliday, M.A.K. 20, 109, 135, 163 Hall, K. 111 Hanauer, D. x, 20, 66–68 Hancock, C. 134 Handelsman, J. 66 Harding, J.R. 171

Index

Harmer, J. 83, 84, 99 Harris, A. 137 Harrison, C. xi, 132, 135, 141, 149–151, 271 Harris, T. 125 Hart, C. 151 Hartshorn, J.K. 82 Hasan, R. 108, 109 Hastall, M. 217 Hatfull, G.F. 66 Hattori, T. 344 Heaney, S. 384 Heath, J. 133 Heesacker, M. 218 Henderson, J. 308 Hendriks, C.M. 64 Henter, H. 67 Hinkel, E. 85 Hirvela, A. 83, 99 Hodgson, J. 136 Hoffmann, S. 87 Hogue, A. 86 Hollander, J. 110 Holme, R. 132 Holmes, L. 302 hooks, b. 160 Hoorn, J.F. 215 Hori, M. 346, 361 Huberman, A.M. 141, 188 Huddleston, R. 42 Hudson, R. 136 Humphreys, M.S. 186 Hunston, S. 84 Hunter, A.B. 66 Hunt, M. 112 Hurst, S. 185 Hyland, K. 83, 290, 292

397

I

identity xii, 58, 60, 65, 117, 137, 138, 143, 145, 151, 173, 264–266, 269, 270, 273, 275, 278, 280, 281, 293, 295, 310 Iida, A. 20, 346 implicatures 374 implied reader 210 inference 14, 15, 178, 212, 226 Ingarden, R. 110 insertion 379 instructions 14, 22, 41, 68, 77, 80, 81, 85, 88–90, 92, 144, 147, 213, 226, 292, 322 Integrated Research and Education Community (iREC) 67 intention 109, 242 interdisciplinarity 12, 34, 139 intertextuality xii, 269, 270 intervention (societal) 70 interviews 94, 138, 184, 187, 188, 190, 194, 196, 347, 350 introspection xi, 33 intuition 4, 18, 79, 210, 217, 347 Ivani´c, R. 292

J

Jacobsen, N.D. 84, 99 Jaggers, K. 64 Jakes, P. 86 Jakobson, R. 79, 235 Jalongo, M.R. 290 Jandre, J. 227, 237–239, 251, 254 Janssen, T. 213 Japanese students 319 Jee-Young Shin 344

398

Index

Jeffries, L. 4, 33, 56 Jeong, H. 185 Jespersen, O. 43 John, P. 139 Johnson, K. 13 Johns, T. 82 Johnstone, B. 111 Jones, C. 9, 10, 23, 24 Jones, R. 293 Jones, S. 134 Jordan, R. 81, 99 Jung-Hsuan Su 344

K

Kagan, D.M. 304 Kaminski, A. 20 Kearns, J. 254 Keen, A. 293 Kermer, F. 132 Kerr, P. 21 Kidd, D.C. 267 Kikuchi, S. 346, 350 Kirkpatrick, K. 293 Kishi, N. 345 Kisida, B. 292 Kleyn, T. 21 Knights, B. 33 Knobloch, S. 217 Koenig. J-P. 42 Kolln, M. 134 Koopman, E. 220 Kosem, I. 87 Kramsch, C. 5, 6 Krashen, S. 9, 23 Krishnamurthy, R. 87 Kristeva, J. 269 Kroon, S. 139 Kuijpers, M. 6, 217, 224

Kuiken, D. 184, 186, 214, 225 Kuzmiˇcová, A. 184

L

Labov, W. 356, 359 Lakoff, G. 112, 133 Lampert, R.B. 112 Landemore, H. 65, 68 Langacker, R. 121, 132, 134, 140, 144 language acquisition viii, 7, 345 language awareness 5, 118, 125, 134–136 Language of literary texts viii language performance 344 language proficiency x, 76, 328, 346, 353, 355 Lapkin, S. 8 Lauer, G. 235 Laurie, H. 188 Laursen, S.L. 66, 68 Lavary, S. 60 Lawrie, G. 66, 68 Lazere, D. 69 learning activities 132 learning environments 364 learning materials 132, 133 Leather, S. 337 Lee, A. 293 Leech, G. 33, 79, 211, 220 Lee, D.Y.W. 83, 99 Leitch, R. 292 Leung, A. 212, 225 Lewis, M. 81 lexical bundles 374 Liao, F-L. 67 Lichtenstein, E.H. 216, 217 Lillis, T.M. 292

