Spanish/English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus [1 ed.] 9789027295378, 9789027241382

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Spanish/English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus

Studies in Bilingualism (SiBil)

Editors Kees de Bot University of Groningen

Thom Huebner San José State University

Editorial Board Michael Clyne, University of Melbourne Kathryn Davis, University of Hawaii at Manoa Joshua Fishman, Yeshiva University François Grosjean, Université de Neuchâtel Wolfgang Klein, Max Planck Institut für Psycholinguistik Georges Lüdi, University of Basel Christina Bratt Paulston, University of Pittsburgh Suzanne Romaine, Merton College, Oxford Merrill Swain, Ontario Institute for Studies in Education Richard Tucker, Carnegie Mellon University

Volume 27 Spanish/English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus by Laura Callahan

Spanish/English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus

Laura Callahan The City College of New York

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam
/
Philadelphia

8

TM

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

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Callahan, Laura Spanish/English codeswitching in a written corpus / Laura Callahan. p. cm. (Studies in Bilingualism, issn 0928–1533 ; v. 27) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. 1. Code switching (Linguistics). 2. Written Communication. 3. Spanish language--Variation. 4. English language--Variation. I. Title. II. Series. P115.3 .C35 2004 306.44’6-dc22 isbn 90 272 4138 4 (Eur.) / 1 58811 543 7 (US) (Hb; alk. paper)

2004050173

© 2004 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

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Table of contents

Introduction

1

Chapter 1 Codeswitching: Form and function

5

Chapter 2 The texts: From single word switches to every other phrase

25

Chapter 3 A grammatical and discourse function analysis

47

Chapter 4 Written codeswitching and codeswitching in nonprint media

81

Chapter 5 Written codeswitching: Writers, readers, and speakers

99

Chapter 6 A sociolinguistic mirror

121

Chapter 7 The costs of codeswitching

137

References Appendices

147 165

Index of names Index of subjects

171 177

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Introduction

Several years ago, as a returning student in an undergraduate Spanish program, I began to alternate Spanish and English in my writing. At first this was limited to my lecture notes, but before long English sentences finished with Spanish phrases, and vice versa, began to appear in my journal. The journal was the source of much of my non-academic poetry and prose, and creative pieces written entirely in English or Spanish gradually became fewer and fewer. What I noticed when I switched from one language to the other is that I would do so at certain syntactic junctures, not at others, and I didn’t have to think about where. I just wrote. Some combinations seemed intuitively wrong, and I would no more produce them in my writing than I would utter agrammatical sequences in my speech. Or if I did produce such a sequence, I had to make a conscious effort to do so. During the initial phase of research for this book, I discovered that, in contrast to the large body of literature available on oral codeswitching, little had been published on codeswitching in writing. Although some researchers reported using the occasional written text to elicit judgements of what constructions were possible in codeswitching, the ultimate focus was always on speech. Moreover, when written codeswitching between Spanish and English in the United States was mentioned, it was often dismissed as inauthentic, artificial. The work of some poets who used codeswitching was deemed contrived, full of sequences that would not be heard in speech. The fact that poetic language is often distinct from everyday language seemed to have been overlooked. Fiction writers who used codeswitching in their characters’ dialogue were assumed to be merely imitating, not always in a very accurate manner, what might be uttered in actual conversation. The fact that such authors might alternate languages not only in dialogue but also in their own narrative was never addressed. Various theories have been advanced to account for the rules governing codeswitching. All of these theories were formulated on the basis of speech, and I wondered how they might work for written data. With this in mind, I decided to test one of the models on a corpus of written codeswitching. The one I se-

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Introduction

lected for this task was Myers-Scotton’s Matrix Language Frame (MLF) model (1993a, 1997, 2002). I chose this model for its holistic approach to codeswitching. It incorporates aspects of earlier theories of syntactic constraints, but at the same time goes beyond a one-dimensional approach, integrating discourse and pragmatic functions into its explanation of syntactic structure. Although this book contains considerable information about the MLF model, it is not intended to be an exhaustive critique of it nor of any other syntactic theory. Rather, the MLF model provides the vehicle to show that written codeswitching is not just a literary device. The successful application to a written corpus of a model developed for speech validates the use of written data, and shows that written codeswitching is not inauthentic. The majority of codeswitches in my corpus can be accounted for by the MLF model. Glosses and translations are provided for all of the Spanish, although it is expected that most readers of this book will understand both languages. Syntactic models focus on codeswitching within the word, phrase or sentence. The concern of the MLF model is codeswitching within the complementizer phrase. When codeswitching occurs above this level, such as between clauses, sentences, paragraphs or pages, the grammars of the two languages are not in contact. I use some terms from the MLF model in a broader sense than Myers-Scotton does, in particular the notion of the matrix language. In a syntactic sense, the matrix language is the language that provides the grammatical frame in a clause. I assign a matrix language also to larger units of discourse, such as to a short story or novel. In this sense, some of the texts in my corpus change from one matrix language to another at various junctures. While such changes do not in every case affect the syntactic analysis, they are of interest to this study since they form part of the larger phenomenon of published, written codeswitching. Chapter 1, Codeswitching: Form and Function, discusses borrowing versus codeswitching, and gives an exposition of the basics of the MLF model. The material in this chapter will be familiar to researchers working on language contact. For readers from other fields, Chapter 1 gives background information needed to understand other parts of the book. In Chapter 2, The Texts: From Single Word Switches to Every Other Phrase, the corpus texts are presented. This is followed in Chapter 3, A Grammatical and Discourse Function Analysis, by a tabulation of the codeswitches based on syntax and discourse function, and an application of the MLF model. Chapter 4, Written Codeswitching and Codeswitching in Nonprint Media, surveys historical and contemporary examples of written codeswitching involving diverse languages, and also looks at codeswitching in nonprint me-

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Introduction

dia. In this chapter the role commercial factors play in the use or non-use of codeswitching is introduced, a point that is taken up again in Chapter 7. As discussed in Chapter 4, the majority of written codeswitching tends to be clustered in certain genres, namely, in fiction and, especially, in poetry. My own case parallels this. Even when I began to alternate more and more between Spanish and English, this style of discourse never entered every domain of my written communication. It was and still is restricted to private forms of writing, writing that is not subject to the approval of others. I could hardly have turned in an undergraduate assignment written in Spanish and English together, although my professors were perfectly capable of reading both languages. Monolingual Spanish was prescribed for this context; the use of English was forbidden. In my doctoral dissertation, despite the readers’ fluency in both languages, I had to choose either Spanish or English for the narrative. Up until this time I had enjoyed modest success as a locally published writer of short stories and poetry. I was a participant in weekly poetry readings, informal events held in bars, cafés and bookstores where people gathered to recite their work. However, I was unable to share my newer pieces, which were laced with Spanish words and phrases, in the places I was accustomed to reading, owing to the audience’s incomprehension. In venues where Spanish might be understood, such as events organized around a Latino theme, my poetry met with a lukewarm reception. The same occurred when I submitted it to journals targeted at Latino readerships. Some of the reasons for this phenomenon will be discussed in Chapter 5, Written Codeswitching: Writers, Readers, and Speakers, in which I examine the relationship between codeswitching, register, thematic content and ethnicity. Chapter 5 also considers the typographic and translation devices possible in written codeswitching, as well as the dichotomy represented by the terms artificial and authentic. In Chapter 6, A Sociolinguistic Mirror, the co-occurrence of certain features in texts containing Spanish/English codeswitching is examined, namely, the high proportion of metalinguistic references and the representation of nonstandard Spanish and English. The authors and their characters make metalinguistic references to two aspects: linguistic competence and language choice. In the first, explicit mention is made of a character’s ability to speak or write Spanish, English, or both. In the second, explicit mention is made of the fact that a particular language is being spoken or ought to be spoken. In Chapter 7, The Costs of Codeswitching, commercial and political factors affecting language choice are considered. Following the work of Pierre Bourdieu, Susan Gal and Monica Heller, I examine how the decision to use Spanish or Spanish/English codeswitching is influenced by its macrosociolin-

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Introduction

guistic value. This is the language marketplace, in regard to which Bourdieu (1977: 24) speaks of the power that some have to impose their own linguistic products and to exclude other products. The authors in my study challenge the balance of power in the language marketplace in the United States. Authors still face difficulties in finding publishers for work that contains codeswitching. It is not necessarily the use of Spanish per se which presents an obstacle to publication – as more and more large publishing houses institute Spanish language divisions – but rather the presence of two languages, which makes a work difficult to categorize, and hence harder to market. However, commercial motives are not the only ones expressed in regard to a preference for monolingual works, whether all in English or all in Spanish. Many native Spanish-speakers object to codeswitching as a perversion of the Spanish language, and as a sign of cultural assimilation. These writers’ use of Spanish/English codeswitching in their work is a de facto claim to the right to participate in the marketplace on a bilingual and not just monolingual basis.

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Chapter 1

Codeswitching Form and function

. Codeswitching: Definitions and classifications Codeswitching is the use of words and structures from more than one language or linguistic variety by the same speaker within the same speech situation, conversation or utterance. Conversational codeswitching refers to the use of two languages by the same speaker within the same speech event. Codeswitching may occur at inter- and intrasentential levels, and may consist of single words or phrases. Situational codeswitching refers to language alternation by the same speaker in different speech situations, though the speaker’s utterances within each situation are monolingual. Emblematic, or etiquette, switching and metaphorical switching are terms used to classify codeswitching on the basis of its pragmatic and social motivation. .. Borrowing versus codeswitching Borrowing refers to the process by which word forms from one language are introduced into another. In codeswitching, the forms of each language, though contiguous, remain discrete in at least some aspects. When material from one language (L2 ) is used in another (L1 ), it may be unclear whether it consists of elements which have been borrowed from L2 , and which have at some point entered the lexicon of L1 , or if the forms remain discrete from L1 . This can be especially difficult to determine when a single word is at issue. Differentiation depends on a variety of factors, from the degree of phonological or morphological assimilation to the L1 undergone by the L2 forms, to the speaker’s motivation for using them. Various criteria for distinguishing borrowing from codeswitching are discussed below.

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Chapter 1

... Phonological adaptation Two loan words in the lexicon of English are table and marble, which were borrowed into English from Old French following the Norman Conquest. These words have been completely adapted to the phonological system of English. Borrowings from Spanish into English show a similar adaptation, although some features of the original phonological system may be retained. For example, the second syllable of tor-ti-lla when uttered in American English begins with an aspirated stop – as opposed to the Spanish unaspirated stop. The first syllable ends with the English retroflex r, and the first segment of the final syllable may be pronounced with one of three dialectal variants of American Spanish: a palatal fricative, a palatal glide or zero. The last variant, a feature of New Mexican Spanish, is the one most common to the English pronunciation of this word. But some speakers follow orthographic cues and insert either a velar or alveolar lateral, allophones from English. This phenomenon is even more frequent in English speakers’ pronunciation of Spanish toponyms, such as, for example, Vallejo and Amarillo. The distinct Spanish and English pronunciations are alluded to in this literary depiction of a dialogue between a customs officer and a Chicano motorist at the Texas-Mexico border: (1) What part of Texas are you from? – Amarillo. – Amarelo, you mean. – I suppose.

(Alarcón 1981c: 16)

The vowels of borrowings from Spanish into English suffer the reduction and diphthongization characteristic of the latter language. In the English pronunciation of tortilla, the first two vowels feature an offglide and the third is abbreviated to a schwa. Borrowings occasionally undergo orthographic adaptation, as in the case of the English word hoosegow from the Spanish juzgado. Borrowings from English into Spanish also show phonological, and in some cases orthographic, modification. Words beginning with a consonant cluster in which the first segment is an alveolar sibilant /s/ provide a classic set of examples, as this sequence cannot begin a syllable in Spanish. Thus, English scanner, smoking, snob and standard become escáner, esmóquin, esnob, and estándar. In addition to the epenthetic vowel present in each of the words, the final consonant cluster in standard has been simplified to conform to Spanish phonotactic constraints. Such changes are not always reflected in writing. The original spelling may be retained, including letters that are silent in English and remain so once the word is borrowed into Spanish, as in the second n in

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Codeswitching

scanner. If there is orthographic adaptation, it will be complete; forms such as *scaner are uncommon. The Spanish pronunciation of the words above follows the Spanish vocalic system. For example, the second syllable of escáner is pronounced with the low central vowel of Spanish rather than the low front vowel of the English word. The final syllable is pronounced with a mid-front vowel and a fully consonantal flap, as opposed to the syllabic [r] of the English. Although the criterion of phonological adaptation is often cited as a way to separate borrowings from codeswitching, Poplack (1988) raises the issue of its unreliability in certain cases. When the material in question consists of a single word, its true character as a switched item may be masked by either imperfect pronunciation or structural similarity of the language pair, which may cause the word to blend in and mimic an established borrowing. Poplack, following Haugen (1973), here operates under the assumption that a switch should be “maximally distinct from the surrounding discourse, while a loan word should be identical to recipient-language material” (Poplack 1988: 220). Codeswitching between structurally similar languages poses another problem, because it is difficult to distinguish some words, even though they retain phonological integrity, when they occur singly amid host language material. Woolard (1987: 108) cites the case of Castilian and Catalan. Nevertheless, phonological integration is still widely used as a criterion to separate borrowed from codeswitched material. Myers-Scotton argues that such assimilation is not always the rule. She cites instances of less than complete phonological integration, though acknowledging that time depth may be a factor in such cases. She concludes that not all borrowed forms can be distinguished from codeswitched forms on the basis of structural integration, and adds that some – albeit few – codeswitched forms may also show such integration (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 180). This last point supports Poplack’s assertion mentioned above that some switched material may not be phonologically discrete from the matrix language (ML),1 although it is unclear whether Poplack considers this to be a matter of the form having undergone phonological adaptation or whether it is the individual speaker’s performance that is at issue. ... Quantity Whether a single word may qualify as a codeswitch has been the subject of debate. Earlier researchers, such as Gingràs (1974) and Reyes (1976), for example, categorically classified single words as borrowings. An early exception to this stance was Haugen’s (1973: 521); he considered codeswitching to include “everything from the introduction of a single, unassimilated word up

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Chapter 1

to a complete sentence or more into the context of another language”. Lance (1975: 138–139) used a category of “single words or terms”, in which he included quasi-technical terms, brand names, place names, personal names, tag questions, interjections, adverbs, and numbers. He considered such items to be codeswitches as long as they did not show structural adaptation. MyersScotton would place the first two items on Lance’s list under the heading of cultural borrowings, a category which will be discussed below. However, she does consider other “singly occurring lexemes” to be codeswitches. She asserts that researchers’ preference for larger constituents such as phrases or clauses, which has led many to exclude single words or morphemes from codeswitching data, stems from the increased difficulty of distinguishing smaller constituents from loans (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 23–24). She acknowledges that single lexemes or bound stem EL forms often show the morphosyntax of the ML, while longer stretches of EL material remain structurally discrete. Nevertheless, there is much data to support the claim that a single word can constitute a codeswitch: I have no quarrel with the claim that CS [codeswitching] of phrasal length or longer will regularly show only the morphosyntax of the EL (as EL islands) and therefore can easily be distinguished from ML material. But the problem is that much EL material in CS consists of singly occurring lexemes (in ML + EL constituents). [. . .] And many, even most, recent studies also are based on this premiss. For example, Park, Troike, and Mun (1989: 7) remark that 60 per cent of the entire set of 516 switches in their Korean/English CS data set consist of single nouns. Single nouns were also the most frequent CS unit in Berk-Seligson (1986) on Hebrew/Spanish CS. Also, regarding her corpus of Moroccan Arabic/Dutch CS, Nortier (1990: 140) comments, ‘By far the largest group of CS concerns insertion of single words in one language (usually Dutch) in sentences of the other language.’ (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 180–181)

The earlier approaches which classified single words as borrowings treated them as gap-fillers inserted into appropriate slots in the frame of the base language. Pike (1967) exemplifies this view: Suppose, for example, that in the English ‘frame’ I like to eat strawberries, a bilingual Spanish speaker replaces the word strawberries with the loan word tortillas ‘corn cakes’. The accommodation of the loan into English is made possible by the structure of the sentence – which, say, leaves a subject ‘slot’ in its matrix, for nouns – into which the borrowed word is inserted. (Pike 1967 in Kurtböke 1998: 8.1.1)

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Codeswitching

The word Pike uses to illustrate the process of lexical insertion, tortilla, can be considered a borrowing by virtue of other qualities such as its phonological adaptation, and its universal availability to speakers of American English. However, there are other instances of single words from L2 occurring in L1 that do not meet such criteria: (2) I looked at her in search of some reaction to my declaration of Honorable Intentions, but nada – not a hint – just her regular friendly sonrisa (smile). (NEPT 106)2 (3) “I’m sorry,” he said, because he felt ashamed that he cried like that in front of her, all mocoso and broken. ‘snot-nosed’3 (NEAR 319)

These two examples from written codeswitching illustrate a discourse feature that can give an indication as to the status of the L2 word. The parenthetical translation in the first and the italics in the second are the written equivalent of flagging. Flagging is a phenomenon manifested in speech by a pause or change in intonation. Pfaff (1979: 297) gives examples of this and of the use of metalinguistic signals such as “como dicen” ‘as they say’. On the borrowingto-codeswitching continuum, flagging devices can signal, at the lowest end, an unintegrated loan, and on the highest, a switch. ... Frequency Frequency is another criterion that has been used to distinguish borrowing from codeswitching. This is based on the premise that a form which is more integrated into the ML will occur more often. Under this analysis, words used more frequently in the ML are considered borrowings, while words that occur less are classified as codeswitches. Myers-Scotton uses an arbitrary criterion of three; EL lexemes occurring in three or more conversations are counted as borrowings (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 15). She bases this on the relative availability of borrowings versus switches, with the assumption that switches require a certain level of bilingual competence that borrowings do not: Borrowed forms [. . .] should be distinguishable by their individual frequencies. The frequency of borrowed lexical items [. . .] will be greater than that of switched items because borrowed items belong to a specifiable set from the embedded language which speakers know in some abstract sense as part of the matrix language competence. Therefore, borrowings are available to many (or all) speakers in a way codeswitches are not. (Myers-Scotton 1990: 103)

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Chapter 1

However, as Kurtböke (1998: 8.1.6) points out, this method of determining what is a borrowing versus what is a switch will be limited by the corpus used, in which both loans and codeswitches from certain semantic fields may occur with an exaggerated frequency due to the subject matter. ... Cultural borrowings and nonce borrowings Cultural borrowings is a term Myers-Scotton gives to words that have as referents objects or concepts unfamiliar to speakers of the receiving language. These are differentiated from codeswitches, on the grounds that speakers have no other linguistic sign with which to denote the referent in question. They are also distinguished from core borrowings, which “are taken into the language even though the recipient language already has lexemes of its own to encode the concepts or objects in question [. . .]” (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 5). Core borrowings were once codeswitched forms, as opposed to cultural borrowings which entered the lexicon abruptly to fill a lexical gap. Cultural borrowings may become core loans over time, as their referents come to be seen as part of or at least no longer foreign to the receiving culture. Nonce borrowings are words attested to only sporadically, in contrast to the traditional definition of loan words as being incorporated into the lexicon, accessible to all speakers (Poplack & Meechan 1995: 200). This term has been used in an attempt to provide a name for elements that neither fit the frequency and acceptability criteria for loans nor conform to the syntactic constraints proposed for codeswitching. Poplack and others argue that bilinguals resort to nonce borrowing when the typological dissimilarity of the language pair hampers the formation of switched sentences that would be in compliance with the patterns of the participating languages. Poplack and her associates consider syntactic equivalence to be the operative criterion in distinguishing borrowing from codeswitching. Single words from the EL obviously cannot test this factor, and under her model such items cannot represent switches. Single words must be considered borrowings, whether established or nonce (Sankoff et al. 1990). Myers-Scotton, in contrast, takes into account whether the word in question has entered the monolingual lexicon of the host language; if it is accessible to bilingual speakers only, it is considered a codeswitch. This is the parameter I adopt for my analysis. For a useful comparison of Poplack and Myers-Scotton’s positions on this point, see Myers-Scotton (1988). Besides frequency, the key difference between a nonce borrowing and an established borrowing is relative accessibility. There is a fine line between what is defined as a nonce borrowing and what is defined as a codeswitch, since neither is accessible to the mono-

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Codeswitching

lingual speaker of the language. Only the bilingual, and the codeswitcher in particular, can access them (Jacobson 1998b: 64). ... Pragmatic/discourse function Gysels (1992: 47–54) argues that phonological considerations alone cannot determine whether a word represents codeswitching or borrowing, and cites French words used in Lubumbashi Swahili that have retained native phonological features, and yet fulfill the function of established loans. How a word is used, that is, what purpose it serves in the organization of discourse, is the criterion she proposes to distinguish borrowing from codeswitching, even if this leads to the classification of identical words in some instances as borrowings and in others as codeswitches, depending on the function they fulfill in a given exchange. The speakers in her data used codeswitches to retain a turn, mark topics and give emphasis. Words she classified as borrowings were less likely to have a salient discourse function. Both borrowings and codeswitches were used for reasons other than just to fill lexical gaps; words used in either fashion often did have equivalents in the host language. The theoretical opposition here revolves around whether codeswitching can be distinguished from borrowing by one factor alone out of the three principal criteria: structure, frequency and discourse function. Another issue is whether any or all of the criteria will serve to distinguish borrowings from codeswitches in all language pairs. This debate will be revisited in Chapter 2, when the parameters for what constitutes data for the present study are outlined.

. The Matrix Language Frame model4 Following Myers-Scotton (1993a), an exposition of the major points of the Matrix Language Frame (MLF) model is provided here, with examples from Spanish/English codeswitching. Additional details of this model will be discussed at relevant junctures in the analysis of my data. .. The Matrix Language and the Embedded Language Structural and sociolinguistic criteria are given for determining which language is the ML in utterances containing intrasentential codeswitching. Ultimately, the ML is the language that provides the grammatical structure in an utterance with a codeswitch. There are other criteria, although not in and of themselves

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Chapter 1

enough to determine the ML, that often coincide with the over-riding criterion of grammatical dominance. In the original version of the model, MyersScotton states that the ML usually contributes more morphemes, but cautions that the ML cannot be determined on the basis of one sentence alone: [. . . ] if a sentence is analysed in isolation and, for example, its main clause is in one language and a dependent clause is in another language, there is no way to identify the ML. The ML can only be identified in sentences containing CS material if such sentences are considered as part of a larger corpus. How large is ‘large enough’ is an unresolved issue; but certainly a discourse sample must mean more than one sentence. (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 68)

By sociolinguistic criteria, the ML is often the one which is the unmarked, that is, the expected, choice in the most types of interactions communitywide (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 67). The EL is the language – or languages, in the case of codeswitching involving more than two languages – that in most cases contributes fewer morphemes and which has a more marked status in the individual interaction and/or within the community. .. The three possible constituent types Under the MLF model, the ML supplies: the morphosyntactic frame for two of the three types of constituent contained in sentences showing intrasentential CS, ML + EL constituents (those showing morphemes from the two or more participating languages) and ML islands (constituents composed entirely of ML morphemes). The third type of constituent, the EL island, is entirely in the EL. It is produced when ML morphosyntactic procedures are inhibited and EL procedures are activated. (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 6)

The following passage, in which the ML is English, contains examples of each of the three types of constituents. (4) Late in the evening of November 24, the last of the carrancistas evacuated the capital, and the Centaur’s troops entered the city. But not at all like águilas, more like cuatro gatitos muy quietitos. Out of their mundo, they ‘eagles’ ‘four very still kittens’ ‘world’ were lost. (NEGK 11; italics added)

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Codeswitching

ML + EL constituents: ‘not at all like águilas’ and ‘Out of their mundo’. ML island: ‘they were lost’. EL island: ‘cuatro gatitos muy quietitos.’

Note that both the ML and EL islands show internal structural-dependency relations, and are well-formed according to their respective grammars. The ML + EL constituents are well-formed according to the ML grammar. .. Content and system morphemes / System Morpheme Principle The key feature of the MLF model is the distinction it makes in how codeswitching constraints apply to system and content morphemes. Under the System Morpheme Principle, system morphemes in mixed constituents will come from the ML, unless they have no grammatical relations external to their head (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 83, 98). In those mixed constituents that are in compliance with this principle then, all EL morphemes will be content morphemes, unless they belong to an internal EL island. Myers-Scotton bases the distinction between content and system morphemes on psycho- and neurolinguistic studies; specifically, on the patterns in speech errors made by healthy subjects, and on the types of difficulties in speech production experienced by patients with Broca’s aphasia. The data lead her to conclude that system and content morphemes are retrieved via separate processes (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 56, 65).5 Morphemes accessed during codeswitching are also so divided, with the difference that each class – i.e. system or content – holds the inventory of two languages. Myers-Scotton (1993a: 6–7) defines these categories by virtue of deictic and semantic function, and names three features that distinguish content and system morphemes. The first feature is [+ Quantification]; categories with this feature “pick out individuals or events” and are in this sense deictic. Quantifiers, specifiers, and inflectional morphology are cited as prototypical examples of [+ Quantification] morphemes, which are system morphemes. Content morphemes have the feature [– Quantification], and must also bear either the second or third feature: [+ Thematic Role-Assigner] or [+ Thematic Role-Receiver]. Prototypical examples of content morphemes are verbs, prepositions, nouns and descriptive adjectives. In revisions to the original MLF model, Myers-Scotton (1997: 255) adds “discourse-thematic roles” to the possible criteria for content morphemes: [. . .] because discourse markers assign such discourse-thematic roles, we classify them as content morphemes at the discourse level. For example, in the

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sentence He arrived late; therefore, he missed the plane, therefore is a discourselevel content morpheme. Its discourse-level thematic role is to restrict the range of possibly relevant implicatures of the following CP [phrase headed by a COMP, or complementizer].