Index

Lindstromberg, S. 9 Line, H. 134 Linzer, I. 56 literariness 211, 212, 214, 227, 228, 346 literary awareness 33 literary competence 15 literary criticism ix, 4, 34–37, 47, 49, 269 literary education 185, 210, 211, 224 literary effects 47, 143 literary experience 17, 185, 210, 211, 222, 225, 227 literary language 19 literary reading 6, 186–189, 191–193, 197, 198, 200, 202, 212 literary reading behaviour 184, 188, 189, 197, 203, 204 literary reading devices 187 literary reading locations 185 Liu, F. 345 Liu, X. 81 Li, W. 21 Llopis-García, R. 132 Lobeck, A. 165 Locke, T. 11, 24 Longcope, P. 316, 324 Longenbach, J. 45–47 Long, M.N. 32 Lycan, W.G. 62 Lyons, J. 386 Lyster, R. 8

M

Macbeth, K. 81 MacIntyre, P. 328

399

Mackay, R. 35 Macrae, A. 12, 15, 137 Maher, K. 321 Makin, P. 46 Maloney, J. 186 Mangen, A. 184, 186 Mansbridge, J. 65, 68 Mansworth, M. 12, 19, 161 Marien, S. 65, 68 Mark, P.L. 317 Marshall, M.G. 64 Martin, J. 134 Martin, S.B. 292 Mason, J. xii, 17, 135, 168, 169, 176, 266, 268, 270, 278 materials and methods 385 Matthiessen, C.M.I.M. 109 Matz, F. 23 Mauranen, A. 119 Mayer, R.E. 212 Mayr, A. 56 McAlpine, L. 293 McCarter, S. 86 McCarthy, M. 84, 85, 118, 125 McGann, J.J. 109 McGrail, M.R. 293 McIntyre, D. x, 4, 18, 19, 33, 36, 56, 76, 78, 82 McLinn, C.M. 66, 68 McLoughlin, N.F. 111 McRae, J. 32, 33 Melike, U. 344 memory x, xi, 39, 42, 119, 125, 171, 186, 234, 240 Mende, A-M. 217 Mercer, N. 164, 169, 174 Merrick, B. 237 Merrill, P.F. 82 Messner, K.R. 185

400

Index

metalanguage 161, 164, 166, 171, 177, 295 metaphor 5, 9, 16, 112–114, 116, 134, 138, 142, 145, 149, 161, 215, 247, 276, 359 methodology x, 9, 68, 82, 85, 100, 141, 305, 306, 319, 339, 345, 348 Miall, D. 11, 214, 225 Michelman, F.I. 56, 57 Miles, M.B. 141, 188 Mills, S. 33 modality 169 Modern Language Association (MLA) 14, 15, 20 Mohr. K.A.J. 323 Moldoveanu, M.C. 267 moments vii, ix, 37, 42, 45, 68, 111–114, 117, 118, 120–122, 126, 168, 173, 240 momentum 117–120, 122, 124, 126 Moreno, A.I. 120 Morss, K. 293 movement 9, 21, 33, 47, 66, 111, 122, 149, 168, 239, 249 Mueller, C.M. 84, 99 Mukaˇrovský, J. 77, 79 multimodality ix, 19 Munck, G.L. 57 Muntigl, P. 61 Murphy, S. 12, 13, 18, 19 Murray, R. 293 Myhill, D. 134