In another important change from the model’s first version, complementizers are also considered content morphemes, not system morphemes as before, because they “assign discourse-relevant thematic roles to the CPs which they head” (Myers-Scotton 1997: 256). .. Morpheme Order Principle The Morpheme Order Principle states that the ML will dictate the morpheme order in mixed (i.e. ML + EL) constituents. Myers-Scotton (1993a: 83) describes such constituents as typically consisting of “singly-occurring EL lexemes and any number of ML morphemes”, although some exceptions appear in her data. In the following example, there are multiple EL (English) lexemes, but they still follow ML (Swahili) morpheme order, which has postposition of adjectives: (5) jamaa wa job small person of job small ‘a small-time thief ’ (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 80–81; translation from the original)

The effects of the Morpheme Order Principle may be less evident in a language pair such as Spanish/English, which, although sharing the opposition in example (5), coincide in many other syntactic aspects. .. Bare forms Apparent counterexamples to the principles of the MLF model can occur for stylistic reasons, “in order to serve some socio-pragmatic purpose, such as emphasis” (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 75). In these instances syntactic structure is influenced by sociolinguistic factors. In other cases, adaptive strategies are used to preserve the Morpheme Order and System Morpheme Principles. One of these is the use of bare forms with “a do verb from the ML, carrying any necessary inflections, followed by a bare EL verb stem which provides the semantic content” (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 112). The bare form can vary between infinitive or nominalized forms.

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Such constructions are common in Spanish/English data, particularly in computer and sports vocabulary, although many would be considered cultural borrowings rather than codeswitches under Myers-Scotton’s parameters: (6) haz click; hacer chat make.imp make.inf (7) Quiero practicar windsurf ; practico windsurf 6 Want.3.sing practice.inf practice.1.sing

Reyes cites an example with the bare infinitive in the EL, English, while Spanish supplies the inflectional information: (8) Hizo improve mucho.7 Make.1.sing.past ‘a lot’ ‘He improved a lot.’

.. Embedded Language islands An EL island by definition consists of at least two lexemes in a hierarchical relationship, that is, it must show internal structural-dependency relations. One EL lexeme alone cannot be classified as an island; rather, such a unit will be counted as part of an ML + EL constituent. EL islands are triggered when a morpheme impermissible under the Morpheme Order and System Morpheme Principles is accessed. When this happens, there is no alternative but to finish the constituent with more EL morphemes: EL Island Hypothesis: When there is insufficient congruence between the lemma underlying an EL content morpheme and its ML counterpart at one or more of the three levels of lexical structure, the only way to access the EL element is in an EL island. (Myers-Scotton 1997: 250)

The three levels of lexical structure referred to above are (1) lexical-conceptual, which takes in semantic and pragmatic readings; (2) predicate-argument, which is concerned with relations between verbs and prepositions and their arguments; and (3) morphological patterns (Myers-Scotton 1997: 249–251). The first level represents an adjustment to the EL Island Hypothesis in the earlier MLF model, which mentioned optional EL islands, chief among which were idioms and formulaic expressions. Myers-Scotton later came to regard such constructions as being incongruent on a lexical-conceptual basis, and hence frequent sites for EL islands, because “such expressions often do not translate across languages with exactly the same semantic-pragmatic import” (Myers-

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Scotton 1997: 251). This innovation allowed for a more unified treatment, under which all EL islands are viewed as structurally obligatory.

. Sociolinguistic analyses of codeswitching Sociolinguistic approaches to codeswitching are concerned with the social and pragmatic functions it fulfills for individual speakers, and, on a larger scale, for social groups. Micro- and macrosociolinguistic factors coincide at several points. Microsociolinguistic approaches examine individual speakers’ performance in given speech situations, and their exploitation of codeswitches for metaphoric and stylistic purposes, self-identification, and inclusion or exclusion of interlocutors. These functions exist as a consequence of the larger society’s perceptions of codeswitching as a mode of discourse, its attitudes toward the participating languages, and toward the speakers of those languages. The macrosociolinguistic perspective is concerned with the distribution of codeswitching in various situations, and the relationships between language choice and macro-social power (Heller 1992). .. Discourse functions of codeswitching Speakers use codeswitching for a range of discourse functions: quotation, repetition, interjection, addressee specification, emphasis, clarification, elaboration, focus, attention attraction or retention, personalization versus objectivization, topic shift, and role shift (Gumperz 1982: 75–83; McClure 1998: 133). Codeswitches can frame new versus given information (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 236–237). Many of these same functions are performed by monolingual speakers with the help of prosodic variation or shifts in register (Auer 1988: 210). In this sense, codeswitching can be seen as just one more tool bilingual speakers have in their communicative repertoire. .. Sociopragmatic functions of codeswitching Other pragmatic and social functions of codeswitching have been identified, beyond the level of conversational and discourse organization. None exist in isolation from other factors in the larger social context. Where similar sociolinguistic conditions exist, similar patterns have been found in codeswitching between different language pairs (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 12–13).

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... Conversational inference Codeswitching can be a cue to listeners to make conversational inferences (Gumperz 1982; Gal 1988: 256). This is possible when codeswitching violates the expected constraints of a speech situation; participants will then interpret it as a cue to look beyond the referential meaning for the inferential meaning. However, in situations where codeswitching is the unmarked code, that is, the most usual discourse mode for that particular context, this function will not operate. Just as a set of circumstances must be present for codeswitching to signal conversational inference, so are certain factors required for the switches to have metaphorical meaning. Swigart (1992: 86–87) states that the significance of codeswitching [. . .] is dependent on the larger social context as well as the face to face one between interlocutors, since it is through symbolic associations of various languages that the use of one or another carries different meanings. Heller (1988a) has pointed out that some separation of domains of language use in a community is necessary for codeswitching to be considered a significant act. If there were no such separation, the fact that two languages were used within a single speech interaction would go unnoticed and would thus convey no message beyond the referential content.

... Metaphorical and situational codeswitching Blom and Gumperz (1972) divided codeswitching into three categories: situational, metaphorical and conversational. Both situational and metaphorical codeswitching refer to the consecutive use of more than one language or language variety. In situational switching the two codes are likely to be separated by physical distance, and only one is used in each environment; in metaphorical switching, one topic is spoken of entirely in one language or another. A prototypical example of situational switching is the use of one language at work and another at home. These are two so-called ‘domains’, in which a particular language may be specified by the setting. Other domains are church, school, court, and other public institutions (Fishman 1972). Metaphorical codeswitching occurs when speakers wish to evoke elements of a certain domain, and do so by switching to the language characteristic of that setting. The classic example of this is given by Blom and Gumperz (1972: 424–425), in their description of a transaction in standard Norwegian and the subsequent conversation in a local dialect between a clerk and customer in a public building. In this instance there has been no change in physical setting, only in the topic and type of interaction.

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Metaphorical switching may not always be so neatly separated, however. The topic may change in a conversation such that a speaker might switch to the other language for less than the duration of a sentence before switching back again, just as an interlocutor might switch back when answering or changing the subject. In this way metaphorical switching may present the same surface appearance as conversational switching. Metaphorical codeswitching is often cited in the context of immigrants who switch into the host country’s dominant language to talk about cultural concepts that do not exist in their place of origin. ... Ethnic identification The use of codeswitching as a technique to signal ethnic identity and to probe for shared background knowledge has been well documented (Gumperz & Hernández-Chávez 1975: 154; Gumperz 1982: 72; Sánchez 1983; Blommaert 1992: 67). Emblematic or etiquette switching refers to the use of switching to signal membership in and solidarity with other members of a speech community or ethnic group. Extensive codeswitching is unnecessary to accomplish this purpose. It may be limited to frozen formulaic and tag phrases that do not require the speaker’s fluency in the EL (Gumperz & Hernández-Chávez 1975: 156; Poplack 1982). Gumperz (1982) reports that the direction of the switch has pragmatic value. In diglossic situations the home language is the ‘we’ code, and the institutional language is the ‘they’ code. The former is associated with intimacy and personal involvement, while the latter has connotations of authority and distance. Working with Hindi/English and Spanish/English data, Gumperz manipulated utterances containing parental commands to reverse the direction of the switch. A shift into the ‘they’ code – in example (9), English – was deemed to be suggestive of a warning, while a shift into the ‘we’ code, as in example (10), was considered evocative of a personal appeal: (9) Ven acá (come here). Ven acá (come here). Come here, you. (10) Come here. Come here. Ven acá. (Gumperz 1982: 92; translation from the original)

These conclusions, from the intuitions of bilinguals asked to rate utterances such as the ones above, may be somewhat subjective. It could be argued that the addition of the vocative ‘you’ in (9) is what gives this utterance a more threatening tone than the second one, independent of the direction of the switch. It adds emphasis to the command both by the salience of its utterance final po-

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sition and by its apparent superfluousness. Gumperz (1982: 95) acknowledges this possible subjectivity, and recognizes the importance of macrosociolinguistic influence: Code usage [. . .] reflects conventions created through networks of interpersonal relationships subject to change with changing power relationships and socio-ecological environments, so that sharing of basic conventions cannot be taken for granted. This accounts for the fact that listeners in code switching situations may understand the literal meaning of an utterance but differ in their interpretations of communicative intent.

Swigart (1992: 90), discussing the work of Heredia-Deprez with parent-child interactions in Maghrebian families in Paris, and Auer (1988: 210; 1995: 128), reporting on his work with the children of Italian immigrants in Germany, cite situations in which the direction of the switch appears to be without significance. Valdés (1981: 102) reports similar results for Spanish/English codeswitching among Chicanos. Rather, it is the act of codeswitching itself that has contrastive value, and is thus able to signal conversational implicature. ... The Markedness model Under Myers-Scotton’s Markedness model, speakers make code choices to negotiate interpersonal relationships. Actors in a speech event may select different codes to signal their intentions toward other participants. Code choices are more marked or less marked according to the prevailing set of conventions in any given situation. This includes the possibility of codeswitching itself as an unmarked choice. Situations in which codeswitching is the unmarked choice are discussed in Pfaff (1979), Blommaert (1992), Gysels (1992), and Swigart (1992), among others. Elías-Olivares describes codeswitching as the unmarked choice for certain speech events in which all participants are Chicanos. Codeswitching is the unmarked choice because to use either Spanish or English in isolation would have negative connotations: Speakers have always pointed out that speaking only in Spanish in a [– formal] situation to a Chicano audience will make the audience believe that they are trying to show off. Speaking only in English, on the other hand, will be a signal that the speaker wants to become Anglicized and does not relate to the rest of the bilingual community. (Elías-Olivares 1976: 182 in Pfaff 1979: 293)

Speakers use their knowledge of community standards to recognize which choice “will index an expected rights and obligations set” within “particular conventionalized exchanges in their community” (Myers-Scotton 1990: 90). Codeswitching as a marked choice can be used to increase social distance, to

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exclude, usually on an ethnic basis, and for aesthetic effect (Myers-Scotton 1993b: 132, 135, 139). Language is used to accomplish goals over and above the communication of referential meanings (cf. Austin 1962), and the addressee’s perceptions play an essential role in the achievement of the speaker’s goal. The Markedness model shares this reliance on the interlocutor’s reception of the message: Like the cooperative principle and its related maxims, (Grice 1975) and relevance theory (Sperber and Wilson 1995), the MM [Markedness model] starts with the premise that comprehension of an utterance involves much more than decoding the linguistic signal. All three models include as a second premise that the gap between this decoding and what is actually meant to be communicated can be filled in by inference, a process driven by the certainty that the message carries intentionality in addition to referentiality. (Myers-Scotton 1998b: 20)

Selected concepts from the Markedness model apply to the authors in my data. Particularly useful in this analysis are the economic metaphors used in the model: “Speakers assess the potential costs and rewards of all alternative choices [. . . ]” (Myers-Scotton 1993b: 75). The Markedness model states that speakers make code choices in accordance with five maxims (Myers-Scotton 1998b: 26): The Unmarked Choice Maxim: Make your code choice the unmarked index of the unmarked rights and obligations set in talk exchanges when you wish to establish or affirm that rights and obligations set. The Marked Choice Maxim: Make a marked choice which is not the unmarked index of the unmarked rights and obligations set in an interaction when you wish to establish a new rights and obligations set as unmarked for the current exchange. The Exploratory Choice Maxim: When an unmarked choice is not clear, use switching between speech varieties to make alternate exploratory choices as (alternate) candidates for the unmarked choice and thereby as an index of a rights and obligations set which you favor. Deference Maxim: Switch to a code which expresses deference to others when special respect is called for by the circumstances. Virtuosity Maxim: Switch to whatever code is necessary in order to carry on the conversation/accommodate the participation of all speakers present.

Myers-Scotton (1993b) remarks on the correspondence between certain structural features and the types of codeswitching outlined in the Markedness

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model. She relates sequential unmarked codeswitching – what Gumperz called situational switching – to intersentential codeswitching, and intrasentential codeswitching to unmarked codeswitching. However, these features do not occur in just one category of codeswitching; Myers-Scotton notes that “both CS as a marked choice and CS as an exploratory choice may be realized by intrasentential CS” (1993b: 125). But she emphasizes that intrasentential switching is especially common in situations where codeswitching is the unmarked choice. .. Macrosociolinguistic approaches to codeswitching It is clear that codeswitching does not exist in isolation from social factors. Such factors include at least two levels of interaction: the give and take at the level of the individual conversation and the reaction from society as a whole. One type of the latter contribution is official approval or disapproval of the practice of codeswitching. Sánchez (1983: 140), in her Marxist model of Chicano discourse, examines codeswitching as one more manifestation “of social, political and ideological processes determined by labor relations in society”. Heller (1988b, 1992) and Gal (1988) examine code choice as a reflection of social and political power and as a means to negotiate that power. Codeswitching is seen as a device to establish, maintain or break down boundaries, on a macro- as well as microlevel. Shared conventions are crucial; without this condition the act of language alternation loses its significance. The macrosociolinguistic approach investigates the role of codeswitching in the intersection – or separation – of a smaller speech community within a larger one. Gal (1988: 247) calls for a comparative analysis that interprets codeswitching practices not only as conversational tools that maintain or change ethnic group boundaries and personal relationships but also as symbolic creations concerned with the construction of ‘self ’ and ‘other’ within a broader political economic and historical context.

Heller’s analysis is situated in Ontario and Quebec, and concentrates on the role of code choice, with codeswitching itself being one such choice, as a means to rearrange the balance of political and social power. From a similar perspective, Gal provides a comparison of ethnographic studies carried out in Quebec, Barcelona, Romania, Austria, Germany and New York. Heller (1992: 123) discusses the potential codeswitching has for political symbolism: In a given setting, at a given historical moment, codeswitching may be conventional, or, on the contrary, anti-conventional. In other words, it may represent

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a normal, routine way to use language, or it may violate expectations about how to behave. [. . .] Conventional language practices represent relatively stable relations of power, while violations can be seen as forms of resistance.

Under this model, dominant groups decide which code choices will give speakers an advantage in the language marketplace, in the form of access to commodities such as employment and social prestige. Subordinate groups may acquiesce to or resist these conventions (Heller 1992: 126). The focus of macrosociolinguistic studies of codeswitching up until now has been on speech. A macrosociolinguistic approach, concerned with the conscious selection of code, is also germane to the choices writers make. Recall that according to the Markedness model, individual choices in codeswitching are based on “the relative costs and rewards of one choice over another” (Myers-Scotton 1993b: 7). This suggests implications for the relationship between written codeswitching and market factors. Myers-Scotton’s model is not based on costs and rewards in a strictly financial sense, nor is my adaptation of it exclusively so. Both have to do with the advantages of selecting one option over another in a given situation in order to compete for attention, either from interlocutors or from society at large.

Notes . Myers-Scotton (1990: 85) uses the term matrix language (ML) to refer to the structurally dominant language used in the conversation. The other language, into which codeswitches are made, is the embedded language (EL). . Capital letters in citations refer to texts in my corpus, which will be described in detail in Chapter 2. . All translations are my own, unless otherwise indicated. To facilitate distinction between what belongs to the original text, which may contain both English and Spanish, and what belongs to my translation, single quotation marks enclose all of my translations except morphemic glosses. . Brief portions of this section were first published in: Callahan, L. (2002). The Matrix Language Frame Model and Spanish/English Codeswitching in Fiction. Language & Communication, 22(1), 1–16. . In revisions to the MLF model, Myers-Scotton specifies three different types of system morphemes, according to when they are accessed and whether they depend on grammatical information occurring within or outside of their immediate maximal projection (MyersScotton & Jake 2000). This is discussed more in Chapter 3. See also Myers-Scotton and Jake (2000), Myers-Scotton (2001), and Myers-Scotton and Jake (2001).

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Codeswitching . Windsurfing phrases are from letters of visitors to the Argentine website , accessed via Yahoo en español 6 June 2000. . Recall that Reyes categorized all single EL words as borrowing. He refers to this type of construction as “spontaneous borrowing”, because the English word improve does not undergo structural adaptation, and it “is not incorporated in the Chicano Spanish lexicon” (Reyes 1976: 183, 188). As will be seen in Chapter 3, there are many examples of this (hacer + INFL) + (English bare stem) construction in my data.

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The texts From single word switches to every other phrase

. Corpus texts The purpose of this chapter is to present the corpus used for this study and its particular characteristics. Text summaries are provided, to which the reader may refer later when passages from the individual works appear. The parameters used for the structural analysis in Chapter 3 are given, as well as an explanation of the ways in which the opposition between dialogue and narrative complicate the analysis. .. Parameters for corpus selection The corpus consists of thirty texts, with a total of 2,954 pages: ten short stories and nine novels/novellas in which the ML is English, and eight short stories and three novels/novellas in which the ML is Spanish. Texts range in length from three to 426 pages, and are diverse in the amount of codeswitching they contain. Four variables are constant across the corpus: each text is fiction prose containing Spanish/English1 codeswitching, published in the United States between 1970–2000. In the selection of texts, two factors were taken into account: representativeness of the larger pool of data, and the overall amount and character of the codeswitching. An attempt was made to balance these two factors. In the majority of texts published in the United States containing Spanish/English codeswitching, the ratio of EL to ML material is small, the style of codeswitching is predictable, and the cognitive demands on a reader monolingual in the ML are minimal. Because I wanted the corpus to reflect what is available on the general market, it contains several texts of this type. However, for the purposes of a syntactic analysis it was desirable to include texts with both a higher percentage of EL material, and more divergent patterns of codeswitching. Accordingly, the corpus also contains texts characterized by language alternation much more dense in form and style.

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Other characteristics of the larger pool of data are also present in the corpus; one of these is the larger number of texts in which the ML is English. In addition, authorship of fiction with codeswitching is concentrated among certain writers, who tend to produce multiple works in which it is a feature. Reflecting this concentration, there are six instances of more than one text by the same author in the corpus. The number of texts per author was limited to two; thus, for thirty texts, there are twenty-four authors. The majority of the authors belong to one of two ethnic groups, although this was not an explicit parameter in the corpus selection; it is, rather, a reflection of the natural population of writers using Spanish/English codeswitching in the United States. Fourteen are Chicano, one is Spanish and another, Mexican, all writing on Chicano themes; six are Puerto Rican or Nuyorican; and the remaining two are non-Latino. Of the latter pair, one writes entirely on Chicano themes. The following section contains an exposition of the texts. .. Text summaries Texts are presented in ascending order of the amount and complexity of codeswitching they contain. Under each heading is a summary of the work’s thematic content and overall style of codeswitching. This includes the location and general structure of the codeswitching, the presence or absence of literal or contextual translation, and of metalinguistic references. Texts which have English as their ML are summarized first. Some of the texts contain multilevel codeswitching, codeswitching within codeswitching as it were. In such texts, an ML is assigned on the basis of which language is used for the main narration, and the one to which the author returns in those sections that are not dominated by alternation between Spanish and English. The EL is italicized only in those texts indicated. Texts are coded according to genre, ML, and the author’s initials. Thus, SEGS refers to a short story with English as the matrix language, written by Gary Soto. Two texts of the same genre and ML written by the same author are distinguished by numbers in subscript, which are ordered alphabetically according to title. For example, SSJA1 refers to a story with Spanish as the ML, written by Justo S. Alarcón, entitled “Despojo”, while SSJA2 refers to another story by the same author, entitled “Reconocimiento”. In the References, texts are cited in alphabetical order of author’s last name, under the heading Corpus Texts, which is divided into subsections by genre and ML. The number preceding each code is for use in locating summaries the reader wishes to refer back to. In Appendix A titles are listed in alphabetical order by code – NEAD,

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NECM, etc. – and the code is followed by the number that precedes it in this chapter’s text summary section. Following these summaries, tendencies that emerge in common across the corpus will be discussed.

1. SEGS Gary Soto. 1990. “Two Dreamers.” 10 pp. Nine-year-old Hector spends summers with his grandparents in Fresno, California. Hector’s grandfather, who immigrated from Mexico in his late twenties, enlists the boy’s help in calling a realtor. His dream is to buy a house which he will resell at a profit, to earn money to retire to Mexico. There are no explicit metalinguistic references, but the implication behind the old man’s bribing of his grandson to telephone the realtor is that the youngster has a better command of English. Codeswitching is in dialogue and narrative; all Spanish is italicized. Intrasentential codeswitches consist entirely of nouns and noun phrases (NPs). Intersentential codeswitches are followed or preceded by a literal translation. Because of this and the small quantity of EL material, the monolingual reader would have no difficulty deciphering the text. 2. NEGS Gary Soto. 1991. Taking Sides. 135 pp. Fourteen-year-old Lincoln Mendoza moves from San Francisco’s Mission District to a predominately white suburb. His new basketball coach holds a grudge against the school from which the boy comes for an incident that occurred when he was Lincoln’s age. Lincoln’s mother is dating a white man, who earns the boy’s respect when he defends him against the coach. There is one metalinguistic reference, wherein an English monolingual character protests Lincoln’s use of Spanish with a female classmate (15). Codeswitching appears almost exclusively in the dialogue, where single nouns and intersentential switches dominate. In the few cases with no literal translation, contextual clues are present. A glossary provides translations of any EL material unaccompanied by such in the text. All Spanish is italicized. 3. NEAR Abraham Rodríguez, Jr. 1993. Spidertown. 323 pp. A sixteen-year-old boy escapes an abusive father by becoming a drug runner in the Bronx, where he shares an apartment with his mentor, an arsonist. When he meets a girl uninvolved with street life, he decides to leave the drug trade and move in with his mother and stepfather. There are two metalinguistic references. The first is a statement that for his mother to speak English was a sign of irritation, a warning of impending words of anger in Spanish (205). The second occurs when a police detective questions him in Spanish at his hospital

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bed, where he lies recovering from a gunshot wound; he responds with difficulty in that language until his mother tells the detective to use English (294). Codeswitching appears in both dialogue and narrative, mostly the former. The amount of EL material is so small as to present no problem to the monolingual reader, besides which there is some contextual translation.

4. SENM2 Nicholasa Mohr. 1994b. (1977) “The Robbery.” 31 pp. After a fifteen-year-old boy is killed by the owner of a luncheonette he tried to rob, his mother pickets the business in an attempt to get money to pay for her son’s tombstone. The characters are residents of a Puerto Rican barrio in New York (as in SENM1 , Text #5). There are no metalinguistic references. Codeswitching is confined to the dialogue. Taboo words, and religious exclamations dominate. In several instances a literal translation or paraphrase precedes or follows the EL material. The amount of Spanish is so small as to cause no difficulty to the monolingual reader. 5. SENM1 Nicholasa Mohr. 1994a. (1977) “The English Lesson.” 24 pp. One in a collection of eight related stories, this episode takes place in an ESL night class in New York City’s Lower East Side. The two main characters, recent arrivals from Puerto Rico, have classmates who are Dominican, Italian, Polish, and Chinese. There are several metalinguistic references, in accordance with the main theme of the story. Codeswitching is in the dialogue only. Conjunctions, followed by verb phrases (VPs), are the most represented syntactic category. The codeswitching appears to be involuntary, due to the characters’ inability to maintain an entire conversation in English. There are a few switches to Italian, in the speech of a Sicilian immigrant, and also in the Spanish of the Dominican character. In an exchange between two other characters, Spanish is the ML with switches to English. Contextual translation is limited, but the amount of EL is too small to constitute an impediment to the monolingual reader. 6. SEEX Emanuel Xavier. 1999. “Banjee Hustlers.” 9 pp. Mikey, a young “half-Puerto-Rican” gay man, finds family with others like him in a world of all-night dance parties, drugs, and prostitution. The action takes place in an abandoned church in New York City, and culminates in an extremely violent incident. There are no metalinguistic references. All codeswitching is in dialogue; Spanish is italicized. There are an equal number of nouns and independent clauses. The majority are expletives and vocatives, followed by directives. There is no translation, but none of the EL material is essential to comprehension of the argument, and its quantity overall is minimal.