N

Nash, W. 33 Nasu, M. xiii, 345

Nation, P. 86 Neblo, M.A. 65, 68 Nicholes, J. 67 Niemeyer, S. 64, 65, 68 Nishiyama, A. 42 Noels, K. 328 Nomura, K. 346, 350 North, S. 290, 292 Nunan, D. 82 Nuttall, L. 132, 135, 149–151, 271

O

Oatley, K. 267 O’Brien, P. 112 O’Dell, F. 85 OECD 267, 319, 320 O’Farrell, C. 293 O’Hara, P. 137 O’Meara, P. 293 open and closed syllables 374 Oshima, A. 86 O’Sullivan, I. 83, 98 O’Toole, S. 56 Otsu, Y. 344 Ottaviano, G. 60 Outhwaite, W. 60

P

Pace-Sigge, M. 12, 13, 18, 19 Paesani, K. 9, 14 Paish, H. 387 Pajares, M.F. 304 Paran, A. 7, 14, 21, 265 parodies 379 Pascal, R. 220 pastiche 379, 381

Index

patterns viii, 5, 6, 19, 41, 77, 83, 94, 98, 99, 109, 110, 117, 118, 143, 152, 163, 178, 188, 189, 240, 253, 272, 278, 291, 300, 302 Pattison, S. 328 Patzig, G. 217 pedagogical affordances xi, 132, 161 pedagogical corpus stylistics 18 pedagogical stylistics viii–xii, 4, 22, 32–34, 56, 65, 77, 78, 171, 174, 178, 210, 213, 214, 223, 234, 235, 237, 255, 265–267, 270, 281, 345, 346, 364 pedagogy 8, 23, 32–34, 65, 78, 139, 160–165, 167, 169, 172, 176–178, 212, 266, 280, 291, 293, 294 Pedrotti, M. 190 Pelaez, N. 66, 68 Pellowe, W. 317, 318 Peplow, D. 164, 266, 267, 271 Perez-Paredes, P. 81, 99 perspective ix, 6, 63, 65, 82, 118, 125, 141, 144, 170, 210–214, 219, 227, 239, 304, 316, 320, 327 Pessoa, F. 236–238 Petty, R.E. 218 Phillips, J. 310 Pihlaja, S. 133 Pilli, O. 185 Pitfield, M. 163 Plummer, P. 32 Poe, E.A. xii, 237–239, 253 Poetics and Linguistics Association (PALA) viii, xiv poetry 45, 46, 48, 110, 143, 152, 166, 236

401

point of view 15, 43, 63, 140, 219–221, 271, 274, 277, 355, 361 political awareness ix political discourse 56, 59, 61–66, 68, 69 Pope, R. 20, 33 post-hybrid readers 184, 186, 187, 196, 197, 202 Pound, E. x, 37, 46, 48, 381 Pragmatic knowledge x Premack, D. 267 present perfect x, 37, 39, 41–44, 47–49 principle of moments 108, 126 production 33, 81, 89, 139, 151, 152, 346, 349 productivity 360 proficiency levels 326, 327, 331, 337 prose 46, 143 prospection 119, 120, 122–124 Provincia Deserta x, 37, 45–48 Puddington, A. 56

Q

qualitative research 305 quantitative research 7 questionnaire 12, 132, 141, 226, 237, 271, 347, 349, 350

R

Rabinowitz, P. 214, 217 Ramonda, K. 327 Ramos, M. 235 Ranta, L. 8 Ratheiser, U. 16 Ray-Barruel, G. 293