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7. NEEQ Ernesto Quiñonez. 2000. Bodega Dreams. 213 pp. The protagonist recounts the rise and fall of William Carlos Irizarry, a.k.a. Bodega, a local hero who uses profits from his drug trade to help loyal residents in Spanish Harlem. The narrator is a young husband and father-to-be, a college student whose attempts to avoid involvement with criminal elements are frustrated by his obligation to show solidarity with childhood friends. Metalinguistic references include positive mention of a variety of Spanish that features borrowings from English. The majority of codeswitching consists of set phrases, often of a religious nature, expletives, directives, nouns and NPs. There is some contextual translation; the overall amount of Spanish, all italicized, is small. 8. SEIH Inés Hernández-Avila. 1995. “Enedina’s Story.” 11 pp. Two women, graduate students and members of the Chicano and Native American Movements, discuss internal politics, feminism, substance abuse, and sexual behavior as they prepare food for a fund-raiser. There are no metalinguistic references. Codeswitching appears in both dialogue and narrative; all Spanish is italicized. Single nouns, NPs, and independent clauses dominate. There is enough contextual translation and the EL material is marginal enough to the main argument for the monolingual reader to have little difficulty. 9. NEPT Piri Thomas. 1972. Savior, Savior, Hold My Hand. 365 pp. The protagonist recounts experiences from his childhood in Spanish Harlem, his early encounters with racism, gangs, drug addiction and prison, and later experiences with fatherhood, religion, writing and working with at-risk youth. There are several metalinguistic references. Codeswitching appears in both dialogue and narrative; nouns, NPs, and interjections dominate. Parenthetical translation follows much of the EL material; a glossary provides definitions of everything else. 10. NEFG Felix Garcia and Randall Jimenez. 1996. Voices of Matatlan. 382 pp. This novel follows Juan Galván from his childhood in a family of farmworkers in California to his graduation as class valedictorian from San José State College in 1957. In between are encounters with the racism of teachers and classmates in school, and of the Los Angeles police, who arrest him for wearing a zoot suit. He enlists in the Army as an alternative to prison, and serves in Europe in World War II. When he returns home as a veteran decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor, he finds only menial work, until he is admitted to college on the G. I. Bill. Family members educate Juan on his mestizo

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heritage. There are numerous metalinguistic references. Codeswitching is in dialogue only, concentrated in vocatives and kinship names, and nouns and NPs. This and the low amount of EL material overall facilitate comprehension for monolingual readers.

11. NEAD Abelardo Delgado. 1982. Letters to Louise. 134 pp. In letters to a woman he has never met, the narrator recounts incidents from his childhood in Mexico and the United States, and his current life as a university professor and organizer of Migrant Councils. There are several metalinguistic references. Codeswitching figures in both the dialogue and narrative, dominated by single nouns and NPs, with some intersentential switches also. There is a substantial amount of translation, usually immediately following the codeswitches, occasionally indicated by parentheses. The overall amount of Spanish is insufficient to impede a monolingual reader’s comprehension of the argument, although such a reader would miss some of the narrative elaboration. 12. SEJS Jim Sagel. 1991a. “The Late Joe Hurts.” 19 pp. Set in a small town in New Mexico, this story takes the form of a bartender’s monologue addressed to a customer. She gives details of the escapades of one of her regular customers, from whose funeral she has just returned. There is one metalinguistic reference. Nouns and interjections are the most frequent EL elements, of which there are not enough to impede a monolingual reader’s comprehension. There is also some contextual translation and repetition. 13. NEGK Gary D. Keller. 1994. Zapata Lives! 122 pp. Mexican revolutionary leader Emiliano Zapata returns to present day Mexico to lead his people in their struggle against economic and social oppression. A humorous tone combines with history lesson, as portions of Zapata’s most important manifestos are included. Metalinguistic references include mention of the ability to speak Náhuatl, a characteristic of the original Zapata. Most codeswitches are nouns and NPs, in dialogue and narrative; some set phrases also appear, as well as codeswitching within verbal constructions. There is very little in-text translation; no parenthetical and only limited use of contextual explanations and repetition. However, a glossary translates all Spanish words and phrases, as well as longer passages of songs and poems cited in Spanish and Náhuatl within the text.

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14. NECM Cormac McCarthy. 1994. The Crossing. 426 pp. A sixteen-year-old boy makes three trips on horseback into Mexico from his family’s ranch in New Mexico. There are numerous metalinguistic references. These range from mention of the boy’s grandmother, a Mexican woman who spoke no English, and who is, it is implied, the reason for the boy’s ability to speak Spanish, to encounters with indigenous people in Mexico who speak little Spanish. Codeswitching consists of single nouns in the narrative and whole sentences in the dialogue. All direct speech which would have been uttered in Spanish is so rendered in the text; all indirect speech is in English. This, as well as some other contextual clues, helps the monolingual reader decipher EL material. The amount of Spanish in proportion to the entire text is small, but is in a concentrated form which, even if the overall argument can still be grasped, will disrupt comprehension. 15. NECT Charley B. Trujillo. 1994. Dogs From Illusion. 199 pp. Three young Chicanos from a farming town in the Central Valley of California become soldiers in Vietnam. There are several metalinguistic references, ranging from the suspension of one character from high school for speaking Spanish (4), to criticism of different varieties of Spanish, and censure for speaking English. Codeswitching appears in the dialogue between the soldiers and between them and their family members, although more of the latter is in monolingual Spanish. Nouns and independent clauses predominate. Most of the Spanish, much of it Caló, is translated in footnotes. The ML of the narrative is English, but there are ML shifts to Spanish in the dialogue. 16. SEGK Gary D. Keller. 1989. “The Raza Who Scored Big in Anáhuac.” 17 pp. The protagonist narrates his experiences as a university student from California spending his junior year in Mexico. He and a Mexican student compare the cultural stereotypes each has of the other. Metalinguistic references include mention of the narrator’s lack of proficiency in written Spanish, his admiration for a professor’s command of that language, and his friend’s criticism of this professor’s use of Spanish to advocate reform for people who speak an indigenous language. Codeswitching occurs in both dialogue and narrative, featuring nouns and independent clauses. Despite some contextual translation, paraphrase, and explanation, some of the dialogue would remain beyond the comprehension of a monolingual reader.

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17. SEGM A. Gabriel Meléndez. 1987. “Visiones Otoñales/Autumn Visions.” 6 pp. The narrator recounts the coming-of-age experiences of his adolescence: buying beer with a fake driver’s license, trying to meet girls, and driving down country roads where he sees white neighborhoods that are in sharp contrast to his own barrio. There are no metalinguistic references. Codeswitching appears in both dialogue and narrative, primarily nouns and NPs. There is some contextual translation. The amount of Spanish would challenge the monolingual reader, although it would not ultimately prevent comprehension of the main argument. 18. SEMV Manuel Vélez. 1992. “En El Eastside.” 6 pp. The protagonist narrates scenes from his childhood and adolescence in a Chicano neighborhood. Discrimination directed at him and his friends for their mode of dress culminates in the death of one of their companions. There is one metalinguistic reference, in which the narrator recounts the humiliation of an elementary school classmate who cannot read English very well. All codeswitching occurs in the narrative; there is no direct speech. In descending order of frequency, codeswitches are nouns, conjunctions, and independent clauses. The reader with no knowledge of Spanish – or Caló – would still be able to get the gist of the story, but there is enough EL material to interfere with comprehension. 19. SEFT Francisca Tenorio. 1987. “Old Dogs New Tricks.” 4 pp. A Department of Agriculture project brings a university professor into contact with a small town’s population of senior citizens, with humorous results. Metalinguistic references pertain to the residents’ lack of competence in English, and the project’s failure to provide Spanish-speaking personnel. The majority of codeswitches are of phrase and clause length. There is some contextual translation; comprehension of the story as a whole would be difficult, although not impossible, for a reader monolingual in English. 20. SSJA1 Justo S. Alarcón. 1981. “Despojo.” 9 pp. This story is set in a striptease club in what seems to be a town on the U.S.Mexican border. The narrative’s highly figurative language contrasts with the dialogue, which appears at intervals in free direct discourse, in a much more informal register, punctuated by taboo words and suggestions of violence. There are no explicit metalinguistic references, only the one implicit in the protagonist’s insistence on being called by the Anglicized version of her name (37).

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With the exception of a few food terms, codeswitching occurs exclusively in the dialogue, and is mostly intersentential. Many of the codeswitches to English are repetitions of vocatives in Spanish. The amount of EL is small, and its place in the narrative is marginal. The reader with no knowledge of English would miss only certain nuances.

21. SSAG Alicia Gaspar de Alba. 1984. “El pavo.” 7 pp. A little girl speaks English and plays out of doors in defiance of her grandfather’s ideas of proper behavior. The old man, recently widowed, disapproves of his son’s plans to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for his granddaughter. Metalinguistic references revolve around the grandfather’s prohibition of English being spoken in his house. Codeswitching is mostly confined to the dialogue, consisting of nouns and whole sentences. There is no translation or paraphrase, but the amount of EL is small enough so as to present no serious problem to the monolingual reader. 22. SSJA2 Justo S. Alarcón. 1981b. “Reconocimiento.” 9 pp. Pre-Columbian rivalry between the Aztecs and the Tarrascans is reborn in the persons of Juan Díaz, Mexican, and Johnny Díaz, Chicano, who exchange words across the U.S.-Mexican border. The narrative is punctuated by free direct discourse. Metalinguistic references refer to the Chicano’s habit of speaking both Spanish and English. Codeswitching is confined to the dialogue; the majority is intersentential, often for the purpose of quotation. A reader who understood no English would miss entire paragraphs of conversation, but would nevertheless be able to grasp the argument. 23. SSJS Jim Sagel. 1991b. “El difunto Joe Hurts.” 18 pp. The thematic content and metalinguistic references are the same as for SEJS (Text #12); the codeswitching is more extensive than in the English ML version. With codeswitches mostly at clause level, the amount of EL material would not impede comprehension by a reader unable to understand English. 24. NSMC Margarita Cota-Cárdenas. 1985. Puppet. 135 pp. A Chicana professor risks her life to expose the facts in the death of a Chicano youth at the hands of police. Events are narrated almost entirely in free direct discourse framed as direct speech. There are several metalinguistic references, from recollections of punishment for speaking Spanish in school, the resultant illiteracy in that language, and language loss across the generations. Codeswitches to English signal the speech of Anglophone characters

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with whom the protagonist interacts, including her college-aged daughter. Intrasentential codeswitches figure in the dialogue of one character; otherwise, the majority is intersentential. Entire paragraphs of English represent quotes from past conversations and newspaper articles. A reader monolingual in Spanish would miss much elaboration, but would still be able to grasp the main argument.

25. NSGB Giannina Braschi. 1998. Yo-Yo Boing! 205 pp. This novel is divided into three sections, two of which consist of interior monologue entirely in Spanish. The middle section, in which codeswitching appears, centers on the combative relationship between two lovers who are writers, academics and rivals. Their dialogue features literary and political debates in which a recurrent theme is the question of how to define contemporary Puerto Rican cultural and linguistic identity. Metalinguistic references are numerous, since much of the characters’ dialogue centers on language choice. The practice of codeswitching is championed by the protagonist and denigrated by her lover. Codeswitches are mostly between independent clauses and paragraphs, but there are also some intrasentential switches. An ability to read both Spanish and English is necessary to follow the argument of this book. 26. SSSCP2 Carlos Ponce-Meléndez. 1999. “Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.” 8 pp. Neighborhood matriarch Doña Mercedes, a native of Mexico who currently resides in a working-class section of Austin, Texas, describes her life of hard work, raising six children, and counseling neighbors. There are no metalinguistic references. Codeswitching occurs in the dialogue only, in the form of nouns and VPs. There is no translation. The amount of EL is not enough to completely impede understanding by a monolingual reader, but it would disrupt the flow of the story. 27. SSCV Christine Vigil. 1992. “Jardín de Chimayó.” 3 pp. This is an adaptation of the story of Adam and Eve’s banishment from the Garden of Eden; in Vigil’s version the snake is a cholo in a fifty-seven Chevy lowrider. A metalinguistic reference is made when Adam blames his fall from grace on his ability to understand more than one language. The ML is Spanish for the first two thirds of the story, based on quantity and language of narration. However, even within this portion there is codeswitching within the codeswitching, involving ML shifts. In the final third of the story there are whole paragraphs in English – the EL in the beginning of the story –

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with codeswitches to Spanish. Nouns and NPs account for the majority of the codeswitching, which is in both narrative and dialogue, although there is more in the latter. There is no contextual translation of codeswitches to either English or Spanish; a reader monolingual in Spanish could follow the argument, but would miss much elaboration.

28. SSCP1 Carlos Ponce-Meléndez. 1999. “Doña Bilingüe.” 6 pp. A woman of advanced years, in failing health, relates her experiences raising nine children, and compares present-day parenting practices to her own. She makes several metalinguistic references, to her children and grandchildren’s lack of competence in Spanish. Codeswitching is mostly at clause level, with no translation, which nevertheless would not prevent a monolingual Spanishspeaker from grasping the argument. 29. SSJB José Antonio Burciaga. 1992a. “¿Cómo la Vicks?” 4 pp. The narrator relates his experience as a presenter at a conference where an audience member asserts that the Chicano Movement is dead. The rest of the story consists of his meditations on this question. The reader is addressed directly as ése and man. There is one metalinguistic reference in which the narrator comments on reactions to his use of Caló. The overall ML of the text is Spanish, but there are shifts from one sentence to another, and also at mid-sentence, with many internal EL islands. There is no translation, but a reader monolingual in Spanish would still be able to get the gist of the argument. 30. NSRH Rolando Hinojosa. 1981. Mi querido Rafa. 112 pp. In the first half of this novella, the narrator uses letters to his cousin to report on politics in Belken County, Texas, and to acquaint the reader with the main players in the Anglo and Latino communities of this region. The second half of the novella consists of various characters’ recollections of the letter-writer, framed by the commentary of a third character. Most of the novella consists of direct speech. There are several metalinguistic references. In the first half, codeswitching is present in both dialogue and narrative. In the latter part of the first half, the ML seems to shift at every sentence, within a discourse-driven pattern wherein one language frames, introduces or comments on information in another. A reader with no English would still be able to grasp the main gist of the first part, although much elaboration would be missed. For the second half, in which the narrator uses monolingual Spanish but most of his fictional informants use monolingual English, reading ability in both languages is essential.

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.. Thematic content In Chapter 5 three conditions are discussed; I predict that at least one of them will be present in all fiction published in the United States containing Spanish/English codeswitching. These three conditions are: 1. The setting is one in which Spanish would be the usual language. 2. The characters – or narrator – are ones for whom Spanish (or Spanish/English codeswitching) would be the usual language. 3. The thematic content centers on social, political or cultural issues germane to the Latino community. This prediction is based on the characteristics found in some forty to fifty texts examined prior to corpus selection. These texts, which are in addition to the thirty texts that were ultimately chosen for the corpus, include poetry, drama, and nonfiction as well as fiction. I encountered no text containing Spanish/English codeswitching written by a non-Latino author in which one of the other conditions was not present. In other words, there seem to be no authors who, lacking an ethnic connection to Spanish, codeswitch into that language to write about topics unrelated to issues commonly associated with Spanish-speakers in this country. A counterexample to my prediction would exist if I, for example, were to publish a story about my grandmother in a small New Hampshire town in 1914, or about my mother-in-law in Upper Michigan in the early 1920s, and I used Spanish/English codeswitching in the dialogue, narrative, or both. I, the hypothetical author, after several years of exposure to and study of Spanish frequently use it with English when writing, but I have no ethnic connection to the language, either racial or cultural. The two aforementioned people have no such connection either, and neither speaks or spoke Spanish. In neither of the scenarios mentioned would Spanish have been heard, read, spoken, or understood, nor would social issues popularly associated with U.S. Latinos be a likely topic of discussion. Jim Sagel is the closest equivalent in the corpus to the type of writer I use myself as an example of above. As an adult he moved to New Mexico, acquired Spanish, and married into a Latino, Spanish-speaking family. He reports that after five or six years of daily exposure to Spanish, he found himself hard-pressed to write exclusively in English (P. Rodríguez 1992: 137–138). All of his stories are set in New Mexico and have Latino characters, thus fulfilling conditions one, two and sometimes three. This contrasts with the work of James Joyce and Julio Cortázar, where languages other than the author’s native one appear in discourse in which neither the ethnicity of the speaker nor the subject matter motivates their use.

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Compare this to the situation Timm notes for the Russian aristocracy in the nineteenth century: “French seems to have been spoken daily, to some extent, in many upper-class households” (1978: 237). French was a language of great prestige in this time period and was learned by non-native speakers in many countries. It was used among the elite to signal their membership in a determined group, just as Spanish/English codeswitching is used to mark ingroup membership. The third condition is sometimes explicitly encouraged, and may indeed be a requirement for publication. For example, Calaca Press, a small independent publisher in San Diego, California that bills itself as “A Chicano press dedicated to Raza writers and artists [publishing] bilingual books for bilingual people”, specifies in its submissions guidelines: “Content. Relevance to our gente. The Chicano/Latino experience” (announcement via e-mail, 13 September 1999, “Be a part of RAZA SPOKEN HERE Volume 2”, ). My prediction regarding the three conditions is borne out in the corpus. Twenty-two of the texts feature Chicano characters. All of these texts are set at least partially in either California or the Southwestern United States; in five of them all or some of the action takes place in Mexico. Seven other texts feature Puerto Rican/Nuyorican characters, and are set in New York City. The remaining text features Anglo characters who travel from their home in New Mexico to Mexico. Hence, in every one of the thirty texts in the corpus, codeswitching to Spanish has authentic motivation. Aside from the setting and the language of the characters and/or the narrator, thematic content is diverse, although there are some topics that surface in several texts. Political activism figures to various degrees in eight (.26) of the texts, and racial discrimination is a subject in fifteen, that is, in half of the corpus. .. Codeswitching to languages other than Spanish or English Codeswitching to languages other than Spanish and English is in most instances driven by the characters or setting. The use of Náhuatl in NEGK, as the author explains in the forward, is motivated by a wish to authenticate a character based on Emiliano Zapata, a native speaker of that language. In NSMC occasional codeswitches to Italian occur in flashbacks to dialogue with the narrator’s ex-husband, who is Italian. Italian also appears in NEPT, mainly for curse words, in the speech of Italian-American gang members in 1950s New York. In contrast, the French used in NSGB falls more into the category that

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has been described as artificial codeswitching, as does the German in NSRH. This will be discussed in Chapter 5.

. Preparation for the analysis .. Methodology Annotation and tabulation of the data was performed manually. Codeswitches were isolated as follows. All material in Spanish, for texts in which the ML was English, or English, for those in which the ML was Spanish, was highlighted. This procedure also facilitated identification of the ML of those texts which had a greater balance between Spanish and English. However, as I will discuss below, a visual preponderance of one language is not always an accurate indicator of the ML, which may fluctuate throughout the text. .. What is counted as a codeswitch: Codeswitching vs. borrowing revisited Codeswitched forms may become borrowed forms through their adoption by monolinguals, the process by which they enter the ML lexicon (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 182). Recall that Myers-Scotton uses a frequency metric to classify EL forms as borrowings or codeswitches; forms with a more frequent occurrence – in her Swahili/English data, three or more instances – are classified as borrowings, whereas forms appearing less than that are considered codeswitches. I adopt one of the criteria mentioned by Myers-Scotton to distinguish borrowings – entrance into the ML lexicon as evidenced by their availability to monolinguals (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 192; cf. Graedler 1999: 330) – but not the other, degree of frequency. Borrowings were excluded from my data on a qualitative rather than quantitative basis. Borrowings, from Spanish into English or from English into Spanish, were classified on the basis of phonological and/or morphological adaptation, as reflected in spelling, and on the integration of the word into the lexicon of the ML. If access to the word in question would be limited to speakers with at least some bilingual competence, it was considered to be a codeswitch. If a word of Spanish or English origin appeared in a standard monolingual English or Spanish dictionary, it was counted as a borrowing. Following are examples of words considered to be loans. Borrowings from English into Spanish, so classified on the basis of phonological adaptation include: dompe ‘dump’, fil ‘field’, lonche ‘lunch’, troca, troque ‘truck’, wachar ‘to

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watch, to see’; and on the basis of entrance into the lexicon of Spanish: watercloset, Internet, weekend. Borrowings from Spanish into the lexicon of English include aficionado, hacienda, patio, politico, rodeo, and countless culinary terms such as chili, chili con carne, enchilada, taco, tamale, and tortilla. All of these have undergone phonological adaptation to English, although only two of the examples cited here – chili and tamale – show orthographic modification. Of the remaining material, after borrowings were discarded, any constituent highlighted was considered to be a codeswitch, whether it consisted of a single word, phrase, or entire sentence. Proper names and toponyms were not included. Kinship terms were counted as codeswitches in certain cases. In Spanish, kinship terms do not normally appear without a determiner except in direct address, i.e. vocative position. In one text Spanish kinship terms seem to be used as proper names, as they often are in English, that is, capitalized and without determiners, and hence were not counted as codeswitches, although one might argue that these constitute bare forms. This phenomenon occurs in one text (NEFG) only, but with numerous tokens. In this text the English equivalents of kinship terms also appear, also capitalized, but there are also Spanish kinship terms well-formed with a determiner. The latter are counted as codeswitches. In the example below, Abuelo ‘grandfather’ is not counted as a codeswitch; note that the possessive inflection is an additional feature of its adaptation to English. (1) Juan loved to listen to Abuelo’s stories.

(NEFG 10; italics added)

In another text, this one with Spanish as the ML, English kinship terms were counted as codeswitches, because they seemed to function only as vocatives and terms of reference, but not as proper names. In the following example, ‘Daddy’ is counted as a codeswitch despite its capitalization, because of the inconsistency of that feature; in other instances the same word appears uncapitalized in both vocative and referential position.2 Also counted as a codeswitch in this example is grandpa. (2) – Ahí voy, grandpa. Le ‘stoy enseñando a mi Daddy un cartwheel. ‘I’m coming, Grandpa. I’m showing my daddy a cartwheel.’ (SSAG 28)

Finally, there may be another reason for treating a word as a borrowing, even when the two conditions outlined here – phonological or morphological adaptation to the ML, and entrance into the general lexicon of ML monolingual speakers – are not met. This will be discussed in Chapter 3.

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... Determining the Matrix Language Designation of an ML is crucial to a test of the MLF model’s principles, as this will in turn determine which instances of codeswitching corroborate the theory and which represent counterexamples. Recall that Myers-Scotton outlines a dual parameter, structural and sociolinguistic. In structural terms, the ML is the language that supplies the grammatical frame. It is also often, if not always, the language that contributes more morphemes. In the original version of the MLF model, Myers-Scotton acknowledged that “[t]here may be corpora which show an approximate 50/50 split between languages in morpheme frequency for CS discourse” (1993a: 69). She cautioned that the ML cannot be determined by one sentence alone; rather it “can only be identified in sentences containing CS material if such sentences are considered as part of a larger corpus” (1993a: 68). The ML also dictates the morpheme order, and all late system morphemes must come from the ML unless they appear in an EL island. In sociolinguistic terms, the ML is the unmarked code, the expected choice for the individual interaction, and often also the one for the most types of interactions community wide. In psychological terms, the ML is the language speakers consider themselves to be speaking. For example, researchers have noted situations in which a variety of a native language with codeswitches to English is regarded by participants “as a variety of their mother tongue, and not as a variety of English” (Annamalai 1978: 240).3 In support of the psychological reality of the ML, Myers-Scotton (1993a: 70) cites evidence from a study in which speakers’ intuitions were tested. Kamwangamalu and Lee (1991) presented sentences with Mandarin Chinese/English codeswitching to 59 Chinese-English bilinguals in Singapore. Subjects indicated whether they considered each of ten sentences to be Chinese- or English-based, first after listening to, and two weeks later after reading, the same sentences. They report up to seventy percent consensus among the informants as to the ML of half of the sentences. Myers-Scotton’s convention of assigning the ML on the basis of which language contributes the system morpheme order, which is usually also the one that contributes more morphemes, does not always work for Spanish/English data. Unlike her Swahili/English data set, there are many instances of identical syntax between Spanish and English. In these cases the morpheme order offers no help in the assignment of an ML, although the number of morphemes may. Although she is at pains to make clear that a determination of the ML cannot be based on counting morphemes alone, quantity is a parameter to which she returns in the original exposition of the model, for the simple reason that it is the one most subject to empirical verification (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 66–

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67). Assigning an ML on a quantitative basis also has intuitive value for most speakers. In the case of my corpus texts, in which one language may predominate for several pages before a codeswitch is seen, a quantity-driven criterion makes sense. ... Written vs. oral codeswitching: Multiple levels Before embarking on the analysis, a point that was noted in Chapter 1 should be revisited. That is, that heretofore no structural model of codeswitching constraints has been proposed for nor formulated exclusively on the basis of written data. In applying a model developed for speech to written data, a problem immediately presents itself. This problem originates in the two-dimensional nature of fiction texts, the opposition between dialogue and narrative. A common feature across the corpus is dialogue in which the ML is opposite from that of the text as a whole. For example, a text which has English as the ML may have exchanges between characters in which the ML is Spanish. Within this dialogue there may be codeswitching to English. In such cases, it seems counter-intuitive to treat all of the dialogue as codeswitching from English to Spanish, and to treat the English within the dialogue as part of the ML. This is the position one would be forced into in order to retain a single ML/EL set for each text. My solution is to assign multiple MLs to a single text wherever it seems appropriate. I have done this for cases like the one just described, when there are large, monolingual or near-monolingual passages in both languages within the same text. Multiple MLs are also a factor in texts in which the ML fluctuates constantly. The assignment of an ML determines what is then counted as a codeswitch, and what type of constituent the latter is considered to instantiate. The following two examples are from a novel in which the ML is English and from a story in which it is Spanish, respectively. The page from which the first example comes contains otherwise only a few words in Spanish. Nevertheless, it seems illogical to designate the dialogue in this example as having English for its ML: (3) “Dale un pinche kiss y vamonos4 a la verga,” says Machete. ‘Give her a fucking kiss and let’s get the fuck out of here’ (NECT 28; translation from the original; italics added)

The text surrounding the next example is almost entirely in Spanish, yet it seems most appropriate to designate the ML of this sentence as English.