402

Index

reactions 9, 83, 215, 226, 235, 238, 251, 252, 270 readerly experience x, 109, 120 readerly text 109, 111 reader-response theories 163 readers xii, 4–6, 16, 18, 19, 32, 40, 45, 49, 69, 109, 110, 112, 114, 117, 124, 125, 133, 145, 152, 160, 161, 163, 164, 170, 171, 174, 176–178, 185, 186, 196, 210–212, 215–221, 223, 225–228, 235, 238–240, 247, 252–255, 264, 268–271, 273, 280, 281, 308, 332, 354, 357 reading devices 187, 196, 203, 204 reading groups 267, 316, 327, 329, 353, 362 reading history 276, 277, 280 reading settings 193, 195 real readers 160, 210, 227, 271 register x, 5, 89, 93, 121, 124, 221, 346, 353, 357, 362, 363 register variation 76, 77, 86, 100 Reisigl, M. 63 release 176 rephrasing 338 Repucci, S. 56 research experience 66–68 Revelle, A. 185 rewriting xii, 221, 225, 226, 228 Ribeiro, F. 227, 237–239, 251, 254 Rickard, C.M. 293 rigour 381, 388 Rimmon-Kenan, S. 219, 220, 222, 223 Robinson, A. 293 Roche, J. 149 Rogers, L. 86 Rojo, A. 235

role-based literature circle (LC) xiii, 316, 318, 324, 326, 327, 339, 340 Romeo and Juliet xi, 112, 114–117, 144, 146, 148 Rose, D. 134 Rosenblatt, L. 163, 234, 266, 324 Rowland, S. 66, 68 Roylance, T. 56 Ruegg, R. 84 Rumbesht, A. 227, 237–239, 251, 254 Rumbold, K. 267 Rykhlo, O.P. 239

S

Sønneland, M. 212, 213 Sachar, L. 17 Saito, Y. 344, 346 Saldaña, J. 188 Sanford, A.J. 224 Sangster, P. 137 Santelmann, L.M. 292 scaffolded approach 294 Schaffner, C. 61 schema theory 266 Schilhab, T. 184 Schreier, M. 210 science education 66, 67 scientific inquiry teaching x Scollon, R. 111 Scollon, S.W. 111 Scott, J. 346 Scott, M. 292 second language teaching 265 self-assessment 279, 321 Self-formulated research questions xii Sercu, L. 14

Index

Setälä, M. 65, 68 Seven Ages of Woman 387 Sevigny, P. xiii, 317, 318, 320, 321, 328, 329, 331, 332, 336 Shafer, G. 69 Shakespeare, W. xi, 112, 279 Shape of You 376, 377, 380 Shattuck, J. 138 Sheeran, E. 376, 377, 385 Shelton-Strong, S.J. 322 Shi, Y. 81 Shklovsky, V. 79, 214 Shleifer, A. 64, 65 Short, M. 32, 35, 78, 211, 220 short-term research experience (SRE) 67 Shrimplin, A.K. 185 Simpson, P. 12, 17, 34–36, 56, 68, 78, 219, 235 Sinclair, J. 82, 83, 323 Sinclair, J. McH. 19, 118, 119, 122 Sklar, H. 225 Slama, R. 345 Slothuus, R. 65, 68 smartphone xi, 184–186, 189, 191, 192, 197, 202, 354, 359 Snapper, G. 137 Snow, C. 344 Solomon, E.V. 86 Sopˇcák, P. 224 Sorlin, S. 379 Spencer, J. 81, 99 Spiro, J. 263, 264, 297, 306, 308, 310 Statham, S. 56 Steadman-Jones, R. 33 Steen, G.J. 35 STEM courses 65, 66 Stephenson, P. 87

403

St˛eszewski, J. 110 Stevens, D.D. 292 Stevens, V. 83 Stockwell, P. x, 32, 36, 110, 112, 113, 119–121, 132, 170, 178, 234 Stoker, G. 345 Strong-Krause, D. 82 student as researcher x, 69 student-led learning 373 student response 41, 95, 163, 170, 176, 290, 292, 295 student writing 97, 291 stylistic analysis xiii, 34, 35, 41, 65, 66, 68, 117, 125, 143, 240, 251, 254, 345, 349, 354, 362, 364 stylistic-based CURE 64, 68, 70 stylistic falsifiability 380 stylistic meaning 381 stylistic pedagogy 161 stylistics viii–xii, xiv, 10, 14–16, 18, 32–36, 45, 49, 65, 66, 68–70, 78, 84, 85, 125, 146, 149, 161, 166, 185, 187, 210, 265, 266, 271, 346, 347, 364 stylistics as scaffolding 373 stylistic strategies 387 subject-raising and negative-floating 374 substitution 91, 254 Sudo, K. 344 Sudweeks, R.R. 82 Suiter, J. 65, 68 Sullivan, A. 267 summary 46, 77, 91, 97 Sun, Y-C. 83 Swain, M. 8 Swales, J. 81, 83, 99