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(4) – Mrs. Aguirre, su hija is a whore. ‘your daughter’

(SSJA1 34; italics added)

Given the prevalence of single nouns and NPs as codeswitches in my corpus as well as in the data discussed in all of the codeswitching literature, it seems correct to treat kiss and su hija as EL elements. Thus, we would consider the language of the narrative, English in NECT and Spanish in SSJA1 , to be the ML on one level, that is, of the text as a whole. But in at least some of the dialogue, the opposite language is the ML. This results in some material bearing a double classification. On one level, which we may call external, the dialogue represents EL material in opposition to the narration. But on another, internal, level, it is ML material in which the ML of the work as a whole becomes an EL. A similar situation can be seen in the following example. Spanish is the language of narration for the text from which this passage is taken, but extended sections contain fictional interviews with characters who know Spanish but whose habitual language is English. The italicized phrase represents a secondlevel codeswitch, that is, a codeswitch from the internal ML to the internal EL: (5) “We never, well, seldom at any rate, we ah, seldom saw each other socially except for bank parties or political barbecues. . .He just never did take the barbecues seriously; he ah, he thought they were one big joke, you know. I really don’t understand why Noddy, (El esc. notó que el declarante dobló la cara primero a la derecha y luego a la izquierda) Mr. Perkins, Noddy. . .no sé por qué lo ocupó. I mean, he, Jehú, had a certain flair for this type of work, but ah. . . (‘The author noted that the speaker turned his face first to the right and then to the left’) ‘. . .I don’t know why he hired him.’ (NSRH 58; italics added)

Finally, there are texts in which there is one language of narration, interspersed both with dialogue monolingual in one language or the other, and with dialogue containing codeswitching. The passage below appears in a text from which we have already seen one example. This text’s overall ML is English, both in quantity and in the sense that it is the language of the narration. The text contains dialogue in three forms: monolingual English, monolingual Spanish, and codeswitching between the two; this example is cited at length to show all three: (6) “I’ll be right back,” he tells Tweedy. “I’ve got to talk to this guy that’s outside. “It won’t take long.” Machete walks outside and approaches Cheno, who is quite drunk.

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“Well, if it isn’t our little soldadito,” says Cheno jeeringly. “You ready to get ‘little soldier’ your culo blown up in Viet Nam?” ‘ass’ “No le pongas atención, está borracho,” says one of Cheno’s companions ‘Don’t pay attention to him because he’s drunk’* to Machete. “A mi me importa verga lo que pienses, pinche viejo pansón,” ‘I don’t give a dick what you think, you old fat fucker’* says Machete with extreme animosity. “Paganos la feria that you owe us for ‘Pay us the dough’* chopping beets,” he says as he moves closer to Cheno. (NECT 20-21; *translations from the original; italics added)

I treat the italicized words and phrases as EL material. This is well-motivated according to syntactic junctures likely to foster codeswitching: nouns, as discussed above, and relative clauses. Hence, the ML of the narration and of the dialogue in the first two paragraphs is English. In the dialogue of the second two paragraphs the ML is Spanish. ... What is counted as a sentence Models of syntactic constraints are predicated on intrasentential codeswitching; therefore, clarification as to what constitutes a sentence is essential. This issue is complicated by the fact that in speech syntactic units may not be as clearly defined as in standard written discourse. Yet models of structural constraints on codeswitching are formulated for the most part on spoken data, and the unit of grammatical analysis chosen for this task has traditionally been the sentence.5 Much of my data consists either of representation of dialogue or of oral style narrative. Coordination, and especially simple juxtaposition, is a construction which unites independent clauses that could just as well be separate from a syntactic perspective: (7) They let Rudy out, está todo golpeado. ‘he’s all beat up’ (8) We are carnales, somos Raza ¿qué no? ‘brothers, we’re members of the Race, aren’t we?’

(NEAD 98) (SSJA2 84)

Conversely, the incomplete sentences characteristic of speech are also represented:

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(9) . . . [a] Something happened to a friend of mine, from the barrio. . . [b] they found her passed out at home. . . [c] En un pool of blood. . . ‘In a’ (NSMC 37)

In the analysis of my data, I use first the traditional criterion that a sentence contain a verb inflected for person and tense. After that criterion is met, I am guided by the punctuation. Thus, in example (9), above, the phrase [c] is analyzed as belonging to a sentence which begins with either [a] or [b]. Since there is no codeswitching in [a] or [b], it is irrelevant to the present argument whether they are considered to instantiate two sentences, or a single, coordinate, sentence. The point is that [c], lacking an inflected verb, is analyzed as being part of a sentence with preceding material, despite punctuation that suggests it is separate.6 In examples (7) and (8), the first criterion is met: each clause has a verb inflected for person and tense. I therefore move to the second criterion and analyze each as a single, compound sentence in accordance with the author’s punctuation. This analysis, however, is represented in the initial syntactic tabulation only (in Chapter 3). Because the complementizer phrase (CP),7 and not the sentence, is the unit of analysis in the MLF model, switching between independent clauses is not counted in the tabulations of ML constituent types. For example, in (10), below, the entire utterance is a sentence, while the portion beginning with that is a CP. (10) El hombre dijo that the apartment had already been rented. ‘The man said’

The distinction between sentence and CP matters for the syntactic analysis of my corpus, because with the CP as the unit of analysis the majority of the data conform to the MLF model. This, in turn, is important, in order to establish the fundamental similarity of written and spoken codeswitching.

Notes . Some researchers list the ML first in language pairs. Since my corpus contains texts with both English and Spanish as the ML, respectively, I use the invariable designation Spanish/English. . I choose this example to illustrate a problem unique to the analysis of written codeswitching data: the interpretation of typographic features. The inconsistency present in many of the texts, whether involving spelling, punctuation, or, as in this case, the use of capitalization, is a complication not found in oral data.

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The texts . See also Agheyisi (1977: 107); Joshi (1985: 190); Weinreich (1953); Mazrui (1990). In contrast, speakers of varieties featuring Spanish/English codeswitching in the U.S. have special names for those varieties, such as Tex-Mex, Tejano, and Spanglish, which they explicitly describe as consisting of neither Spanish nor English but of both languages together (e.g. Alvarez 1997; M. García 2000; NEEQ 212). . All Spanish from the corpus texts is cited as is; in some cases there are nonstandard spellings and missing accent marks. . For discourse analyses, larger units – and units which do not necessarily coincide with the sentence – such as utterances, conversational turns or entire exchanges may be used as the unit of analysis. In the discourse function analysis of my study, for example, some intersentential codeswitches are taken into account, whereas they are not examined in the syntactic analysis. . There are cases in which I treat fragments as independent units. The status of interjections will be discussed in Chapter 3. . In the following sentence, que I work for the Police Dept. is the complementizer phrase, or CP: El no sabía que I work for the Police Dept. ‘He didn’t know that I work for the Police Dept.’ (Example from the author’s unpublished oral codeswitching data.)

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A grammatical and discourse function analysis

. The three tabulations Three types of tabulations were done on the codeswitches in the corpus: (A) by syntactic category, (B) by MLF constituent-type, and (C) by discourse function. The total number of tokens is different in each of the three tabulations, due to differences in the variables. For example, syntactically independent units such as interjections and independent clauses are not represented in the MLF constituent-type tabulation. One token in the discourse function tabulation may constitute more than one token in the syntactic tabulation. Conversely, in sentences containing ML shifts, some tokens that are counted in the discourse function tabulation are not represented in the syntactic tabulation.

. Syntactic categories The syntactic categories used for tabulation are divided into three groups, as follows: Single lexical items: noun, adjective, adverb, verb, preposition, conjunction, interjection1 Phrases: NP, AdjP, AdvP, VP, PP Clauses: Independent (including coordinate), Subordinate

Intrasentential codeswitches only are counted in the syntactic tabulation. All EL material was assigned to the most appropriate category; the direction of the codeswitch was not a variable. Thus, in texts in which the ML fluctuates, the numbers in any given category may reflect items from both Spanish and English.

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Table 3.1 Tabulation of codeswitches by syntactic category Single lexical items

Types Noun Adjective Adverb Verb Preposition Conjunction Interjection Category total:

Tokens 2,586 (.39) 296 (.04) 91 (.01) 71 (.01) 7 (.001) 214 (.03) 1,294 (.19) 4,559 (.68)

Phrases

Types NP AdjP AdvP VP PP Category total:

Tokens 1,014 (.15) 118 (.02) 180 (.03) 90 (.01) 163 (.02) 1,565 (.23)

Clauses

Types Independent Subordinate Category total:

Tokens 466 (.07) 107 (.02) 573 (.09)

Corpus total:

6,697

.. Findings of syntactic tabulation Numbers for each of the three syntactic subgroups are given in Table 3.1. The totals refer to the entire corpus; totals for each text are given in Appendix B. As can be seen, single nouns, closely followed by independent clauses and then NPs, account for the majority of codeswitches in the corpus overall. The breakdown across the individual texts is similar to the corpus-wide figures in Table 3.1. Single nouns are the top category out of the three subgroups. That is, in eighteen of the texts single nouns represent the largest category of intrasentential codeswitching; in the other fifteen independent clauses account for the most switches. In a breakdown by subgroup, single nouns account for the largest category within single lexical items in twenty-two of the texts, followed by interjections with seven texts, and conjunctions, with one text. NPs are the most numerous category within the subgroup phrases, with twenty-six texts, followed by VPs with two texts, AdjP with one text, and no phrase level codeswitching in the remaining text. In clauses, independent clauses outnum-

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ber subordinate clauses in twenty-three texts, subordinate clauses outnumber independent clauses in one text, and six texts contain no tokens of either type. .. Comparison of findings to previous studies The results of my tabulations conform to the general profile revealed in studies of oral codeswitching (cf. Pfaff 1979: 293) as well as in one of the few studies of written codeswitching to offer such a tabulation (McClure 1998). The dominance of switches at the level of single nouns and NPs is unchallenged.2 However, there are several instances of switches at variance with certain syntactic constraints that have been proposed over the years. These will be discussed in the following three sections. ... Codeswitching after complementizer Belazi et al. (1994: 224) state that the complementizer must be in the language of its complement clause, and predict that codeswitching between a complementizer and complement clause will not occur. They represent the following sentences as ill-formed: (1) *El profesor dijo que the student had received an A. ‘The professor said that’ (2) *The professor said that el estudiante había recibido una A. ‘the student had received an A.’

According to their informants, acceptable renditions of these sentences would be: (3) El profesor dijo that the student had received an A. ‘The professor said’ (4) The professor said que el estudiante había recibido una A. ‘that the student had received an A.’

My corpus does contain examples in which complementizer and complement clause (a.k.a. IP)3 occur in the same language, as in the following pair of examples: (5) – Bruto, no te acuerdas que te dije that I had a dream I was pregnant. ‘Brute, don’t you remember that I told you’ (NSGB 58; italics added)

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(6) We’ve spent a lifetime negating que somos gabas, pero, culturalmente, lo semos. . . ‘that we’re white, but, culturally, we are. . . ’ (SSJB 71; italics added)

The majority of complementizers in my corpus do occur in the same language as their following complement clause, but there are twenty-seven examples in which the language of the complementizer is opposite that of the complement clause, many clustered in the same text. Some of these sentences have features which seem to facilitate codeswitching after complementizer, to function as a bridge between the complementizer in one language and its IP in the other. Some of the sentences lack any such feature. (7) El Greenly fue a ver un abogado y decidió que ‘Greenly went to see a lawyer and decided that’ the matter must be settled within the judicial system. (SEFT 153; italics added) (8) “I really like her, in fact, like I got a heavy feeling that la amo, I love her.” ‘I love her’ (NEPT 103; italics added)

In examples (7) and (8) as well as in nine other tokens, no extenuating circumstances such as the factors discussed below seem to be present. They are clear counterexamples to the prohibition against codeswitching between complementizer and IP. In the first example above, the English translation of the IP – I love her – is congruent with the translation techniques in this particular text, and does not seem meant to negate the effect of a switch between complementizer and complement clause. (9) Anyway, izque one of the cops saw something shining in the Kid’s hand [. . . ] (SEJS 114)

The preceding example and four more, all from the same text, contain the frozen form izque, equivalent to dicen que ‘they say’ or se dice ‘it is said’. This form or one of its variants is found in popular dialects of Spanish in Spain and several regions of the Americas (Zamora Vicente 1989: 435–436). Its status as a set phrase motivates its consideration as an EL island (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 143–144). Under the EL Hierarchy Hypothesis, the more formulaic a constituent’s structure is, the more chance there is that it will occur as an EL island.4

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(10) “Órale buey, como sabes que Nena has a big butt?” complains Ro-Ro. ‘Hey, asshole, how do you know that’ (NECT 181; translation from the original) (11) No tenemos compromiso fijo, of course, pero yo (al menos yo) creía que la cosa se pondría seria – a no ser que Becky blabbed. ‘We don’t have a formal relationship. . . but I (at least I) thought that the thing would get serious – unless’ (NSRH 42) (12) Te apuesto que Ira & Becky & the Terrys were as surprised (shocked?) as I ‘I bet you that’ was. . . (NSRH 45) (13) Noddy, to me, y en plena confianza, dice que R.T.’s getting what’s coming to him. ‘and in full confidence, says that’ (NSRH 28) (14) [. . . ] Ira me dijo que Becky ‘had a ball, a real ball,’ & that she’ll see to it that ‘Ira told me that’ Ollie gets into the Women’s Club. (NSRH 20) (15) se vino hacia nojotros [. . . ]. . . y con lagrimotas y babas, gritó que. . . que. . . que ‘he came towards us’ ‘and with big tears and drool, shouted that. . . that. . . that’ Puppet had never given them a chance! (NSMC 91)

In (10)–(15), the complementizer is followed immediately by a proper noun, specifically, a person’s name. Names have an ambiguous status in codeswitching.5 Hispanicization or Anglicization of certain names notwithstanding, individuals’ names usually remain unchanged, and the language they belong to, uncertain – in the context of an ML and EL, that is.6 Example (13) is an exception, in that the English possessive morphology marks the name R.T. as belonging to that language. The name following the complementizer in (11) and (14) appears elsewhere followed by Spanish, so it alone cannot be considered a trigger for English: (16) Santana countered que Becky le daba una paliza [. . . ]. ‘that Becky would give him a beating’ (NSRH 24; italics added)

Proper names could be argued to provide a buffer, if such were needed, between the complementizer and the rest of the complement clause. Examples (13)–(15) above share with (17)–(19) below another possible motivation for codeswitching after complementizer, in this case stemming from discourse function.

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(17) Te diré esto: la raza está convencida que “Ira’s their man” and the bolillada ‘I’ll tell you this: the Mexicans are convinced that’ ‘whites’ that “Ira’s their boy.” (NSRH 27) (18) Entre la última o la penúltima llamada, se le sugirió que ‘During the last or the next to the last call, it was suggested to him that’ “he would do himself and all of us a favor if he would call Mr. Perkins.” (NSRH 35) (19) Den his papá dice que nature will tell jou what ta do. ‘says that’

(NEFG 113)

Examples (17)–(19) contain citations immediately following the complementizer. Quotation has been well-established as a motive for codeswitching in studies of its discourse functions. However, although the IPs are enclosed by quotation marks, which most often indicates direct speech, the deixis in (17) is that of indirect speech; in (18), it is mixed. Only in (19), which has no quotation marks, is the discourse unequivocally direct. Where such punctuation is used, it may act as a transition device between the complementizer in Spanish and IP in English. The punctuation in the following example may serve a similar purpose. This passage is a representation of dialogue in which the speaker’s emotions cause frequent interruptions in her discourse as she describes the scene of her brother’s death. (20) Eran como las dos, tres de la mañana y yo sabía que. . . something was ‘It was around two, three in the morning and I knew that’ wrong, había unos sonidos extraños que vinían de la sala. . . ‘there were some strange sounds that were coming from the living room’ (NSMC 77)

One of the corpus texts constitutes a case apart with respect to complementizers. It contains ten occurrences of the Spanish complementizer que in isolation; that is, que occurs as a single EL element surrounded by ML material: (21) De Sarge esays que dey made him come with us, but I tink he volunteered. ‘that’ (NEFG 185; italics added)

It also presents six cases of double complementizers, one each in Spanish and English, with the former always preceding the latter: (22) Ramón helped me to make chure que dat de Zuit was perfecto. ‘that that’ (NEFG 118; italics added)

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In another codeswitching data set, Lingala/French, the French complementizer que has been reported to occur in a similar fashion: Kamwangamalu (1989) reports that the complementizer may come either from Lingala (’te), or from the French (que). (And Bokamba (1989: 282) seems to agree, pointing out that ‘the Romance languages’ complementizer que can occur in Kinshasa Lingala in structures where either the main or the subordinate clause is either in French or Lingala.’) In addition, Kamwangamalu states that que is preferred over ’te [. . . ]. (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 131)

Myers-Scotton theorizes that que may be an established borrowed form in Lingala, which allows it to be accessed as a Lingala system morpheme. However, this statement is prior to her modifications of the MLF model, in which she states that complementizers are content rather than system morphemes. In making this revision, Myers-Scotton (1997: 256) acknowledges the existence of numerous counterexamples from various data sets to the prediction against codeswitching between complementizer and complement clause. My corpus, as we have just seen, offers several more. The use of an overt complementizer in sentences such as (21)–(22) is optional. It is possible that the authors have used que as an identity marker. As such, it would constitute emblematic codeswitching, consciously inserted in a somewhat arbitrary fashion that might not be used in speech. Nevertheless, the following example does come from spoken data. Note that here the complementizer is mandatory in standard English: (23) There were these two broads que would fight.

(Galindo 1999: 179)

The complementizer is likewise mandatory in still another example, this one from written, nonfiction, data: (24) Among the “masses of my people” were writers que, como el David, chose ‘who, like our David’ to give others a chance. (Torres 2000a: 3)

Whether we analyze que in this environment as a borrowing or a codeswitch – perhaps functioning as a discourse marker – it seems at least somewhat established. A determination of just how common its occurrence is would require more data, which in turn would make it possible to classify its role. A final point to consider is the direction of the switch; in all but one of the examples cited here the complementizer is in Spanish, and the complement clause in English.

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... Codeswitching within complex verbal constructions Codeswitching between auxiliaries and main verbs and between finite verbs and adjacent infinitive complements is also considered ill-formed in earlier models (Timm 1975: 478). I have assigned tokens from my corpus to two types: auxiliary, and infinitive-as-object constructions. The first type, auxiliary constructions, includes any construction in which the finite verb must appear in conjunction with a non-finite verb, ellipsis notwithstanding. An example would be: I am working. The second type, infinitive as object, includes constructions in which the infinitive is the object of a finite verb. A third category, bare stem forms, will be discussed below. The corpus contains thirteen examples of the first type and eleven of the second. Timm (1975: 478) reports a gradience of acceptance for such constructions, depending on the order of the languages: [. . . ] while a S S E sequence (*voy a decide) was judged inappropriate, the sequence E E S was accepted as possible, though not tasteful; test sentences responded to in this way included (they) want to venir and (I’m) going to decidir. Thus, the E verb and preposition (or particle) seem to function as a sub-unit within the larger construction, allowing, marginally, for switching to S for the infinitive.

The glosses and monolingual versions of Timm’s examples are as follows: (25) Voy a decide go.1.sing prep ‘I’m going to decide.’ ‘Voy a decidir.’ (26) (they) want to venir come.inf ‘They want to come.’ ‘Quieren venir.’ (27) (I’m) going to decidir decide.inf ‘I’m going to decide.’ ‘Voy a decidir.’

My examples – which include the sequences EES, SSE, ES, SE, and ESS – are more diverse in construction than those cited by Timm, but some general comparisons can be made. My data offer various phrases equivalent to ones rejected by her informants: (28) [. . . ] creo vislumbro que estás catching ON. . . be.2.sing ‘I believe, I get a glimpse of, that you’re catching on.’ (NSMC 66; italics added)

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(29) We were tertuliando with other left-leaning student intellects at a café meet to converse.gerund [. . . ]. ‘We were having a bull session with other left-leaning student intellects. . . ’ (SEGK 111; italics added) (30) They prefer echarles habladas que ir a reconocerlos. throw.inf.enclitic.dat.pron.3.plur ‘They prefer to tell lies about them to going and getting to know them.’ (SSCP2 56; italics added)

Likewise, there are cases parallel to the EES construction she mentions, in which the middle element is an infinitival particle: (31) It’s a shame that she has to definirse a ella misma by projecting her sins define.inf.enclitic.reflex.pron.3.sing onto others. ‘It’s a shame that she has to define herself. . . ’ (NSGB 170; italics added)

But instances of the SSE sequence are also found: (32) [. . . ] iba a testify contra esa gente. . . go.3.sing.imperf prep ‘he was going to testify against those people’ (NSMC 29; italics added) (33) [. . . ] se van a hacer veinte llamadas a Ira [. . . ] diciendo que van a crossover go.3.plur.prep to the independent side. ‘twenty phone calls are going to be made to Ira. . . saying that they’re going to cross over to the independent side’ (NSRH 36; italics added)

Across all of these categories, switches from English to Spanish outnumber two to one those from Spanish to English. There are 16 E > S versus 8 S > E. A larger number of examples would be necessary to test the hypothesis that directionality has some influence here, that is, that an E > S pattern facilitates codeswitching within complex verb constructions. ... Codeswitching between verb and pronominal subject or object Codeswitching between finite verbs and their pronominal subjects or objects was considered impermissible by Timm (1975, 1978), Poplack (1982) and Joshi (1985). Codeswitches between pronoun and verb appear in my corpus, within three texts. The same phrase repeated twice in one text accounts for three of the tokens; the other four are divided into two sentences per remaining text, within which they appear in close proximity to each other. Despite the small number

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of examples overall, this topic merits attention both for its pervasiveness in the codeswitching literature and for the features my examples exhibit. In each case other factors are present which may have had an effect on this construction’s occurrence. Two of the examples are very similar to the ones rejected by Timm’s (1975: 477–478) informants. (34) Felipe y yo left very quietly. 1.sing.subj.pron ‘Felipe and I left very quietly’ (NEAD 113; italics added) (35) To my surprise he said he no longer quería any pedo conmigo. want.3.sing.imperf ‘. . . he no longer wanted any hassle with me’ (NEAD 113; italics added)

In both instances a clue may lie in what accompanies the pronoun, or the mere fact that it is accompanied. In contrast to the schematic nature typical of test sentences used in judgement elicitation – cf. *Yo went ‘I went’ (Timm 1975: 478) – these sentences contain more than just the variables being tested. In the first, I would posit that Felipe y yo is being analyzed as a unitary NP, thus creating a more acceptable switch point. In the second sentence, which contrasts with another test phrase from Timm’s study, *He quiere ‘he wants’, the adverbial phrase may likewise strengthen the pronoun. Its occurrence with other elements from the same language, despite its clitic status, converts it into what passes for a full form constituent. Woolford (1983: 529) comments on a tendency for switches to be more common in longer sentences. Gumperz (1976) reports a possible correlation between length or heaviness of the subject NP and the acceptability of a codeswitch between subject and predicate. The final example contains no syntactic features that would ameliorate the switch between pronoun and verb. In fact, it parallels the simple character of the test sentences referred to above. (36) Te quiero. . . I quiero you. . . Te quiero un chingo. . . want or love.1.sing ‘I love you. . . I love you. . . I love you a lot. . . (NECT 34, 35, 195; translation from the original; italics added)

This resembles a learner’s interlanguage, and the author may have been attempting to evoke the impaired physical condition in which the speaker is portrayed in all three instances. This utterance is represented in the first two to-

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kens as a voice the character hears while in an alcohol-induced semiconscious state, and in the last one, after suffering injuries on the battlefield. .. Conclusions In the preceding sections I have discussed counterexamples from my corpus to three of the constraints most discussed in the codeswitching literature. The productivity of the first phenomenon discussed, codeswitching after complementizer, is well established; the examples in my corpus add to the body of data Myers-Scotton (1997: 256) cites. With a larger corpus it would be interesting to test for factors, such as, for example, directionality, that may influence whether the switch occurs before or after the complementizer. Data from the present corpus support free variation of this aspect. The possibility of the second phenomenon’s occurrence, codeswitching within complex verbal constructions, was also well-demonstrated. In contrast, the paucity of examples of the third phenomenon, codeswitching between pronoun and verb, as well as the special nature of what examples that there are in my corpus, indicates that there may indeed be a constraint against codeswitching at this level, one that is occasionally broken in performance.