404

Index

Swann, J. 267, 271 Sweet, H. 43 systematicity 15, 36, 69, 70

T

tablets 186, 189 Takahashi, Y. 344 Takinami, W. 346 teacher practice viii, xii, 138 teaching strategies 138 textual intervention 33 textual manipulation 215, 221, 224 text-world pedagogy 160, 162–167, 172, 177, 178 Text World Theory (TWT) xi, 17, 160–164, 166, 266 The Douglas Fir Group 319 Thompson, D. 65, 68 Thompson, E. 379 Thompson, G. 109 Thurston, J. 83, 99 Tintern Abbey (“Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey”) 47 Tissier, G. 190 Titjen, F. 12, 19, 161 Tomioka, T. 346 To My Nine-Year-Old Self 166, 167 Toolan, M. xiii, 56, 120, 220 Towns, M. 66, 68 Toyonaga, K. 344 Toyota, M. 347 traditional reading xi trajectors and enactors 161, 274 transformation 56, 66, 133, 145 transformative text analysis 380 transitivity 11 translated texts 255

translations 234–236, 238–240, 244, 246, 247, 250, 253–255 translation studies xii, 235 Trautmann, N.M. 66, 68 Trimarco, P. 267, 271 Trowler, P.R. 290, 292 T-scores 374 Tsui, A. 323 Tsur, R. 240 Turnbull, J. 84 Turner, J. 82 Twilley, L.C. 212, 225

U

undergraduates x, 67, 76, 80, 87, 135, 137, 146, 187, 202, 204, 292, 319

V

Vale de Gato, M. 238 Valenzuela, J. 235 van der Aalsvoort, M. 139 Van der Starre, K.A. 224 van Dijk, T. 61, 62 Van Gelderen, A. 11 Van Peer, W. 7, 35, 79, 185, 214–216, 225, 226 van Reenen, J. 60 Varma-Nelson, P. 66, 68 Vasquez, V.M. 163 Verdonk, P. 234 Viana, V. 6, 7, 19, 185, 227, 235, 237–239, 251, 254 Vines, L.D. 238 vocabulary learning 22 Volkmann, L. 6, 11, 23 Von Glasersfeld, E. 212

Index

W

Wadsworth, J. 60 Walker, B. 18, 19, 76, 82 Wall, D. 81, 99 Warren, M.E. 65, 68 Watson, A. 134, 137, 164 Watson, G. 32, 265 Watson Todd, R. 83, 98 Waugh, E. xi, 123 Week, L. 33 Weißbecker, E. 59, 60 Wenger, E. 293, 309, 310, 318, 322, 327, 328 Werth, P. 121, 161, 266 Westheimer, J. 64 Weston, T.J. 66, 68 Whiteley, S. 11, 16, 170, 267, 271 Widdowson, H. 5, 33, 78, 80, 234 Wigfield, A. 327 Wilder, L. 292 Williamson, K. 137 Willis, D. 9, 83 Wilson, A. 109 Wilson, T.D. 120 Wodak, R. 63 Woodruff. G. 267 Wordsworth, W. 43, 47

405

Wright, S.G. 302 writerly text 384 Wu Shuang 344

X

Xerri, D. 163, 166, 268

Y

Yandell, J. 169 Yáñez Prieto, M. del C. 265 Yashima, T. 328 Yoon, H. 83, 99 Yoshida, A. xiii, 347, 363 Young, C. 323, 328 Yule, G. 111

Z

Zerkowitz, J. 33 Zhang, Y. 235 Zhao, J. 344 Zyngier, S. viii, xii, 4, 6, 7, 11, 19, 32, 33, 82, 174, 185, 213, 215, 226, 227, 234, 235, 237–239, 251, 254, 265