. Matrix Language Frame model principles The basic principles of the MLF model were presented in Chapter 1. In the following sections, specific features of the model will be examined within the context of my corpus, with the aim of determining how well the model can account for phenomena that occur there. .. Findings of constituent type tabulation Recall that there are two major constituent types under the MLF model: ML + EL, and EL islands. A third type, which will not concern us, are ML islands. This refers to constituents containing only ML material, that is, those in which no codeswitching is present. Out of a total of 6,697 codeswitches, my corpus contains 3,796 (.57) ML + EL constituents, and 1,656 (.25) EL islands. Breakdowns for the individual texts are given in Appendix C. Again, the MLF model, as is the case with any syntactic constraint theory, is formulated to account for intrasentential codeswitching only. Hence independent clauses, a category which accounts for 466 (.07) of the codeswitches in the corpus, are not reflected

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in the MLF constituent type tabulation. Nor are interjections, at 1,294 (.19) a significant portion of the corpus, because they pattern as independent clauses. .. Comparison of findings to the Matrix Language Frame model ... Fluctuation of the matrix language In much of my data the ML is easy to determine at all points in the text; such is the case when codeswitches are low in quantity and mostly limited to single nouns. In other texts, however, the ML changes often, within one speaker’s turn in a dialogue, or within one paragraph or sentence of the narration. This is especially true in discourse that features sentences containing multiple clauses, whether coordinate or subordinate. In the annotation of such data, it was often difficult to determine where a sentence ended and another one began. In some texts, fragments were presented as sentences, just as they are in speech, and interior monologue was transcribed without sentence breaks. In written data, as was described in Chapter 2, another dimension arises, manifested in the need to assign the ML on two levels, in order to accommodate the dual discourse structure of many written texts. In the remainder of this section, I will analyze examples from my data which show how the ML can fluctuate within a single text. (37) . . . Something happened to a friend of mine, from the barrio. . . they found her passed out at home. . . En un pool of blood. . . ‘In a’ (NSMC 37)

In example (37), if we agree that the ML of the first two sentences is English, which is the language of the preceding part of this character’s dialogue (with one shift to Spanish for a prepositional phrase), the ML must shift to Spanish for the final phrase, i.e. it must shift mid-sentence.7 This paves the way for an analysis of this phrase as an [ML + EL] constituent that contains an internal (EL island). Alternatively, if we consider the ML to remain constant with the rest of the sentence, we are left with an anomalous sequence from the EL: the content morpheme, en, a preposition, plus the system morpheme, un, an indefinite article. [En un (pool of blood)].8

In revisions to the original MLF model, the category of system morphemes is subdivided into three types: early, bridge late, and outsider late (MyersScotton & Jake 2001).9 Of most interest to us here are the so-called early system morphemes. Early system morphemes are defined as those realized within the

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maximal projection of the content morpheme that elects them; in other words, they are “called” by their head. Determiners are a prototypical example of an early system morpheme. Myers-Scotton and Jake (2001: 98–99) state that the form of early system morphemes depends on the content morpheme with which they occur, and give an example of a DET + NP in Spanish. In Spanish, articles show agreement with the number and gender of the noun they modify. Because early system morphemes are considered to be inseparable from the content morpheme with which they appear, their appearance in ML + EL constituents is not considered a violation of the MLF model. In other words, determiners are a kind of EL system morpheme that can be switched. However, they are expected to appear with a noun from the EL. In my corpus, all of the problematic examples consist of determiners in isolation. So, there is no transparent relationship between these lone EL system morphemes and following content morphemes, because the latter are in the ML, not the EL. I propose two solutions to account for the appearance of EL system morphemes alone amid ML material. One relies on ML shifts mid-sentence; the other on borrowing. If there seems to be agreement between the Spanish determiner and the English content words in the NPs in my examples, more support might be given to the borrowing hypothesis as opposed to an ML shift. The MLF model does not prohibit ML shifts within the sentence, but rather, predicts that such shifts will not occur within the CP. An ML shift within the sentence is nevertheless of interest, because it presents evidence of what can occur in the more integrated forms of codeswitching. Such forms stand out from the noun or NP only pattern seen in the vast majority of data sets. In the following passage the ML is English except for one subordinate clause, where it shifts to Spanish. I have added italics to the EL elements; note that both Spanish and English words are italicized: (38) “But Eva, it was the cholo in the low-rider that was doing it, and all the time I thought he was my friend. The Lord is to blame, too, porque me dio one too many languages. Mira Eva, if I didn’t speak and understand so many languages, I would not have understood the cholo, and I would not be in this predicament. Being bilingual has been a desgracia to me.” (SSCV 230)

The interjection Mira ‘look’ is treated in my analysis as equivalent to an independent clause; that is, it falls outside of sentential relations. The single noun desgracia ‘misfortune’ forms, with the English determiner, an ML + EL constituent. In the subordinate clause – porque me dio one too many languages ‘because He gave me one too many languages’ – the English NP – one too

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many languages – is an EL island. Why can we not consider the first part of this clause – porque me dio – to be the EL island instead, and thus avoid assigning two MLs to one sentence? It is definitely a candidate for islandhood, as it contains not just one, but two system morphemes, a clitic and verbal inflection. But the VP is missing one of its obligatory arguments – the direct object – which appears in English. Hence, it is not a self-contained island. Furthermore, the pattern of NP insertion from an EL is well-attested, and lends support to an analysis of this clause as being of ML Spanish, with one EL island, in English: [porque me dio (one too many languages)]

However, there is no motivation to treat the first part of this sentence, the independent clause ‘The Lord is to blame, too’, as representing an intersentential switch from an ML of Spanish to an EL of English, in view of the preponderance of English morphemes in the remainder of the discourse sample. As far as the inconvenience of assigning two MLs to one sentence, recall that later versions of the MLF model treat the CP, rather than the sentence, as the unit of analysis. This is well-motivated, since, as Myers-Scotton (2001: 30) points out, a sentence may be classified as bilingual because it contains “two or more monolingual CPs in different languages”, but “the two languages are not necessarily really in contact from a structural point of view.” This can be illustrated with example (5), reproduced below, in which the second CP, ‘that I had a dream I was pregnant’, can be replaced by a noun or NP, making it akin to a lexical insertion. (5) – Bruto, no te acuerdas que te dije that I had a dream I was pregnant. ‘Brute, don’t you remember that I told you’ (NSGB 58; italics added)

Example (5) with the second CP replaced by a NP: – Bruto, no te acuerdas que te dije this story. ‘Brute, don’t you remember that I told you’

... Morpheme Order Principle The Morpheme Order Principle states that the ML will dictate the morpheme order in ML + EL constituents. When a language in which NPs are head final, for example, pairs with another in which they are head first, either the ML word order will prevail, or an EL island will be generated. Myers-Scotton (1993a: 84) observes:

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Much rarer are cases of two EL morphemes which are not EL islands, but rather parts of ML + EL constituents. They are so identified by the fact that they follow ML morpheme order.

She reports only five tokens of this phenomenon in her corpus, all consisting of an EL noun and EL descriptive adjective. Examples in my corpus are also few. In the ones below, the ML is English; italics have been added to all EL elements, and the ML + EL constituents under discussion are bracketed. Note that there are no parentheses, because no EL islands appear. Some resemble calques, as would be expected when word order from one language is imposed on elements from another. (39) I balanced [my alma comida] on my left knee [. . . ]. ‘soul food’

(NEPT 272)

(40) We will picnic [. . . ] in [the convento jardines] after the mass. ‘convent gardens’ (NEFG 56) (41) Things worked out for Ricky for a while till chavalitos who could barely ‘young kids’ peek over the dashboards of [their jefitos’ carruchas] began appearing ‘parents’ cars’ all too regularly at the drive-ups. (SEGM 7)

These constituents should not be confused with internal EL islands, which also feature an ML determiner + EL NP, but in which the NP follows EL word order. ... Internal EL islands Internal EL islands are those contained within an ML + EL constituent, typically consisting of an ML determiner + EL NP. Myers-Scotton cites cases of double determiners, as in this example from Moroccan Arabic/French: (42) dak la chemise that the shirt (Bentahila & Davies 1983: 317 in Myers-Scotton 1993a: 151; gloss from the original)

A more common pattern is an ML determiner and an EL NP consisting of a noun and adjective, as in this example from Cajun French/English: (43) Ça c’est le highest class français. ‘That’s the French upper class.’ (Brown 1986: 404 in Myers-Scotton 1993: 152; translation from the original)

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This is the pattern found in most of the instances of internal EL islands (in parentheses) in my data, as in the following examples: (44) Pasale por [la (back door)] [. . . ] ‘Come through the back door.’ (NECT 144; translation from the original) (45) [. . . ] no me gusta que el agua huela como [tu (chicken curry sandwich)] [. . . ]. ‘I don’t like it that the water smells like your chicken curry sandwich’ (NSGB 37) (46) [. . . ] an existance occasionally punctuate by a compulsory attendance at [the (Rosario de un conocido)] [. . . ]. ‘. . . an acquaintance’s Rosary’ (SEGM 56)

In the first of the preceding three examples, the combination back door may be considered to have lexicalized into a compound construction, in which case in would not represent a true EL island. There are also cases in which there is no determiner: (47) [. . . ] el bato se agarró [como (LP record without a break)] hasta que me dijeron que le contara la corbata larga. ‘the dude went off like an LP record without a break until they told me to cut his spiel short’ (SSJB 70)

This may be due to the omission of the indefinite article in Spanish in this type of construction (Butt & Benjamin 1995: 48), where in English it would be obligatory. In that case, this example offers more evidence in support of the Morpheme Order Principle. Although EL morpheme order is followed in the internal EL island, the ML has dictated the morpheme order of the ML + EL constituent as a whole, a process which in this instance has involved nonrealization of an article. Note that there are fewer opportunities in comparison to other language pairs to test this principle on Spanish/English codeswitching data, because of the similarity in their syntax. A reverse phenomenon, what appear to be ML islands within EL islands, will be discussed in the next section. ... Single system morphemes from the EL The System Morpheme Principle predicts that outsider late system morphemes will come from the ML only, unless they are contained within an EL island. Other types of EL system morphemes that do not form part of an EL island, if not exactly counterexamples, are still anomalous. There are examples in my

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corpus which at first glance seem problematic. But on closer inspection, an explanation suggests itself on the basis of borrowing or ML fluctuation. (48) I smiled an encouragement at her brave attempt at (el American language). ‘the’ (NEPT 330; italics added)

In example (48), according to the MLF model, the EL system morpheme el, although it is an early system morpheme and therefore not prohibited from being switched, is somewhat irregular in that it is an EL system morpheme occurring singly amid ML material. I offer three alternative analyses. The first two involve borrowing. Either, one, we posit that el is a borrowing into the dialect of English represented here (Nuyorican), in which case there would be no EL morphemes in this sentence at all, or, two, we consider the NP American language to be a borrowing into Spanish. In the latter case, el American language would constitute a well-formed EL island, with determiner and NP in Spanish. The findings of Otheguy (2000) and Otheguy and Lapidus (2003) lend some support to the second analysis. They note a tendency for borrowings into Spanish to be preceded by the masculine article regardless of the gender of the displaced word. That is, even if the equivalent term in Spanish is feminine, the masculine article is used with the English loan. Such is the case in the example under discussion. Still, this may not offer enough motivation to consider this particular phrase to be a borrowing into Spanish. A third alternative involves a mid-sentence shift in the ML. If a shift of the ML to Spanish at mid-sentence were posited, then ‘American language’ could be considered a codeswitch for the purpose of quotation. In that case it would represent an EL island within an ML + EL constituent. But there are other examples in this text which follow the same pattern and offer more support for the borrowing analysis, which has the advantage of simplicity. The first is a chapter title and the second appears mid-sentence with the article capitalized: El block party (NEPT 270); El Central Park (NEPT 94). These two NPs are more likely candidates for borrowing. One refers to a social event that was common in the United States in the time period portrayed; the other is a proper name and well-known landmark, apt to be imported as is into another language. In addition, both of these examples present features of internal cohesiveness: they are compound constructions and thus likely to be borrowed into another language as a whole. A different case from the same text in which borrowing may play a role will be discussed below. The same options given for example (48) may be posited for example (49), which is structurally identical, except for the fact that the article is plural, which

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would be the appropriate form for the equivalent word in Spanish. Its referent is the same as that of the EL island in the first sentence, Todos los burros. (49) (Todos los burros) would shuffle chairs. [. . . ] I would also join ‘All the dumb kids’ [los slow ones]. def.art.plur.masc (NEAD 66-67; italics added)

Nevertheless, the motivation to consider slow ones a borrowing seems less compelling than in the previous examples. In contrast, it could be considered a codeswitch for quotation if an ML shift were posited. The cases discussed in the rest of this section are more easily attributed to the idiosyncrasies of one text. This text contains some 110 instances of an EL system morpheme, the quantifier mucho ‘many’, occurring singly amid ML material. For example: (50) He was built with mucho muscles [. . . ].

(NEPT 235; italics added)

(51) I walked on for mucho blocks.

(NEPT 319; italics added)

The quantifier is ill-formed according to the EL grammar, which requires agreement with the noun in number and gender. The only environment in which this word appears with the appropriate inflections is in the set phrase muchas gracias. Otherwise it is frozen in the masculine singular, even when it appears with other EL lexemes, as in the following example: (52) [. . . ] and there was mucho arroz con gandules and lechon asado (roast pig), mucho cuchifritos, mucho warmth, mucho togetherness, and mucho most chevere Puerto Ricans. ‘and there was a lot of rice with peas and roast pig, a lot of cuchifritos, a lot of warmth, a lot of togetherness, and many very cool Puerto Ricans’ (NEPT 271)

More motivation to consider mucho a borrowing comes from the author’s use of beaucoup, an established borrowing into English from the same semantic field. In addition to the appearance of mucho as a quantifier, there are fiftysix tokens in which it has an adverbial function. Furthermore, mucho occurs as an adverb modifying English adjectives only. In Spanish its appearance in this position would be ungrammatical; this function is properly fulfilled by the adverb muy. Muy also appears in the text, modifying both Spanish and English adjectives, but with fewer tokens; these will be discussed below. Alternatively, setting aside the borrowing hypothesis for a moment, mucho is similar to the bare forms to be discussed below, in that it is not inflected,

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or at least, it carries only the inflections of its unmarked form. Another EL quantifier, used in an EL island as a chapter title, does retain agreement: (53) Tantas guerras (so many wars) (NEPT 244; translation from the original)

Myers-Scotton states that adverbs are system morphemes, and reports that her data “contain no instances of EL adverbs (e.g. very, too) appearing as singly occurring lexemes in ML + EL constituents” (1993a: 129). The text under discussion offers counterexamples to this. NEPT has four tokens of the Spanish adverb muy ‘very’ modifying English adjectives, as in the following example: (54) I hoped my prayer would reach his muy lonely-sick self sitting on that rooftop landing. (NEPT 2; italics added)

One of the examples features this adverb in a position that would be proscribed by standard Spanish, if the English adjective’s Spanish equivalent were used, and which would be ungrammatical in English, if the translation of muy were used: (55) [. . . ] she knew my past and only wished my future muy better [. . . ]. (NEPT 129-30; italics added)

This adverb’s appearance in EL islands conforms to EL grammar: (56) His voice sounded muy sincero. ‘very sincere’

(NEPT 167: italics added)

(57) [. . . ] we were muy contento to see you in church. ‘very happy’ (NEPT 63: italics added)

However, the adjectives it modifies do not agree with the number and/or gender of their ML subjects. Instead they appear in the masculine singular, similar to mucho. Rather than attempting to dispose of all counterexamples to the System Morpheme Principle as borrowings, the fact that these come from the same text may indicate that they can be attributed to the anomalousness of that text. Nevertheless, muy also appears in another text: (58) Right then I felt muy Raza, muy Mexican.

(SEGK 112; italics added)

Again, the problem hinges on how to analyze the adverb muy and the adjective Mexican. Is the adverb an ML element in an AdjP positioned after an ML shift to Spanish – in which case Mexican would be an EL element – or is muy on its way into being borrowed into English? Another possibility suggests itself, this one revolving around the use of Mexican, in a text from outside the corpus. The

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following two tokens appeared in an online magazine which reviews events and new releases on the Chicano literary scene. (59) Estos batos alarcones de veras que eran mexiCANS, pos no eran rajetas ni se chiveaban. ‘These alarcón dudes definitely they were MexiCANS, cuz they weren’t flakes and they weren’t ashamed of themselves.’ (Torres 2000a: 4) (60) Keep those cards and letters coming. Y no se dejen. Don’t forget, you’re a ‘And don’t back down.’ MexiCAN not a MexiCAN’T. (Torres 2000a: 11)

This could be evidence that Mexican has been borrowed into certain dialects of Spanish. Much of this publication is written in Caló. It should be noted that this is a nonfiction text. Both of the preceding examples are in the reviewer’s voice as he comments on a World War II Mexican-American fighter squadron, which is the subject of a photography exhibit, and exhorts readers to correspond with him. Borrowings from English have a strong presence in the variety of Caló spoken in the United States (Ornstein-Galicia 1995: 117). Another of its essential features is wordplay; specifically, the replacement of a word by another with a different meaning but similar phonetic shape. An example from my corpus is estuvo > estufas ‘it was’. Suffixation is also used: seguro > segurola ‘for sure’. The examples above, being written, can take advantage of capitalization for further emphasis. ... Bare forms and the Blocking hypothesis Myers-Scotton posits two preservation strategies which serve to avoid violation of the MLF model’s principles. Bare forms are EL words that occur without inflections or modifying function words. We saw this in example (47), reproduced below, in which the article required by the grammar of the EL is omitted: (47) [. . . ] el bato se agarró como [an] LP record without a break hasta que me dijeron que le contara la corbata larga. (SSJB 70; italics added)

Of cases like this one, Myers-Scotton (1993a: 112) states: Entirely predictable are those which are bare because they are missing EL system morphemes: i.e. the EL requires a system morpheme (e.g. a specifier), but the ML does not. These bare forms could be predicted by a corollary to the System [Morpheme] Principle. That is, non-occurrence of ‘syntactically-relevant’ EL system morphemes would be predicted.

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More common in my data is the so-called do construction; recall the examples from other sources given in Chapter 1. In this construction EL verbs occur as uninflected stems accompanied by an inflected ML verb that is the equivalent of do. This phenomenon has been reported for various language pairs in which the EL is English, including Panjabi, Japanese, Hausa, Shona (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 112–113), Greek (Fleischer; personal communication), Assyrian (McClure 2001: 163) and Turkish (Kurtböke; personal communication). Although in my corpus English appears as both EL and ML, this construction occurs only when English is the EL, with the do verb in Spanish.10 This may be because the do construction in monolingual English declarative sentences bears the semantic feature [+ emphasis], which in turn suggests implicatures. To illustrate with Reyes’ (1976: 183) example, we see that the second, unattested, construction suggests that the fact being stated has either been challenged by a previous utterance, or that the speaker may follow it with an adversative statement such as the one in parentheses. (61) Hizo improve mucho. ‘She improved much.’ (62)( ?) She did mejorarse a lot. (But she still couldn’t leave the hospital.) improve.inf.enclitic.reflex.pron.3.sing

In monolingual English the do + verbal noun construction – i.e. do + V-ing – is very common. But the construction English do + bare stem verb, whether the latter is in English or another language, does not seem to occur. In addition to the tendency noted above of this construction to express emphasis, the sociolinguistic situation of English offers a clue. In worldwide situations of language contact, English is more often the giver language, the one from which other languages adopt lexicon. However, the reverse situation also exists. Hence, the emphasis factor may bear ultimate responsibility for this gap in English. My corpus contains fourteen tokens of the do construction, occurring in five texts. Owing to the abundance in English of verbal nouns as well as zero morphs in verbal inflection, some cases are ambiguous. In the example below, ‘break-in’ could be interpreted as either a verb or a noun: (63) Anyway, esa noche alguien hizo break-in y se llevó un galón de vino – that make.3.sing.past was all they took [. . . ]. ‘. . . that night someone broke in and took a gallon of wine. . . ’ (SSJS 48; italics added)

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In the following example, it is impossible to tell whether ‘double’ functions as an adjective or a bare stem verb. However, it occurs amid Spanish elements, and a verbal construction would be more usual in Spanish. (64) . . . y le hicieron double el pay. . . make.3.plur.past ‘and they doubled his pay’

(NSMC 20; italics added)

In two final examples, the English verbs cooperate and ask cannot instantiate nouns, and their function as bare stem verbs is clear: (65) Querían que Félix hiciera cooperate. . . make.3.sing.past.subjunctive ‘They wanted Felix to cooperate’ (NSMC 29; italics added) (66) Me hace remember de un güey que se la tiraba de muy chingón y Chicanote, que me hizo ask una question en un conference donde había tirado make.3.sing.past una teorica. ‘It reminds me of a dude who was playing it like he was a real righteous Chicano, who asked me a question at a conference where I had given a talk.’ (SSJB 70; italics added)11

The do construction is definitely productive in Spanish/English codeswitching, as can be seen in examples from outside my corpus, for example on the Internet the ubiquitous haz click aquí ‘click here’. The other preservation strategy is the Blocking Hypothesis, which posits the existence of a filter that will block the occurrence of an EL content morpheme if its equivalent in the ML “is not congruent with the ML with respect to three levels of abstraction regarding subcategorization” (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 120). The first level has to do with system vs. content morphemehood. The second level concerns incongruence in thematic role assignment, and the third level, incongruence in discourse/pragmatic function. I found no cases in my corpus that seem to require or provide an example of the Blocking Hypothesis’ function. .. Conclusions In the analysis thus far I have sought to answer two questions. The first: does written codeswitching require its own model of syntactic constraints, or can its patterns be predicted on the basis of a model developed for speech? The second: how well does Myers-Scotton’s MLF model account for the data in a

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corpus of written Spanish/English codeswitching consisting of selected fiction published during the last thirty years in the United States? The answer to the first question is based on my investigation of the second. As such, it reflects one case out of a larger population. This population includes written codeswitching in other genres, between other language pairs, published in other parts of the world. Nevertheless, the results provide a foundation from which to draw certain conclusions. It seems clear that written codeswitching does not require a separate model of syntactic constraints. The codeswitches in my data correspond in general to the syntactic as well as the discourse patterns reported for oral codeswitching. This finding has implications for the use of written data in linguistic analysis. One might argue that a significant part of my data consists of representations of dialogue and oral style narrative, and so it is natural that the codeswitching in such texts should mimic that heard in speech. However, it is precisely these portions of the corpus that offer the most challenges to the syntactic constraints tested. That is, those texts in the corpus that conform more closely to traditional written formats are the ones most readily accounted for by the MLF model principles. In contrast, the texts that display the most radical shifting of the ML, for example, are also the ones that bear the most resemblance to oral discourse. They contain features characteristic of speech, such as sentence fragments, frequent interjections, and direct address of the reader. I conclude that oral versus written is not a crucial factor in predicting the syntactic patterns of codeswitching. On the other hand, it is a factor in whether codeswitching will occur. Written formats are often considered to be more formal, and formality constrains the use of codeswitching. In speech as well as in writing, codeswitching tends to be restricted to certain genres. This will be discussed more in Chapter 5.

. Discourse function analysis Previous studies have documented the utility of incorporating a consideration of discourse function into the explanation of codeswitching. In some cases a structural analysis must appeal to a discourse function motivation. For example, earlier models of syntactic constraints prohibited switching of subordinating conjunctions, such as because, due to their membership in a closed class. Numerous counterexamples have now been explained on the basis of conjunctions’ discourse-marking function (cf. Salmons 1990: 472). Recall also from Chapter 1 that the MLF model allows for divergence from well-

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formed codeswitching “in order to serve some socio-pragmatic purpose, such as emphasis” (Myers-Scotton 1993a: 75). In the following sections, I will explain why particular discourse function categories were chosen, how the codeswitches in my corpus were assigned to them, and discuss which categories were most conspicuous across the corpus and within individual texts. .. Discourse function categories Various categories have been proposed to label the discourse functions codeswitching fulfills in speech. Any attempt to catalogue codeswitches on the basis of discourse function must acknowledge some overlap between categories. For example, many exclamations are set phrases, and many curses are both. All three might be considered interjections. Vocatives function as attention attractors. For economy’s sake I created umbrella categories to cover similar functions. In deciding how to group functions and which categories to use, I was guided by patterns of prevalence in the corpus. When tabulating the codeswitches, I placed tokens in the category of the function that seemed most salient in the context. Assignment to some categories is subjective, since, with the exception of some typographic clues, none of the paralinguistic information available in oral encounters is present. I used the categories documented for oral codeswitching as a point of departure from which to formulate others that more closely reflect my data. Phenomena that tended to appear in the data were included, even though the diversity of the corpus means that certain types are over-represented in some texts, while in others they have no tokens at all. Some categories prevalent in speech are less so in written discourse, particularly when the text moves beyond dialogue. An example of this is addressee specification. The discourse function categories I chose are: (1) referential; (2) vocatives; (3) expletives; (4) quotation; (5) commentary and repetition; (6) set phrases, tags, and exclamations; (7) discourse markers; and (8) directives. Following are examples of what is included in each one. Whether codeswitched material can have a purely referential function is open to interpretation. For example, several of the texts contain Caló vocabulary. It could be argued that the words jaina ‘woman, girlfriend’ and bato ‘man’ communicate certain nuances that their equivalents in standard Spanish would not. However, no terms are entirely neutral; the choice of words from the standard over a regional variety or vice versa communicates still other nuances. But this does not detract from their main function in the discourse: the trans-

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mission of information in a narrative. If EL material seems to advance rather than to comment on the narrative, I have, in the absence of other, more salient, functions, assigned it to the referential category. It is important to note that while the surface form – the syntax and discourse functions within the text – of codeswitching in the corpus texts is often identical between the narrative and dialogue, the fact of the authors’ use of it has implications within a broader context. It may expose the author to economic as well as social consequences. The use of codeswitching in the main narrative – i.e. in the author’s voice – signals a willingness to go against convention by not following the standards for written language. These standards dictate that representations of non-standard varieties be limited to dialogue between characters, where any attendant connotations of their use can be ascribed to the fictional characters’, rather than the author’s, sociopolitical stance. Because of their prevalence across the corpus I created a separate category for vocatives; proper names were excluded. Some especially common vocatives in the corpus, used by young males to address other young males, are pana, ése, and carnal, the first being of Puerto Rican origin and the second two Chicano. Kinship terms present a minor dilemma: which ones should be considered codeswitches? Words that are similar in Spanish and English were not counted. Thus, papá and mamá were not counted as switches, whereas hermana ‘sister’, abuelo ‘grandfather’, and mijo ‘my son’ were. Jefe and viejo are other kinship terms that would be assigned to this category, except that they occurred more often in reference than in vocative position. Their literal meaning is ‘boss’ and ‘old man’, but both are used as terms of affection for one’s father. In studies of oral codeswitching, attention attraction or addressee specification are functions often ascribed to vocatives. In my data neither of these seems to be the vocatives’ primary role. In most cases they occur when the speaker already has his interlocutor’s attention, and there are no other listeners from which the addressee need be distinguished. As discussed below, vocatives in my corpus serve more to underline the relationship between speaker and addressee. For the third category I use the term expletive in its narrowest sense of taboo words and expressions and euphemisms for same. Such terms are a notorious marker of emblematic codeswitching, and are available to speakers who have little other competence in the EL. They are of additional interest for their association with informal registers. Examples of words and phrases assigned to this category are coño, carajo, concho and me cago en la madre. The fourth category, quotation, is a very common site for and function of codeswitching in oral discourse, whenever a speaker wishes to report verbatim

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an utterance made in another language. In written data, especially in fiction, it is not so easy to decide what constitutes quotation. The problem stems from the double dimensionality of fiction discussed in Chapter 2. On one level – on an external level – all dialogue in fiction is quotation on the narrator’s part. Following that, much of the codeswitches in my texts could be said to have a quotative function. This is not an unreasonable analysis when we consider that many texts use codeswitches into Spanish exclusively to portray contexts in which Spanish, or Spanish/English codeswitching, would be the authentic language. However, on an internal level, deeper within the dialogue and narrative, quotation is not the most salient function of the codeswitching. So, tokens were assigned to this category in two cases only: (1) when there was an explicit reference to the act of citation by means of a verb of communication or quotation marks, or (2) when it was clear that the codeswitched material was cited from some other source such as a song, poem or other text. Following are examples of both contexts: (67) But like my father always said, ‘El dinero robado tú te lo gastas con miedo.’ ‘You spend stolen money in fear.’ (NEEQ 103) (68) Ira andaba que se meaba por desembuchar; que Noddy “and some very important people, Jehú,” le habían hablado seriamente, y etc. y etc. ‘Ira was practically pissing himself he was so eager to spill his guts, that Noddy. . . had spoken to him seriously, and etc. and etc.’ (NSRH 9) (69) And the old indio citó a Zapata con el mismo náhuatl con el cual lanzó su manifiesto a los pueblos indios. ‘And the old Indian quoted Zapata in the same Náhuatl that [Zapata] had used to deliver his manifesto to the Indian peoples.’ [Followed by quotation in Náhuatl and its translation to English.] (NEGK 88) (70) They had a small radio at their feet tuned to an old love song, “Mujer, si puedes tu con Dios hablar pregúntale si yo alguna vez te he dejado de adorar.” ‘Woman, if you can speak with God, ask Him if I’ve ever stopped adoring you.’ (NEEQ 22)

The fifth category, commentary and repetition, is the opposite of the first, referential. Commentary and repetition are two related functions which have in common one important feature: they supply no new information, but instead elaborate on that which has already been or is about to be given. In doing so, these codeswitches draw attention to and emphasize information given in the opposite language. The examples below illustrate these functions.

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(71) Es que la gente just don’t like us porque they think we like to be criminals ‘It’s that people’ ‘because’ or some shit. Pero la neta, we just like to party. ‘But the truth is’ (SEMV 167; italics added)

Note that the codeswitches in the first sentence – Es que la gente and porque – are referential and discourse marking, respectively. The phrase at the beginning of the second sentence – ‘but the truth is’ – comments on what comes after. In (72), the NP vecindades del Valle ‘Valley neighborhoods’ also constitutes a referential codeswitch, supplying new information, while imagínense ‘imagine’ expresses surprise or sarcasm at the fact that the narrator and his friends ventured into a wealthy neighborhood while cruising. (72) So cruising became for us on shadowy autumn nights an aberrant social interaction [. . . ]; up to the Heights (imagínense) and through the forgotten vecindades del Valle [. . . ] (SEGM 58; italics added)

Codeswitches that repeat or anticipate information which precedes or follows often double as a contextual translation device. (73) The elders loosened up – ¡que se aflojaron! – got tired, and permitted the ‘they loosened up’ youngsters to come back. (SEGK 115; italics added)

Finally, punctuation and direct address of the reader make the commentative function of a codeswitch even more salient, as in the following passage: (74) Pues la gente no quiere ir ya allí. . . quesque el servicio no aparece cuando uno se ha pasado sus pinchis dos horas esperando en el emergency o admitting, que el equipment no funciona como debe. . . (so much for the computer age, mijos) y quesque muchos materiales y medicina, todo tipo de cosa desde vendas de gasa hasta el éter, desaparece del inventory. . . (poverty works in mysterious ways its wonders to perform). (NSMC 9) ‘Well people don’t want to go there anymore. . . they say that the staff doesn’t appear when one has passed his or her goddamn two hours waiting in emergency or admitting, that the equipment doesn’t work as it should. . . (so much for the computer age, my children) and that a lot of materials and medicine, all kinds of things from gauze bandages to even ether, disappear from the inventory. . . (poverty works in mysterious ways its wonders to perform).’

In (74) readers are addressed as mijos ‘my children’, a vocative used in affectionate address. The use of parentheses signals the author’s intent to separate

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what is contained within them from the main text, on which the parenthetical material comments. Items in the sixth category, in common with expletives, are characteristic of emblematic codeswitching. Set phrases, tags and exclamations all may serve to signal the speaker’s membership in a certain speech community, even when his active vocabulary in the EL includes only the expressions used. This category includes salutations and religious invocations. Examples of tokens are: Dios te bendiga ‘God bless you’, ¿que no? ‘right?’ , ¿verdad? ‘right?’, ¿entiendes? ‘do you understand?’, ¡chévere! ‘terrific, cool’ and ¡bendito! ‘blessed’. Items in the seventh category, discourse markers, can also signal emblematic codeswitching. Some studies group tags and exclamations with discourse markers; I reserve this category for a more limited set of items. Some discourse markers in my corpus are mira ‘look’, bueno ‘OK’, pues ‘well’, porque ‘because’, and so. Finally, the eighth category was created in response to the corpus, in which directives seemed to be a frequent function. I use the term strictly in the sense of a direct command. There are many instances in which set phrases have a superficial resemblance to directives, because they appear in the imperative or in the subjunctive mode. In such cases what seems to be the most salient function in the context dictated to which category the token was assigned. For example, in the following scene, the speaker is desperate to leave before police arrive at the luncheonette where he and another teenaged boy have just committed armed robbery. (75) “Vámonos, man, let’s get out of this joint!” Carlos pleaded. ‘Let’s go’ (SENM2 165; italics added)

In contrast, in example (76), the speaker does not actually expect his addressee to refrain from worrying about the latter’s wife, who, eight months pregnant, has left him after a quarrel. The phrase he utters is conventional in such circumstances, and has little illocutionary intent or force. (76) “No te apure, we’ll get her back.” ‘Don’t worry’

(NEEQ 193)

There are other cases in which directives have some other, more salient, discourse function, as in the example given above for the category of commentary and repetition, imagínense ‘imagine’.

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Table 3.2 Tabulation of codeswitching by discourse function Type

Tokens

Vocative Expletive Quotation Commentary and Repetition Set Phrases, Tags, Exclamations Discourse Markers Directives Corpus total (less Referential)

873 (.30) 299 (.10) 210 (.07) 367 (.13) 764 (.27) 284 (.10) 86 (.03) 2,883 (100)

.. Findings of discourse function tabulation The total number of tokens assigned to a discourse category is 7,366. This includes tokens in both Spanish and English. Codeswitches with a referential function account for 4,483 or, 60 percent of the total. Because I view referentiality as a default discourse function, I separate its total from the other seven categories. The total number of tokens in these categories is 2,883. Table 3.2 shows the totals for each remaining category of discourse function. Figures for the individual texts are given in Appendix D. That the largest category is vocatives would seem to be an indication of the emphasis accorded to those terms which highlight community and family relationships. These terms, just like the words or phrases in the other categories, gain salience by virtue of being written in the EL, with its inherent contrast value. Two or three of the longer texts account for the bulk of tokens in this category; nevertheless, twenty-two, or nearly three quarters of the texts in the corpus, have at least one codeswitch with vocative function. The second largest category – set phrases, tags, and exclamations – mimics a pattern often found in speech, one which may again reflect the size of the speaker’s repertoire in the EL. As these constructions are formulaic and occur in syntactic isolation, their use requires less competence. They can be memorized and do not demand an ability to integrate them into ML constituents. In written codeswitching, their use has an additonal advantage. Readers who might be unable to decipher unfamiliar information in the EL may yet be conversant with the tokens in this category. This might be especially true of third generation heritage speakers of an immigrant language, who would recognize expressions they have heard older family members utter.

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.. Comparison of findings to previous studies Studies of oral codeswitching from a discourse perspective tend to focus on the pragmatic functions codeswitches fulfill in conversation, with less attention given to the actual structures used. My data are not limited to representations of conversations, and I have not chosen a conversation analytic approach (see Auer 1998). Studies which do mention specific categories of constituents that correspond to some of mine include the following. Olshtain and Blum-Kulka (1989: 60–61) find “discourse fillers (tags, interjections, exclamations, etc.)” to account for the largest group (14%) of codeswitches after nouns in their Hebrew/English data. Maschler (1994), also working with a Hebrew/English corpus, finds discourse markers to be a frequent site for switching, as do Kamwangamalu and Lee (1991: 253). Brody (1987) and Johnson (1995) report on the use of specific Spanish discourse markers in Mayan languages and Tejano,12 respectively. Johnson also finds quotation to be an important function, when speakers codeswitch to enhance the dramatic effect of reported speech. Valdés (1981) and McClure (1981) study the use of codeswitching for commands. McClure (1981) also discusses the use of repetition in codeswitching by children as a way to hold the floor during pauses to formulate their next utterance. Halmari (1993) finds evaluative comments to account for almost a fourth of the codeswitches in her data from Finnish/English dialogue between two children. Evaluative comments corresponds to my category of commentary and repetition. .. Preponderance of referential information Heller (1988b: 4) states: [. . . ] language contact phenomena may not bear any indexical relationship to interpretive frames at all, as the alternative frames collapse, and so the linguistic forms come to carry referential meaning only.

Much of the codeswitching literature focuses on what codeswitching means, on what the implications are of the use of bilingual instead of monolingual discourse. But, especially in situations in which codeswitching is the unmarked code, it may have no meaning beyond its use as a vehicle to transmit information. Some of the texts in my corpus, in which the only discourse function of the EL material is to advance the narrative, might be considered to signal inferences on a higher level, external to the text. That is, in the political economy of code choice, the author’s decision to use both Spanish and English does have

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implications.13 However, within the text, language alternation is just one more element in an overall style, and the various discourse functions discussed above have no particular prominence in one code or the other. In one of the texts (NECM), for example, codeswitches to Spanish occur solely to name material objects and to represent conversations that would have been carried out in that language. In another text (NSGB), codeswitches occur primarily at paragraph level, and there are entire pages in either Spanish or English. These two texts have in common a relative paucity of intrasentential codeswitching, and the longer monolingual passages lessen the contrast that a tighter proximity between codes would produce. But there are other texts with more intimate switching, in which EL constituents likewise lack any special salience of discourse function. .. Use of codeswitching to exclude/insult interlocutor Just as codeswitching can be used to include and express solidarity with an interlocutor who is from the same speech community, it can also be used to exclude or express animosity toward an outgroup member. This function is represented in two of the texts, in which a character takes advantage of his addressee’s ignorance of Spanish to utter an insult. In one of the same texts, codeswitches fulfill an instrumental function, as plans for a robbery are made in the presence of the victim. The exchange in (77) begins with a question from a Chicano university student to his professor of history. Note that in both this and the second passage, the speaker is of lower status than his interlocutor, which prohibits his issuing the insult in a shared language. (77) “And Pancho Villa?” “What’s the matter with you, Johnny? Can’t you read? Pancho Villa was a bastard, literally. He had ‘wives’ everywhere. He massacred women and children alike. And he was a bandit, a bandido. Anything else, Johnny?” “Chingatumadre.” “What?” “I’ve said, thank you.” “You’re ‘Fuck your mother’ welcome.” (SSJA2 82; italics added)

The conversation in the next passage takes place on the battlefield in Vietnam. (78) “Yes sir. But can I go and retrieve our dead Vietnamese advisor?,” asks Ese. “We don’t have any time to go and pick up any dead gooks, sergeant. Move

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out.” “Pinche puto,” says Ese. “What did you say?” asks the captain. “I said, ‘Stupid asshole’ it is good to be alive, in Spanish, sir.” (NECT 176; translation from the original; italics added)

In the final passage a car-side drug deal is depicted. (79) “Man, you are some jive motherfuckers,” says the black hippie insultingly. “Wilo, ponte trucha porque cuando te diga, nos vamos de volada porque le voy a rebatar la bolsa,” says Machete. “O.K., O.K. man, let’s see what you got.” The white hippie brings out a bag of acid and one of marijuana. As soon as he does, Machete grabs both of them and tells Wilo, “Vamonos a la chingada. Dale gas.” ‘Wilo, be alert because when I tell you to split, I’m going to grab the bag.’ ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here. Punch the gas’ (NECT 36; translation from the original; italics added)

The use of another language in the presence of non-speakers may cause discomfort, suspicion or hostility on the part of those to whom it is incomprehensible (Imahara 1993: 244). A common fear among non-speakers, especially among monolingual English speakers in the United States, is that they are being mocked without their knowledge. Yet these three passages contain the only scenes represented in my corpus in which a switch to Spanish is used deliberately to insult or injure. While the expression of insults, often based on race and ethnicity, is frequent across the corpus, these are the only depictions of the use of codeswitching to perform such a speech act without the intended recipient’s being aware. In one other text, codeswitching to English performs an instrumental function for two brothers travelling in Mexico, when they come upon a pair of men holding a girl captive. Her captors’ ignorance of English allows the boys to coordinate a rescue maneuver. (80) Get the horses, he said. Boyd stepped behind him. The man watched him. Adónde vas? he said. ‘Where are you going?’ Go on, said Billy. Adónde va el muchacho? ‘Where’s the boy going?’ Está enfermo. ‘He’s ill.’ (NECM 209-210; italics added)

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After the girl’s rescue, the younger boy objects to his brother’s use of a mild expletive in her presence, even when the older boy points out that his words are incomprehensible to her. (81) Boyd sat looking off up the road into the darkness. You know they’re going to follow us. Billy jammed the shotgun into the scabbard. Hell yes I know it, he said. Dont be cussin in front of her. What? I said dont be cussin in front of her. You just now got done sayin she dont speak no english. That dont make it not cussin. (NECM 212)

.. Conclusions There is some parity between oral and written codeswitching in regard to discourse function. If we set aside for a moment the fact that the figures in Table 3.2 do not include codeswitches with a referential function, the largest category is vocatives, followed by set phrases, tags and exclamations – a state of affairs which suggests two possibilities. One, that codeswitching in these texts has a primarily emblematic function, and/or two, that the authors are either not fluent in the EL or else refrain from using more of it because their target audience is not fluent in it. However, if the codeswitches with a referential function had not been isolated from the categories discussed above, the overall presence of the latter would be greatly reduced, even though they would retain their proportions vis-à-vis one another. What actually appears in several of the texts is a high percentage of EL material which has the main function of transmitting information that advances the narrative; information that the monolingual reader will have to either decipher from contextual clues, or else do without.

Notes . Interjections include vocatives, expletives, discourse markers, and some exclamations. . Interjections, which have a considerable representation in my data, are not a specific category in previous syntactic studies.

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Chapter 3 . In the following sentence, que is the complementizer, and I work for the Police Dept. is the IP: El no sabía que I work for the Police Dept. ‘He didn’t know that I work for the Police Dept.’ (Example from the author’s unpublished oral codeswitching data.) . See also Backus (2003). . I refer here to their psychological status, since, as stated in Chapter 2, I do not count proper names as codeswitches. . Cf. Clyne (1987: 744–745). Under his triggering hypothesis, personal names, along with bilingual homophones, are items “of ambiguous affiliation” in that they belong to the speaker’s two systems and may combine syntactically with elements from either system. Such items trigger switches; Clyne notes that the early literature considers the trigger word itself to form part of the switch. However, I consider such items to be external to any switch, precisely because they cannot – except when marked with distinctive morphology from one of the languages, such as the English possessive clitic – be linked exclusively to one language or the other. . I consider the PP to be part of the sentence which begins with they found, despite the capitalization of En. Sentence fragments separated by suspension points are part of a pattern used throughout this text to indicate the pauses of speech. . Brackets will be used throughout this section to indicate ML and ML + EL constituents, while parentheses will frame EL islands. . Bridge late system morphemes unite structural units; an example is English of, when used as a bridge between possessor and possessed: book of Jan (Myers-Scotton 2002: 79). The selection of outsider late system morphemes depends on information from outside of their immediate constituent; an example from English is the third person singular -s on a verb, which is not accessed until subject information is available (Myers-Scotton 2002: 302). . A similar restriction is reported by Fleischer for Greek/English codeswitching and Kurtböke for Turkish/English codeswitching; that is, the inflected do verb is always supplied by Greek or Turkish, while English supplies the bare stem verb. The reverse construction does not occur. . The first hacer + English verb construction in this sentence does not instantiate a do + bare stem verb construction, since the Spanish monolingual equivalent also includes hacer, that is, hacer + infinitive: Me hace acordar de un güey. The retention of the particle de, instead of the zero morph that would accompany remember in a monolingual English utterance, indicates that the English verb is analyzed as a bare stem insertion. This differs from the construction at issue in this section; the latter is a codeswitched equivalent to a single inflected verb as opposed to a complex verbal construction involving finite and non-finite forms. . Johnson (1995: abstract) defines Tejano as “a code spoken by many Mexican-Americans in Texas that consists of elements of English and Spanish in frequent alternation.” . See Gal (1988), Heller (1990, 1992, 1995), and Bourdieu (1977, 1982, 1991).

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Written codeswitching and codeswitching in nonprint media

. Historical examples of written codeswitching Codeswitching is present in the early literatures of many languages. The first instances are reflective of diglossic situations, in which a spoken form had developed from a classical, written form of a language. Perhaps the earliest example of written codeswitching appears in the plays of ancient India, which feature Sanskrit/Prakrit codeswitching (Pandit 1986: 24).1 Forster (1970: 24) describes a seventh century Irish poem in which several of the stanzas are entirely in Irish, before a transition to verses in which Latin alternates with the vernacular. Also cited as a historical example of written codeswitching is “medieval macaronic verse, combining Latin and one or more vernaculars” (e.g. Mohr 1982: 104). Mohr compares medieval macaronic verse to the use of Spanish and English in Nuyorican verse, while Forster (1970: 14) describes the former as an invented idiom “consisting mainly of Latinized Italian words with Latin inflexional endings”. Forster is referring to Italian poet Teofilo Folengo – in the sixteenth century somewhat past the Middle Ages – but in any case, this would not be classified as codeswitching in the present study, of Spanish and English. The combination of roots from one language with inflections from another can in some cases be considered codeswitching,2 particularly between genetically dissimilar languages, but here it seems to be chiefly a literary artifice.3 Whinnom (1983) detects Arabic/Romance codeswitching in some Hispanoarabic poetry. Whether this is codeswitching or borrowing has been the subject of debate, and is discussed further by Armistead and Monroe (1983). García Gómez (1975) points out that when the extent of Arabic in an otherwise Romance text is limited to one or two words, it is difficult to distinguish a codeswitch from an Arabism borrowed into Romance. He presumably bases this on the sociolinguistic situation in force when this type of poetry was written, during which Arabic was the dominant language. As such, it would have

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been more likely to be the source of loans into a Romance vernacular than vice versa. But according to García Gómez (1975: 38), when the percentage of Arabic is greater than that of Romance, it can be considered “una jarcha árabe con algunas palabras romances” ‘an Arabic jarcha with some Romance words’. Note that this could qualify as codeswitching under the definition used in my study, providing the Romance words in question were not part of the Arabic lexicon, something which might be impossible to establish now. Sempere Martínez (1997: 649) advocates a closer study of the jarchas from a syntactic perspective, and cites reconstructions that were judged unacceptable by Spanish-Arabic bilinguals. Words or phrases from the various Romance languages began to appear more often in otherwise Latin texts. Being a writer in the Middle Ages presupposed being bi- if not multilingual. Nevertheless, this was usually manifested in an author’s exclusive use of one language or another for different texts, as opposed to intratextual alternation. Some writers did use more than one language within the same text, although not in an intrasentential fashion.4 Saraiva (1975: 63) cites Provençal poets of the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries: Raimbaut de Vaqueiras chegou mesmo ao extremo de escrever um poema pentalingue, com 5 cada qual em sua língua (occitânico, italiano, francês, gascão e galego-português ou aragonês com galeguismos) e uma finda de 10 versos que retomavan, 2 a 2, essas mesmas línguas. E Cerveri de Girona deixou-nos uma de 10 em seis (ou 4, como crêem alguns críticos modernos), tal como Bonifácio o Calvo nos deixou um sirventês plurilingue. ‘Raimbaut de Vaqueiras went so far as to write a pentalingual poem, with 5 “couplets” each one in its own language (Occitan, Italian, French, Gascon and Galician-Portuguese or Aragonese with Galicianisms) and a finda of 10 verses that took up again, 2 by 2, those same languages. And Cerveri de Girona left us a “couplet” of 10 in six “languages” (or 4, as some modern critics believe), just as Bonifácio o Calvo left us a plurilingual sirventês.’

Participation in a language combination with Latin is not limited to the Romances. Diller (1998) discusses codeswitching into Latin in medieval English drama, with a smaller number of occurrences of switches into Greek, Hebrew, and French. Forster (1970: 10) cites a fifteenth century German Christmas carol in which Latin and German alternate lines in a fixed pattern. Halmari and Adams (2002) examine the codeswitching between Middle English and Latin in Langland’s poem Piers Plowman.

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. Contemporary written codeswitching: Review of the literature Studies of written codeswitching are few in comparison to the large body of work on codeswitching in speech. Following are contemporary examples of written codeswitching, and a review of the literature available on each genre. .. Poetry Written codeswitching between Spanish and English in the United States is much more common in poetry than in prose. Poetry is also a common site for codeswitching between other language pairs. The poetry of Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot features codeswitching from an ML of English into multiple languages. Pound used in his Cantos Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and Chinese. His use of the Greek alphabet and Chinese characters illustrates the fact that in print the act itself of codeswitching can be emphasized in ways that it cannot in oral codeswitching. Warner (1986) examines the multilingualism in Pound’s Cantos from a multidisciplinary perspective, which includes some linguistic analysis. T. S. Eliot’s codeswitching into Italian, French, German, Greek, and Latin in “The Waste Land” echoes Pound’s technique. Rudin (1996: 14) dubs these writers’ use of other languages “artificial”, as opposed to what he refers to as a “mimetic” use, that is, when a second language is used to characterize the speech of an individual for whom or a setting in which it would be authentic (cf. Orlando Trujillo’s remarks below). Canada, with the sociolinguistic and political history of its immigration and colonization, is an important source of contemporary poetry with codeswitching. Paul (1993) analyzes French/English codeswitching in the work of two French-Canadian writers, Nicole Brossard and Michèle Causse. She examines the lesbian content in their work in the context of codeswitching. Both aspects are seen as deviations from the norm; both are considered marked behaviors.5 Tessier (1996) mentions other writers who codeswitch from French into English, and Kürtösi (1993) discusses codeswitching between Hungarian, English, French, and Latin in the work of Canadian-Hungarian poets. The seminal studies of codeswitching in Chicano and Nuyorican poetry were done by Valdés-Fallis (1976, 1977) and Keller (1976, 1979), closely followed by Flores (1981), and Lipski (1982). Aparicio (1986) addresses the situation of the Latino writer whose dominant mode of expression is English. Candelaria (1988) discusses codeswitching as metaphor in Chicano poetry; Cintron (1997) applies Myers-Scotton’s Markedness model to a sampling of the work of Chicano and Nuyorican poets.

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Earlier studies examine the problem from the perspective of bilingual competence. Of interest to researchers was the influence of the degree of the writer’s bilingual competence on the type of codeswitching used, or, what could be deduced about the writer’s bilingual competence from the type of codeswitching used. Lipski (1982: 195) classifies styles of codeswitching in literature and correlates them with degrees of bilingual competence: Type I is the monolingual text, perhaps with a handful of L2 words thrown in for flavor. Much Chicano and Boricua poetry written entirely in English falls into this category and does not necessarily presuppose a high degree of bilingualism, although biculturalism is clearly assumed. [. . . ] Type II bilingual literature exhibits intersentential code switches, where entire lines of poetry or entire sentences of prose are produced in a single language, with switches occurring at phrase/sentence boundaries. This type of writing, which any type of bilingual individual may produce, including one who has learned a second language late in life, is most typical of the so-called “coordinate bilingual”, who has learned each of the languages in a different setting and who therefore associates entire contexts and, consequently, entire propositions with a specific language. It is impossible, from such texts, to establish the true bilingual competence of the writer, but the fact that entire propositions are expressed monolingually indicates that the writer sees fit to separate the two linguistic and cultural domains. [. . . ] Type III bilingual literature exhibits intrasentential code switches typical of the “compound bilingual” who has learned both languages at approximately the same time and in similar or identical contexts. It is in such texts that the high degree of integration of a bilingual grammar becomes most apparent.

Although in some studies passing attention is given to how the codeswitching in poetry conforms to various models of syntactic constraints, the concept of the use of each language stemming from specific domains or metaphorical associations is a more dominant theme in the literature. For example, YbarraFrausto centers his examination of Alurista’s poetry on how the codeswitching expresses the “connotative and denotative domains of the two languages” (1979: 123). Orlando Trujillo (1979) relates the poet’s choice of either Spanish or English to thematic content of the proposition (cf. Lipski 1982). See also Labarthe (1992: 88–89). Keller and Valdés-Fallis discuss the stylistic aspects of codeswitching that reflect the individual poet’s psychological domains. Valdés-Fallis (1976), following Gumperz and Hernández-Chávez (1975), comments that the EL, which in the bulk of Chicano poetry is Spanish, is the language of stylistic embroider-

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ing, while the ML, English, is the language in which new information is given. The concept of bilingual competence is again given prominence. Valdés-Fallis (1976: 881) cites Fishman’s (1964) four stages of bilingual competence, and discusses which type of codeswitching will be produced by each type of speaker: We may then point out that code-switching would vary depending upon the command of languages which a bilingual speaker possesses. If he is dominantly Spanish-speaking, English can be seen to signal the alien or the foreign, that is, the essentially Anglo domain. On the other hand, if the poet is already primarily English speaking, Spanish will be used to recall his tradition, the very personal, or that which can bring him closer to his brother Mexican-Americans.

Córdova (1980: 326) criticizes attempts to assign languages to domains, and advocates instead a structural approach to the analysis of Spanish/English codeswitching in poetry: Such a method for attempting to establish a specific means of predicting when code switching will occur permits the appearance of too many variables because of the many possible individual interpretations of exactly what constitutes the “Chicano world” and the “Anglo world.” A description of the code switching that occurs in bilingual Chicano poetry based on well established syntactic rules of standard Spanish and standard English would surely be more reliable than a method based on subjective interpretation of ethnic worlds.

There is also some analysis of the choice of one language over another for stylistic reasons, as manifested in phonological or metrical elements. Valdés-Fallis (1976: 884) discusses how Jesús Maldonado balances the onomatopoeic and connotative possibilities of Spanish and English in one of his poems. Orlando Trujillo (1979) reports on the aesthetic considerations which regulate language alternation in José Montoya’s “El Louie”. He analyzes the use of phonetic and metric contrasts. Contrast as an aesthetic device, although not in the predominately phonetic sense in which it functions in poetry, will be discussed further in Chapter 5. Keller and Valdés-Fallis raise the question of whether codeswitching reflects community speech patterns. Mohr (1982) considers this to be unequivocal in the case of Nuyorican writers. Orlando Trujllo (1979: 150) goes further, differentiating the work of Chicano writers from that of other authors who draw on bilingual resources: Bilingual expression is not employed by the Chicano as a conceit or device but rather is part of the Chicano’s normal language. Not, of course, that bilingualism in poetry is new: the Arab-Hispanic jarchas and muwashahas of the

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eleventh and twelfth centuries exploited its possibilities, as in America Pound, Eliot, and others have often done since. But, this has been a poetry of the élite. In the case of the Chicano, it springs from the vernacular of the working class.6

Orlando Trujillo’s statement concerning poetry of the elite may be correct insofar as Pound and Eliot are concerned, but it is inaccurate in regard to the jarchas, which belong to a tradition of popular lyric poetry (Lapesa 1980: 194). The writer most often cited in connection with Spanish/English codeswitching in poetry is Alurista; José Montoya and Raúl Salinas are also considered forerunners. Other writers in whose poetry Spanish/English codeswitching can be found are too numerous to list; some of the better known are José Antonio Burciaga, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Abelardo Delgado, Juan Felipe Herrera, Jesús Maldonado, Tato Laviera, José Montalvo, Beverly Silva, Carmen Tafolla, Evangelina Vigil, and Tino Villanueva. Some Chicano poets also incorporate indigenous languages, especially Náhuatl, into their work (Ybarra-Frausto 1979; Callahan 1996).7 Codeswitching is very much in evidence in the genre known as spokenword, which is a combination of poetry and performance.8 Some spokenword practitioners based in the San Francisco Bay Area whose work features codeswitching are Marc David Pinate and Grito Serpentino, Robert Karimi, Los Delicados, and Las Tres Potencias. From Southern California come the Taco Shop Poets, Olga Angelina García Echeverría, and Manuel J. Vélez. Vélez has published a book of poems, but in general the work of such writers is easier to find on compact disc, where it is usually accompanied by the text of their poetry printed on liner notes. Many of these groups and individuals also have websites, and their poetry is available online. One can find similar activity in the field of spoken-word in other metropolitan areas, especially in New York, where the Nuyorican Poets Café has been the scene of bilingual poetry readings since its founding in 1974 by Miguel Algarín (Algarín & Griffith 1997: 437). Both local and nationally known poets have given readings there. Examples of poems containing codeswitching, such as Ed Morales’ “Rebirth of New Rican” and Tracie Morris’ “Morenita”, along with work from more widely known poets such as José Montoya, Raúl Salinas, Rudolfo Anaya and Alurista, appear in an anthology of the Café performers’ work (Algarín & Holman 1994). .. Drama Codeswitching in prose is used most often in dialogue – and monologue – hence its frequent and early occurrence in works written for the stage (see

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Note 1). Canonica (1991), in a comprehensive study of plurilingualism in the plays of Lope de Vega, details the playwright’s codeswitching from Spanish into Latin, Italian, Portuguese, French, Flemish, Arabic, Turkish, Quechua, Guaraní, German, Catalan, and Basque. Forster (1970: 13) cites Shakespeare’s use of French in Henry V. Kürtösi (1994: 480) notes that since this play is set “during the Hundred Years’ War between England and France, the presence of the other language can be seen as a natural consequence of the subject matter.” In contrast to Lope de Vega’s work, Shakespeare’s play contains both inter- and intrasentential codeswitching. In more contemporary contexts, Mackey (1993) reports on Quebecois plays by Loranger, Richer, and Godbout, in which dialogue also features French/English inter- and intrasentential codeswitching. Grobler (1990) analyzes plays by South Africans Athol Fugard and Fatima Dike, which contain codeswitching between English, Afrikaans and Xhosa. Codeswitching is common in works written for Chicano theater, just as it is an integral part of the speech of the characters depicted. El Teatro Campesino, founded by Luis Valdez in 1965 in San Juan Bautista, California, was originally a farmworkers’ group, and later became a troupe of professional actors (Valdez 1971: preface). Although Valdez and El Teatro Campesino remain the most visible in the Chicano theater movement, there are many other companies, such as Teatro de la Esperanza and the Bilingual Foundation for the Arts in California. Some of the plays featuring codeswitching performed by Chicano theater troupes include: Soldierboy, by Judith and Severo Pérez; Latina, by Milcha Sánchez-Scott and Jefferey Blahnik; and La víctima, by El Teatro de la Esperanza (Huerta 1989). Performance artist Guillermo Gómez-Peña has published plays in which characters’ speech features substantial amounts of Spanish/English codeswitching. In addition to his own Borderama (1996), he has mounted a production of Dryden’s The Indian Queen, in which both dialogue and lyrics were rewritten in “Spanglish” (Gómez-Peña 2000: 85–87). Performances by the theater and comedy troupe Culture Clash, whose inception was the result of a collaboration between José Montoya’s Royal Chicano Air Force and José Antonio Burciaga in 1984, are also a source of codeswitching on stage (Crowder 1998). Monologues written for the stage are another rich source of codeswitching. A good example of this genre is Denise Chávez’s “Novena Narrativas y Ofrendas Nuevomexicanas” (1988).

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.. Fiction Codeswitching appears in novels written in diverse languages. The titles most often cited are Joyce’s Ulysses and Tolstoy’s War and Peace; Nabokov’s Pnin and Pale Fire are also mentioned with some frequency. Nassar (1993) discusses the intertextual references concealed in Nabokov’s codeswitching from English to Russian in his later novels. In Ulysses, Joyce uses inter- and intrasentential codeswitching, both in direct dialogue and in free indirect discourse. There are switches from English into Latin, French, Italian, Irish Gaelic, Spanish, and German. None of the EL passages are translated, and the reader who does not understand the first four embedded languages listed will miss some of the meaning, although in most cases comprehension of the novel’s main argument will not be seriously affected. Two later novels which are similar to Ulysses in the type of codeswitching used are Julio Cortázar’s Rayuela and Un tal Lucas. Rudin (1996: 14) comments that the type of bilingual technique these authors use, which lacks a “realistic function” is “much rarer”. Their codeswitching is “either purely arbitrary or consist[s] of literary quotations in a secondary language”. D. H. Lawrence’s The Plumed Serpent (1926), on the other hand, presents an example of mimetic codeswitching, although it also contains instances of what Rudin would consider artificial codeswitching. The Plumed Serpent presents an interesting case in that it has similarities to one of the novels in my corpus, Cormac McCarthy’s The Crossing. Two more earlier novels that have been commented on in relation to codeswitching are Brontë’s Jane Eyre and Thomas Mann’s Buddenbrooks, in which there is codeswitching from English and German, respectively, to French. Most of the codeswitching in Buddenbrooks, however, is between dialects; this type of codeswitching will not be treated in my study.9 Rieger (personal communication 2000) cites a contemporary case of codeswitching in two novels by Cathy Clement, involving French, German and English, into which the author, who is from Luxembourg, “code-switches from her native Letzeburgisch”. The aesthetic effects produced by the visible representation of codeswitching will be discussed in Chapter 5. Such effects are given special attention by Mackey, who mentions Claude Simon’s La Bataille de Pharsale, in which the novelist “juxtaposes words and sentences in Italian, English, Latin, and Greek with his own French” (Mackey 1993: 18–19). Many studies of codeswitching in fiction deal with the sociolinguistic situations reflected by this practice. Azevedo (1991, 1993) focuses on the sociopo-

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litical relationship of Catalan to Spanish in his examination of Juan Marsé’s El amante bilingüe, and of the work of seven other authors10 writing during or after Franco’s regime. Heinemann (1996) also analyzes novels by Marsé, and by Andreu Martín. Pfaff (2000, 2001) calls attention to three novels, by Feridun Zaimoglu, which feature German/Turkish codeswitching. She contrasts the difference between “real corpora of spoken language analysed to date” and Zaimoglu’s representation of migrant language with the ideological function achieved “through extensive use of emblematic codeswitching to represent the speech of Turkish/German youth and young adults [. . . ]” (Pfaff 2000). Omole (1987) discusses Yoruba/English codeswitching in Nigerian author Wole Soyinka’s The Interpreters. This novel also contains alternation between standard, nonstandard and West African pidgin English; Omole analyzes the sociolinguistic significance of each variety. Several African novels reflect the prevalence of codeswitching in speech on that continent. Blommaert (1993) discusses the use of English dialogue in a Kenyan popular novel, Dar Imenihadaa (‘Dar has betrayed me’). Author Rashidi Akwilombe uses English in the speech of certain characters to symbolize disapproval of Western values. Another Kenyan author of popular fiction, David G. Maillu, has written a novel, Without Kiinua Mgongo, entirely in Swahili-English codeswitching. In Uganda, a novel by Mary K. Okurut uses English/Swahili codeswitching in the speech of Idi Amin to engage readers’ associations of the latter language with political repression and police brutality (Miner 1998: 199–203). Nigerian Chinua Achebe is another African author to have used codeswitching, English/Igbo in Things Fall Apart (Bandia 1996). Fewer researchers have engaged in structural studies of codeswitching in fiction. Timm (1978) analyzes Tolstoy’s use of Russian/French codeswitching in War and Peace against her model of syntactic constraints. That model (1975) was based on oral Spanish/English data that included some written Spanish/English data for comparative purposes (cf. Pfaff 1979: 295). Timm (1978: 247) mentions the possibility of a certain degree of syntactic convergence between Russian and French “in the minds of [the] code-switching bilinguals” whose speech is represented in the novel. As is true for studies on codeswitching in the literature of other language pairs, relatively few of those dealing with Spanish/English focus on structural aspects. As mentioned above, Timm (1975) used a short story written by the same informants whose conversation makes up the rest of her corpus. She formulated a set of syntactic constraints on codeswitching based on this combined corpus of oral and written data. The primary focus of her investigation, however, was on speech rather than writing. Rudin (1996: x) states that his study

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is not intended to be a linguistic analysis, but he nevertheless provides exhaustive data on translation techniques, semantic fields, and constituent size in the codeswitching that occurs in Chicano literature. His book is also a valuable bibliographic resource. The majority of studies on Spanish/English codeswitching in fiction focus on stylistic and sociolinguistic concerns. Many highlight the sociocultural situations that inspire the literary use of codeswitching. Cancel Ortiz (1986: 112) describes “the Spanglish of the characters of contemporary Puerto Rican writers” as symptomatic of “the path of degenerative linguistic and cultural process as reflected in Puerto Rican literature.” He distances himself from purely linguistic treatments of the phenomenon: In their attempts to analyze this situation, many language experts speak of Puerto Rico’s language experience as just another instance of languages in contact. In this essay I speak not merely of languages in contact, or the encounter between the English and the Spanish languages in Puerto Rican literature. I speak of the conflict beneath this encounter because there is no other word for this struggle for survival that is waged by Puerto Ricans. (Cancel Ortiz 1986: 113)

From this point of view, Spanish/English codeswitching is considered to be a symbol of linguistic and, by extension, cultural, ambivalence, and is not seen as an enrichment of communicative repertoires. The body of fiction in which Spanish/English codeswitching is used, while not quite so visible as that of poetry, is ample nonetheless. The quantity of codeswitching in short stories and novels varies from single words to whole sentences or paragraphs. Codeswitching in the dialogue is the most common pattern, but many authors also engage in language alternation in the main narrative. Spanish/English codeswitching in fiction is most often used in the form referred to above as mimetic, as opposed to artificial. Codeswitching in these works, then, reproduces the speech of individuals who would be expected to codeswitch. Codeswitching in the main narrative could be said to be an extension of this: the author’s own sociolinguistic background predicts his or her use of codeswitching. Structurally, both inter- and intrasentential codeswitching is represented. Generally, although not without exception, more intrasentential codeswitching and more codeswitching of a type not limited to the emblematic variety, can be found in lesser known works, issued by small independent publishers. The more widely marketed works tend to have less codeswitching, and what codeswitching there is is often emblematic in nature, limited to vocatives, for-

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mulaic phrases and tag questions. Larger constituents, and often even single words, are accompanied by a literal or contextual translation. Several of the more commercially successful authors whose original work is in English with some codeswitching to Spanish have had their novels rereleased in Spanish. In most instances the translation is done by someone other than the author. Little or none of the codeswitching is preserved; very often representations of nonstandard English are also lost.11 Such is the case for the Spanish translations of the following works: Julia Alvarez. In the Time of the Butterflies. Sandra Cisneros. The House on Mango Street. Cristina García. Dreaming in Cuban and The Agüero Sisters. Abraham Rodríguez, Jr. Spidertown. Luis J. Rodríguez. Always Running. La Vida Loca: Gang Days in L.A. Esmeralda Santiago. When I Was Puerto Rican and América’s Dream. Piri Thomas. Down These Mean Streets.

Since Spanish/English codeswitching in prose is the subject of this study, ample attention will be given to work in which this occurs. My corpus provides a representative list of novelists whose work includes codeswitching; they will not be discussed further here. For the names of more authors, consult Rudin (1996: 254–256). .. Nonfiction12 Written codeswitching between all language pairs occurs less in nonfiction than in any other format, some reasons for which will be discussed in Chapter 5. McClure (1998) studies written codeswitching between the national language and English in Mexico, Spain and Bulgaria. For the first two countries she concentrates on magazine articles, but for Bulgaria she includes advertising, since “examples from commercial usage [. . . ] constitute the vast majority of instances of use of English” (McClure 1998: 129). She investigates similar texts, in addition to Internet sources, in Assyrian/English codeswitching in the United States (McClure 2001). Candalija Reina (1998) examines the prestige factor and the use of English in the articles and advertising of Spanish newspapers. Stølen (1992) studies the use of Danish/English codeswitching in the United States, and points out that in the more formal written genre of the official minutes of a Danish heritage association’s meetings, the writer whose texts form the corpus of the study consciously refrains from using the two languages together, whereas in songs written for special occasions she codeswitches often

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as a stylistic device (219). Graedler (1999) considers prestige as a factor in the use of codeswitching to English in a corpus of Norwegian magazine articles and advertising, which she compares to a set of personal letters. She reports that more codeswitching is found in advertising, film and music reviews, and interviews, as opposed to other types of articles. Pandit (1986: 14–19) found a similar breakdown in regard to the most common sites for Hindi/English codeswitching in nonfiction. In her study she mentions its greater representation in advertisements, sports reporting, and interviews. She also found codeswitching in essays of literary criticism, published in “[p]restigeous Hindi magazines” (17). Miner (1998: 197–199) analyzes an article in a Ugandan newspaper written in English in which codeswitching to Swahili is used for citation. This is also the function of codeswitching from Spanish to Galician in El Correo Gallego, a newspaper published in Santiago de Compostela. Moyer (1998) discusses the Spanish/English codeswitching in a column published in Panorama, a newspaper in Gibraltar. She notes that this column, which simulates a conversation between two fictitious characters who comment on local events in a humorous tone, is the only place where codeswitching occurs in the newspaper. Picard (1993) writes of the visual aspects of French/English codeswitching in advertising in Quebec. Wrenn (1993) analyzes French/English codeswitching in a set of letters written to the editor of a French-Canadian newspaper at the end of the nineteenth century. She discusses the effects of register in regard to the juxtaposition of the academic French that is used by other writers of letters to the editor and in the rest of the newspaper with one particular letterwriter’s much more informal style of English and French Acadian dialect.13 It should be noted that although these letters appear in a nonfiction format, they bear many resemblances to fictional discourse, in that they include representations of speech as well as the invention of situations for dramatic appeal. The majority of codeswitching in nonfiction, then, is found in advertising and journalistic writing. This is true for Spanish/English in the United States, where codeswitching from English to Spanish appears occasionally in press releases, newspaper and magazine articles, and critical essays. It is also used in advertising, often to form puns, or to highlight or suggest cultural nonequivalence between the referents of words in either language.14 However, there are also some examples in critical writing on Latino literature and Latino affairs. Two examples stand out for being the only book length texts in which Spanish/English codeswitching is used throughout: Gloria Anzaldúa’s Border-

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lands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza and, especially, Guillermo Gómez-Peña’s Dangerous Border Crossers.

. Spanish/English codeswitching in nonprint media Given the occurrence of codeswitching in the daily discourse of so many parts of the world, one might expect to find its use in nonprint media such as radio, television and popular music. Where and to what extent this occurs is difficult to estimate in the absence of much existing research; this would be a worthwhile topic for another investigation. In one of the few studies that is available, Miner (1998: 191–197) discusses a popular television program in Uganda in which one character switches into English to express her “worldliness”, putting another character at a disadvantage due to his lesser command of that language (cf. Blommaert 1993). Woolard (1987: 108) reports on a comedian in Barcelona whose work featured Spanish/Catalan codeswitching; his performances were released on tape and recordings were broadcast to the street from department store loud speakers. .. Popular music Of the nonprint media, popular music is the one in which Spanish/English has the highest profile. Much of this occurs in the context of the so-called “crossover” phenomenon, as singers who have begun their careers recording in Spanish decide to record in English. Some artists opt for writing different songs to be sung in each language, but many translate their work, sometimes for simultaneous release in the two languages. A few Spanish words may be retained in the English version’s lyrics, often resulting in the emblematic codeswitching pattern described in Chapter 1. Ricky Martin’s song “La copa de la vida”, written for the 1998 World Cup, has what is billed as a “Spanglish” version that falls in between the allSpanish and all-English renditions, featuring alternate stanzas in either language. “Purest of Pain”, the “Spanglish mix version” (Ross 2000) of the salsa group Son By Four’s “A Puro Dolor”, follows a similar pattern, but also contains some intrasentential codeswitching (Lyrics Hut). The English versions of Martin’s “Livin’ la Vida Loca” and Enrique Iglesias’ “Bailamos” contain repetition of the title phrase interspersed with otherwise English lyrics. A similar pattern is heard in the work of Texan Jaci Velásquez, a singer of Christian music who in late 1999 was in the process of launching a reverse crossover, to the

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Spanish language music market. In “Heavenly Place/Lugar celestial”, a music video of her Spanish language debut, the title and one or two other words in English echo the Spanish words (Cristina). Codeswitching occurs in other genres of popular music as well. Given the higher density lyrics that characterize rap music, one might expect to find more room there for language alternation. Alvarez (1997) reports on “a new wave of popular artists, mostly young rappers, [who] are using Spanglish in their lyrics.” Zentella (1997: 273, 288) quotes lyrics containing codeswitching in the rap song “Puerto Rican in the USA” by the group KMX Assault. .. Radio Not only do radio stations play the music discussed above, but on some stations the announcers’ speech features codeswitching. Such stations tend to be located in the border regions of the United States, Texas in particular.15 Two of these are (or were at the time the referenced articles were written) KXTN-FM (L. Alvarez 1997), in San Antonio, and KIWW 96 (“Spanglish” 1994), broadcasting from the Lower Río Grande Valley. Where this occurs it may reflect not only the disc jockey’s normal discourse mode, but also an explicit marketing strategy (“Spanglish” 1994; M. García 2000). .. Television Telemundo, one of the major Spanish language television networks in the United States, has carried at least three programs on which codeswitching into English was a frequent feature. One of these was the María Conchita Show, an afternoon variety show whose host explicitly referred to her own codeswitching with the declaration: “We speak Spanish and English here!”16 A pair of talk shows on which the hosts and their guests could be heard to engage in codeswitching are Café Olé (Gutierrez 1999: 19), on the cable network Galavisión, and Later, on NBC (Alvarez 1997). Two situation comedies, produced by Spanglish Entertainment, Los Beltrán and Sólo en América, had some codeswitching in the characters’ dialogue.17 The codeswitching occurred to various degrees in the lines of characters in whose speech it might be an expected feature, and did not occur at all in the dialogue of others. For example, on Los Beltrán, a situation comedy set in Burbank, California about a Cuban-American family whose son-in-law is Chicano, it was the latter character who codeswitched the most. In contrast, the young Spanish doctor who lived next door never did so. Likewise, in Sólo

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Written codeswitching and codeswitching in nonprint media

en América, which revolved around the lives of a Venezuelan divorcée and her two teenaged daughters in New York City, the daughters and their friends did the most codeswitching.18 Of the two situation comedies, the most codeswitching could be heard on the initial episodes of Sólo en América; in later ones there was a noticeable decrease. In the first few installments of the program, subtitles in Spanish appeared whenever more than a single word of English was spoken.19 Subtitles were not used on María Conchita, but audience comprehension was ensured through a combination of paraphrasing, translation and body language. Codeswitching to English was never extensive enough to seriously interfere with comprehension on Los Beltrán.

Notes . Schiffman (2000) cites Kalidasa’s Shakuntala, written circa the fifth century A.D., which “had some characters c-switching with Prakrit(s)”. . Myers-Scotton (1993a: 30–31) points out that many researchers, following Poplack’s Free-Morpheme Constraint, still do not accept the designation of codeswitching for intraword switches. In defense of the opposite position, she cites evidence (e.g. Hankamer 1989) of the independence of affixes from roots in the mental lexicon of agglutinative languages. Data sets that have provided the largest number of counterexamples to the Free-Morpheme Constraint involve one agglutinative language, such as, for example, Maori/English and various Bantu languages in combination with English or another language. See also Backus (1992). . There is an interesting contemporary example of this technique in José Antonio Burciaga’s “Poema en tres idiomas y caló” (Burciaga 1992b: 40–41; see also Traugott & Pratt 1980: 389–391), in which Spanish and English roots are given Náhuatl endings. Alurista also engages in this, although to a lesser extent; see Reyes (1991: 303) and Labarthe (1992: 87). . Umberto Eco’s novel Il nome della rosa (The Name of the Rose), which is set in the Middle Ages, has a character who speaks in a mixture of Latin and various Romance vernaculars. His dialogue features intrasentential codeswitching, but it is only macaronic to the extent that it appears to have been invented by Eco; there is no intraword mixing (e.g. Eco 1998: 70). Citations for texts containing codeswitching mentioned in this chapter are listed in the References under the heading Non-Corpus Texts. . Homosexuality in relation to codeswitching is a recurrent theme. In the context of Spanish/English codeswitching see Anzaldúa (1987), Karimi (2000; listed under Non-Corpus Texts), La Fountain-Stokes (1998) on Giannina Braschi, and Foster (1994) on Cherrie Moraga.



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

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Chapter 4 . See also Arteaga (1994: 10–11), for an insightful discussion of this point. . Brill (1997) calls attention to another case of indigenous American/European language codeswitching, in her article on the use of Navaho and English in poems and stories. . Spoken-word often takes place in the context of a poetry slam, a competition in which contestants are given three minutes to recite one piece, after which their poem and performance are scored by audience members. Weekly or monthly gatherings held in bars, coffeehouses, restaurants and other local venues offer a less frenetic setting for poetry readings, at which codeswitching is becoming a more than occasional feature. On an announcement for one such event in San José, California, attendees were invited to bring poetry “to share during our open mic in English and/or español” (Family Lunada, sponsored by the Children’s Discovery Museum of San José and Teatro Visión, 15 July 2000). On the Spanish version of this announcement, no reference to language was made. . There are numerous studies of the representation of codeswitching in the sense of a shift between registers, dialects, pidgin, creole and standard. See Dabke (1983), Tilden (1985), Omole (1987), Hess (1996), D’Souza (1997) and Lalla (1998). . Jaume Cabré, Cèsar-August Jordana, Víctor Mora, Baltasar Porcel, Mercè Rodoreda, Montserrat Roig, and Joan Sales. . Reyes (1991) and Bandia (1996) discuss the problem codeswitching presents the translator. . Portions of this section were first published in Callahan, L. (2004a) The Role of Register in Spanish-English Codeswitching in Prose. The Bilingual Review / La Revista Bilingüe, 27 (1), 1–13. . Crockett (2000) mentions work in progress on “code-switching in a corpus of French Acadian folk tales from Prince Edward Island, Canada”. . For example, a billboard campaign for the Mexican beer Tecate proclaimed: “Cerveza es mejor que beer” ‘Beer is better than beer’ (San José, California. Summer 2000). . Codeswitching can also be heard on radio stations in the San Francisco Bay Area (Azevedo personal communication 2000). . Kun (1999) relates the demise of María Conchita Alonso’s show to its bilingual format. . Gutierrez (1999: 19) mentions a precursor to these shows, a situation comedy that first aired in the 1970s, ¿Qué Pasa, USA?, which “[i]n language and content [. . .] spanned two worlds.” . Sólo en América did not return to the air for the Fall 2000 season, whereas Los Beltrán continued to be broadcast into 2001. Two more programs featuring codeswitching began airing in Fall 2000, the children’s cable channel Nickelodeon’s “Taina, a comedy-drama focusing on the life of a Puerto Rican teenager in New York City, and Dora the Explorer, a cartoon series whose lead character is a proudly bilingual Hispanic girl” (McCollum 2000). . This was part of an experiment in which this and three other programs were rebroadcast on the weekends with all dialogue subtitled in English, in an attempt to target new audiences. Telemundo wanted “to lure Latino viewers from competitor networks WB, UPN

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and Fox” and officials recognized that being Latino in the United States does not necessarily equate to being monolingual in Spanish. The largest Spanish-language network, Univisión, made similar endeavors, airing some bilingual shows on its cable spinoff, Galavisión (E. García 1999: 18A).



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Chapter 5

Written codeswitching Writers, readers, and speakers

. Written codeswitching: “Authentic” versus “artificial” The terms authentic versus artificial represent a recurrent dichotomy in the literature on written codeswitching. According to the criteria most often mentioned, for written codeswitching to be authentic it must be identical to the types of codeswitching heard in everyday speech, characters in whose dialogue it appears must represent members of a speech community in which codeswitching would be an unmarked mode of discourse, and the speech situations in which they codeswitch must be representative of ones in which they would do so in real life. The second condition is extended to apply to the author when codeswitching is used in the main narrative, where it represents the author’s own voice and not just the dialogue of his characters. That is, an author who is not a member of a speech community in which codeswitching is used may attract criticism for the appropriation of an ingroup mode of communication (Burciaga 1992: 72–73). Valdés-Fallis (1977: 37) maintains that when poets use codeswitching in manners divergent from patterns heard in speech it decreases the artistic merit of their work. It must be noted that judgements of artistic merit are necessarily subjective. She emphasizes the lack of verisimilitude in their codeswitching, and ascribes this to an absence of codeswitching in the author’s own speech: My reading of Chicano poetry shows that while certain poets are masters at combining English and Spanish, other poets [. . . ] have produced a large quantity of poetry which, in a linguistic sense [. . . ] does not reflect normal or accepted use [. . . ]. In many cases, the poets themselves do not code-switch in their everyday speech, and thus it is almost impossible for them to produce authentic examples of such use. [. . . ] [They] simply do not have a clear feeling for the actual alternation of English and Spanish in natural speech.

Valdés-Fallis (1977) goes on to quote examples of codeswitching in poetry that she finds artificial and which “do not reflect actual speech among bilin-

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 Chapter 5

gual speakers” (37). She bases some of her judgements on the poets’ failure to conform to grammatical constraints, others on what appears to be her own intuition that their style of codeswitching “would never be heard in ordinary speech” (37), and condemns all such examples as “neither genuine nor artistic” (38). But as Keller states below, poetic usage rarely reflects everyday language use. Artificial is a word that has been used to describe not only cases such as those to which Valdés-Fallis refers, in which the structure of the codeswitching violates speakers’ acceptability judgements, but also those in which writers use languages they have learned rather than acquired. This type of written codeswitching may be unmotivated in sociolinguistic terms; that is, it may not reflect a conversational exchange in which codeswitching could be attributed to a sociopragmatic function. Rudin (1996: 14), again, states that artificial uses of codeswitching “are either purely arbitrary or consist of literary quotations in a secondary language. Cortázar’s Un tal Lucas and James Joyce’s Ulysses offer examples of both modalities”. Orlando Trujillo (1979: 150), echoing Valdés-Fallis’ insistence on the reproduction of everyday speech, draws another demarcation between this type of usage and the more authentic style, based on the socioeconomic class of each one’s target audience. These labels, and the attitudes they express, are a byproduct of the practice of describing written codeswitching solely from the perspective of its oral counterpart. Azevedo (personal communication 1999) observes that the charge leveled at some written codeswitching – that “people wouldn’t say it like that” – is not often made of monolingual dialogue, because readers are willing to suspend such expectations in recognition of the fact that literary representation of speech is not the same as reportage. The censure expressed by Valdés-Fallis is countered by Keller (1979: 274), who states: Acknowledging the separate reality of all literary texts carries with it a crucial complication for understanding bilingual literature. The bilingual language of literary texts is not the same as the language of a given bilingual community. To presume that bilingual literature directly corresponds to usage in a given bilingual community entails a total misapprehension about the relationship between literary language and communal language.

Although writing may not exactly mimic oral conversation, it is not fundamentally distinct from speech. Nevertheless, it does present certain differences. These will be discussed in the next section.

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Written codeswitching 

. Differences due to the difference in channel Writing must meet certain conditions unnecessary in speech, but it is not subject to other restrictions inherent to the oral channel. Written language must be more explicit, because the writer cannot rely on nonverbal communication to help convey the message. Information which in speech might be supplied by physical context, facial expression, or tone of voice, is in writing dependent on lexical representation. Limited nuances of volume, stress and speed can be communicated through typographic conventions; more precision requires an explicit reference through the use of an adverb or verb of communication: “And may I ask who you are?” he inquired politely. “William Irizarry,” Bodega barked. [. . . ] “Do you owe this gentleman something?” he asked her kindly. [. . . ] “Stop it! Stop it!” Vera cried. “John, I’m. . . I’m. . . I’m leaving you.” She forced it out of herself. [. . . ] “Your wife, she never loved you,” Bodega blurted [. . . ]. (NEEQ 188; italics added)

Graedler (1999: 328) points out that writing as a medium affords some freedom from phonetic constraints: [. . . ] it is possible to write something, such as mathematical formulas, typographic symbols, etc. without considering or knowing how it is to be read out or said aloud. In this sense, writing may allow more freedom than speech with respect to foreign language material [. . . ].

Phonetic separation and/or integration, a factor in oral codeswitching, is not an issue in written codeswitching. As anyone who has had to transform a text written to be read in silence into an oral script knows, writers may arrange words and phrases in ways unsuitable for speech. In written work, the rhythm of speech with breath groups and other attendant elements need exercise no control over the length and phonetic composition of sequences.1 The production of written codeswitching can also differ from that of oral codeswitching in the degree of consciousness involved. Pfaff (1979: 295) calls the codeswitching found in the prose sections of a Chicano writer’s collection of essays and poems “conscious code-switching”. Oral codeswitching has been reported to be below the conscious awareness of some speakers (Haugen 1972: 122; Blom & Gumperz 1972: 430; Lance 1975: 147). A mode of discourse during the execution of which a record is created – e.g. writing – promotes a mindfulness that allows the writer to manipulate the language.

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 Chapter 5

Despite the differences between oral and written codeswitching, a reader’s internal grammar may still have an effect on what is perceived while reading, just as a listener’s internal grammar affects perception of what is heard. In addition to simply asking readers to comment on codeswitching patterns (Toribio 2000), one method used to solicit acceptability judgements of codeswitching or other grammatical features is to elicit repetition of an ill-formed phrase. Especially when the sequence is too long for exact recall, listeners are believed to filter it through an internal grammar which may dictate modifications in the utterance they produce (Toribio & Rubin 1996: 219). Work with very young speakers of African American Vernacular English (AAVE) provides an example of this phenomenon. Children asked to repeat phrases in Standard American English (SAE) altered syntax and morphology to conform to the grammar of AAVE (Zéphir 1998). In the same vein, readers confronted with an anomalous construction in print have to make a conscious effort to counteract this filter mechanism if they wish to read the phrase aloud verbatim. Readers experience a palpable temptation to insert or delete segments that seem out of place. For example, in the following passage the word it, perhaps inserted by the author to suggest the liturgical pronunciation of the preceding hallowed – in which the preterite/past participle allomorph is [Id] – causes the reader unfamiliar with this pronunciation to delete it in favor of a bisyllabic rendition. This occurs when the reader has a different underlying form of the word, a mental representation at variance with what is portrayed on the page. “Padre Nuestro, Que estas en los cielos santificado sea tu nombre, Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed it be thy name.” (NEPT 75; italics added; English phrase translates the Spanish)

.. Visual effects of written codeswitching Written codeswitching produces certain sensory effects by virtue of its transmission via a visual channel. The most basic of these is the visible contrast between the two codes, which in turn focuses the reader’s attention on the language itself (Sarkonak & Hodgson 1993: 10). Recall that one of the reasons earlier researchers were more willing to consider larger constituents, as opposed to single words, to be codeswitches, was because the contrast value for such “unambiguous code-switches” is greater (Meechan & Poplack 1995: 172). In written codeswitching this contrast is further enhanced by typographic differentiation between the languages, the absence of which also communicates

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Written codeswitching 

meaning. Graedler (1999: 341), discussing Norwegian/English codeswitching in a corpus of magazine articles and advertising, notes: Another important aspect of codeswitching in written texts is the exploitation of the visual impact of foreign appearance. This, together with the fact that codeswitched elements tend to be used in conspicuous positions, such as in headings or separated from the body of the text in other ways, makes them stand out in comparison from the Norwegian text, as signals whose impact often depends as much upon their form as upon their content.

.. Typographic considerations As mentioned above, inherent to the print medium is the ability to visually isolate certain portions of the text from the rest. This may be done to emphasize a word or phrase, in order to imitate the variation in tone or volume that performs this same function in speech. In texts with more than one language, a different typeface may be used for each language, with the most common pattern being a standard font used for the ML, and italics for the EL(s). This use of italics has a double effect. The visual contrast between typefaces highlights the opposition between the two languages. In addition, the emphatic quality associated with italic type may spill over into the thematic content in the perception of the reader accustomed to seeing italics used for emphasis in monolingual texts. In this way, content which conveys only referential meaning may take on inferences by virtue of this variance in its physical appearance. Conversely, non-differentiation of the languages may reflect an attitude toward the EL, or toward codeswitching between the ML and EL, as being the manifestation of an unmarked code. It is also possible that italics in those texts in which they appear reflect an editor’s mandate.2 In my corpus, the EL is italicized in only six out of thirty texts.

. Effects of written codeswitching on the reader .. Translation and paraphrase Rudin (1996) lists three methods authors use to make words or phrases in a second language more accessible to the monolingual reader: literal translation, nonliteral translation, and contextual translation. See also Bandia (1996: 141– 142). The very presence of translation has other implications beyond the actual translation techniques used: it signals an assumption that the audience is

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 Chapter 5

monolingual or at least dominant in English. This represents a difference between oral and written codeswitching. The audience for the former is more often assumed to be bilingual, although speakers may also sometimes limit their use of codeswitching or translate their switches for the benefit of monolingual listeners. A case in which an author seems to disregard his audience’s monolingualism is discussed below in the comparison between some of Cormac McCarthy’s novels and D. H. Lawrence’s The Plumed Serpent. Literal translations immediatedly follow, precede, or appear near words or phrases in the EL of the texts. They may be connected to the text they translate by various forms of punctuation or conjunction. Following are examples from my corpus: (1) [. . . ] they are too soft, de a tiro blanditos [. . . ] ‘straight out soft’

(SSCP1 33)

(2) Esos años fueron duros, really difficult times, [. . . ] ‘Those years were hard’

(SSCP2 54)

(3) [. . . ] he was my pana, my friend. ‘buddy’ (4) “You think I’m a slut, a putona, right? [. . . ]” ‘whore’ (5) “Help. . . ayuda . . . help us!” ‘help’

(NEEQ 4) (NEAR 37) (SENM2 166)

(6) This gives him a feeling of being chingon – a bad motherfucker. ‘a bad motherfucker’ (NECT 85) (7) [. . . ] dey are my Zoot Zuit o tacuche. ‘or suit’

(NEFG 233)

Parentheses are also used, and, less often, footnotes: (8) That nine-year-old kid probably thought I was gonna cop his dulce (candy). (NEPT 26) (9) “Sounds de aquellas to me. Vamos,”12 he answers. 12. good to me. Let’s go,”

(NECT 36)

Parallel syntactic constructions may alert the reader to a literal translation, although such constructions may also link similar but nonequivalent phrases. It must be noted that the reader with zero knowledge of the EL would be unable to recognize that material adjacent to EL words was a translation:

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Written codeswitching 

(10) “¿Tienes hambre? Are you hungry?” ‘Are you hungry?’ (11) – La misma cosa. Same thing, carnal. ‘The same thing’

(NEGS 133) (SSJA2 85)

(12) Besides, we have to stay in a good mood or the food will suffer, remember! ¡Hay que cocinar con amor, con cariño, con alegría, y con valor! ‘One must cook with love, with affection, with joy, and with valor!’ (SEIH 238) (13) “She’s nuts, man.” Another boy whispered, “Daffy.” “Yeah, está loca,” a girl agreed. ‘she’s crazy’

(SENM2 180)

(14) [. . . ] later on, he did get married to doña Ninfa, una mujer muy buena, ‘a very good woman’ she was so nice, except she used to smoke all the time. (SEJS 108) (15) The viejitos were finding que no les valía three dollars an hour to sit in the ‘old folks’ ‘that it wasn’t worth’ evening classes once a week y de seguro it wasn’t worth three dollars an ‘and certainly’ hour para escardar el jardín in the scorching sun. ‘to dig in the garden’ (SEFT 151-52) (16) [. . . ] remember to ask how come the cracks, ¿y por qué cuesta tanto?, ‘and why does it cost so much’ how come it costs so much?” (SEGS 30)

A comma may unite words that are similar but not entirely synonomous in meaning: (17) “[. . . ] Francisco Franco, poor peasant who never spent a day of his tragic, malogrado life but in white campesino clothes [. . . ]” ‘wasted’ (NEGK 13)

Translations are not always immediately adjacent to the EL word or phrase: (18) “[. . . ] Yeah, Bill’s buena gente. He is a Sun Dancer, and as far as I know, ‘good people’ he’s a good man. [. . . ]” (SEIH 233)

Explicit translations are also used: (19) [. . . ] “De Guatemala a Guatepeor” – roughly, “from the frying pan into the fire.” (NEAR 208)

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(20) “Bricklayer?” She didn’t understand. “Albañil,” I said, helping her out in Spanish.

(NEPT 33)

Nonliteral translation may provide a paraphrase that precedes or follows the EL. Example (21) comes from a text with English as its ML, but Spanish is the dominant language for the context and addressee of this dialogue: (21) We was just passin through, the boy said. We wasn’t botherin nobody. Queríamos pasar, no más. ‘We just wanted to pass.’ (NECM 119)

Nonliteral translation also includes explanations of EL terms: (22) But in spite of his reputation, Joe Hurts was a popular guy at our dances – almost as important as the “bastonero” used to be in the old days – you know, the person who used to manage the dances. Since the dance halls were so small in those days, there wasn’t enough room for everybody to dance at the same time. So this guy, the bastonero, he’d decide who was going to dance each dance, and everybody would do what he said. These days there’s no such thing as a bastonero [. . . ]. (SEJS 108) (23) They were doing it by the zaguán which was an entrance to the house with a sort of shelter to each side. (NEAD 19) (24) Another part of the story told by the neighbors was that they were “duendes.” Duendes are the souls of mischievous children who die as children. (NEAD 21) (25) In their hands is the nefarious short-handle hoe known as “el cortito”. (NECT 1)

There are various forms of contextual translation. In one of the corpus texts, for example, despite an abundance of untranslated Spanish dialogue, there is a strict demarcation between direct and indirect speech, with the latter always given in English. The contiguity of the two helps the reader decipher meaning, especially when a question appears in one language and its response in the other. Rudin (1996: 141) calls this “an action-reaction scheme in which the content of a Spanish entry [. . . ] can be deduced by the reaction in English”: (26) Es lejos? he said. ‘Is it far’ They said that it was not far by horseback. Unas pocas leguas, they said. ‘A few leagues’ [. . . ] They were elaborately polite. They called him caballero for all his sixteen years and he [. . . ] ate beans and napolitos and a machaca made

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Written codeswitching 

from dried goatmeat [. . . ] Le gusta? they said. He said he liked it very ‘Do you like it’ much. (NECM 102)

The same strategy functions in the case of a directive and its result: (27) The guide said, “Quick, give me dos duros.” Dutifully Cervantes looked ‘two duros [coin worth five pesetas in Spanish currency]’ into his money bag and produced the coins. (NEGK 47)

These categories overlap, as can be seen in the following examples, which contain general contextual information coupled with a question or statement and the reaction: (28) – Let me have a six of Bud, ese. . . – ¿Botes o Botellas? – Bottles man. ‘Cans or bottles’ (SEGM 57) (29) “Estoy tan ansioso de cenar con ustedes este viernes.” ‘I’m so anxious to have dinner with you this Friday’ As soon as Roberto’s mother heard that Pastor Vasquez was coming for dinner on Friday, she had a change of heart. “Of course we’ll have dinner with you, Hermana Mercado,” Roberto’s mother told Blanca. (NEEQ 142)

Other forms of contextual translation are less specific, and rely more on discussion in the general proximity of the EL term: (30) He said that [. . . ] the alguacil had taken the wolf into custody and it was forfeit in lieu of the portazgo. When the boy said that he had not known ‘transit toll’ that he would be required to pay in order to pass through the country the hacendado said that then he was in much the same situation as the wolf. (NECM 119; italics added) (31) “[. . . ]. She talked about being medio y medio. I think she felt caught ‘half and half ’ between her Christian and Indian values. The Christian values trying to separate and the Indian values trying to integrate. In addition, she felt caught between the Mestizo synthesis of the Christian and Indian spiritual values [. . . ]” (NEFG 343; italics added) (32) Marina burst into laughter at the scene Enedina had described for her. The famous mujeriego Miguel and her friend Enedina, who had always claimed ‘womanizer’

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a platonic relationship with him, in bed together. [. . . ] She [Enedina] didn’t like knowing that she’d blacked out that night, and she was ruefully thankful that if she had to end up with someone, at least it was Miguel, who [. . . ], for all his mujeriego ways, was not known to be violent to women [. . . ]. If women held anything against him, it was that he could not be faithful [. . . ], he merely used women for his own gratification [. . . ]. Women’s feelings before or beyond the sexual act meant nothing to him [. . . ]. (SEIH 236-37) (33) The only problem with el Osito [. . . ] was his undependability, a trait not owing to his design, but to the crafty scrutiny of his aging, but truchas, abuelita. ‘sharp-witted grandmother’ (SEGM 58; italics added)

In another form of contextual translation, Spanish and English terms that belong to the same semantic field may appear together in an enumeration: (34) Cochinos, sheep, chickens, vacas y caballos all enjoyed the picnic [. . . ]. ‘Pigs’ ‘cows and horses’ (SEFT 153)

Finally, many texts include a glossary at the back of the book, in which all words and phrases in the EL may be translated, or sometimes just those that are not translated within the text. Of the thirty texts in my corpus, five have a glossary: NEFG, NEGK, NEPT, NEGS, SEGS; the last two also have translations which precede or follow almost all Spanish phrases in the text. In a sixth text, NECT, Spanish words and phrases are translated in footnotes. The remaining twenty-four texts offer no translation of the EL, whether that be Spanish or English, beyond the occasional contextual clues. For two texts in which the ML is Spanish, SSCP1 and SSCP2 , a glossary of nonstandard Spanish and borrowings from English is provided. Three texts contain a large enough quantity of EL material to present an insuperable obstacle for the monolingual reader.3 In nine others, the number and size of constituents in the EL is small enough, or consists of enough cognates, for monolingual readers to negotiate the text without using a dictionary and without missing significant elements of the argument. In the remaining twelve texts, the main story line is discernible from the ML content alone, although monolingual readers would not have access to substantial portions of supporting narrative or dialogue. In addition, the quantity of EL material would be enough to cause readers to wonder whether they were missing essential elements. A brief comparison of texts will be useful to conclude this section. D. H. Lawrence’s The Plumed Serpent (1926) and each of the four novels in which

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Cormac McCarthy uses Spanish – Blood Meridian (1985), All the Pretty Horses (1992), The Crossing (1994), and Cities of the Plain (1998) – are set in a place where Spanish would be spoken, in Mexico and the border regions of the Southwestern United States. Both authors use Spanish in dialogue as well as in the main narrative, in the latter consisting for the most part of single nouns and NPs. The difference is in the quantity of Spanish and the extent of translation. In McCarthy’s novels, in addition to isolated nouns and noun phrases, Spanish is used for all direct speech that would have been uttered in that language. Dialogue in Spanish is not translated; nor are Spanish terms which appear in otherwise English language sentences. Some of the latter could be considered borrowings normal for a border territory’s dialect of English. All are nouns or NPs used to designate objects or persons, comprehension of which, if not made possible by context alone, is not absolutely essential for comprehension of the passage as a whole. However, a reader with no knowledge of Spanish might at times be unable to deduce the complete scenario. There is a general deviation from typographic convention. Apostrophes are omitted from negative contractions, and quotation marks do not enclose direct dialogue in either Spanish or English. In Spanish inverted question marks are not used, and some instances of capitalization and accent marks are superfluous. There is no visual separation of the two languages. The amount of Spanish used in The Plumed Serpent is much smaller, and most of it is translated. Exceptions are formulaic phrases and slogans uttered by a crowd. Lawrence italicizes most Spanish words, at least when they are introduced. Some are followed by an explanation and set in regular type thereafter. Spanish/English cognates such as angelito and centavo are never translated. Also left untranslated by Lawrence is the occasional word or phrase in French, including one case in which an apparently formulaic phrase is reconfigured into an intrasentential codeswitch. There is also one phrase in German, a quotation. The French and German codeswitching in Lawrence would be classified as artificial, while all of the Spanish used by both authors is in the mimetic category. .. Experience of reading a bilingual text for the monolingual vs. bilingual reader Often neglected in the discussion of bi- or multilingual literature is its effect on the bilingual reader. How does such a reader’s experience of the text differ from that of the monolingual reader?

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Sarkonak and Hodgson (1993: 26) argue that, in general, “bilingual writing makes the reader work harder than monolingual writing. Bilingual writing is, by its very nature, an active, dynamic and vibrant process. And just as one speaks of the poetics of bilingualism, one could speak of its energetics.” Nassar (1993: 253) points out that reading a text with codeswitching is an “enriching experience for the monolingual reader.”4 It is more difficult for such a reader, but the extra effort applied serves to increase the reader’s engagement with the task, and thus heightens enjoyment. Graham, discussing the reader’s experience decoding poetry in a language of which he or she has only limited comprehension, notes: Translation for the non-fluent in some ways resembles puzzle-solving. [. . . ] The native speaker may be pleased in the belief he has understood a poem, but the translator has a much greater sense of accomplishment. (Graham 1985: 30)

Reading a text written in more than one language requires of all readers more sustained attention than reading one without such alternation. How much the reader must work to comprehend codeswitching depends on the EL and the reader’s competence in it. In the United States, in the case of texts written in Spanish with codeswitches into English, it may well require more effort for the reader to decode the ML than the EL, since reading competence in English rather than Spanish is more widespread in this country. There are also differences in regard to the effect of whatever translation techniques are used. A reviewer of Gary Soto’s novel Taking Sides, criticizes his “[a]wkward use of Spanish with English translations [which] gets in the way of an otherwise good book” (Horn Book, Inc.). Rudin (1996: 130) describes this as unmotivated translation, in which the “translation seems motivated more by the author’s wish not to leave the reader without clarification than by any inherent logic of the character’s”. He contrasts this with “translation [that] can become an integral part of the discourse if the enunciator is not a Spanish monolingual speaker, but uses mimetic code switching, and if repetitiveness is that character’s trademark anyway” (131). Translation techniques meant to make the text more accessible to monolingual readers may have a negative effect for the bilingual reader. What facilitates comprehension for one who is unfamiliar with the EL may disrupt the bilingual’s reading experience. Rudin (1996: 223–230) discusses the differences in effect on a bilingual and monolingual reader that the texts in his corpus would have. He talks of the “translational suspense” enjoyed by the reader who cannot immediately decipher a word or phrase in Spanish. The bilingual reader misses

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this effect entirely, and may furthermore find the literal translations redundant, even a nuisance. A text with two languages requires of the reader an interpretative effort on two levels. Not only is there one more language to decode than usual – which the reader may or may not be used to seeing in written form – there are also sociocultural and political connotations attendant on its use in conjunction with the first language (Azevedo 1993: 223). In addition, the words in the second language may represent cultural concepts with which the reader is unfamiliar. Graham (1985: 30) maintains that the bilingual reader will miss the element of exoticism a second language adds to a text: A foreign language creates a conscious or unconscious flavor of nationality in the mind of the reader. This may add [. . . ] a romantic or exotic element that is not in the perception of the native speaker.

However, some of this exoticism will be retained for the reader who is bilingual but not bicultural. A second language acts as a filter in cases where the thematic content carries such a strong connotative charge that it would have a more emotional impact in one’s native tongue. Graham (1985: 30) observes that “[s]ubjects too painful for pleasurable contemplation may be examined at a distance in the more palatable form of art. [. . . ] The act of translation is an additional barrier shielding the reader from raw contact with uncomfortable material.” This functions for the writer as well as the reader (Vargas Saavedra 1997: 318). Puerto Rican author Rosario Ferré states: Otro punto que me parece más interesante es que escribir en inglés es para mí hasta cierto punto escribir desde el exilio, aunque esté viviendo en Puerto Rico. El inglés me “coolea,” me da distancia, lo que me permite bregar con ciertos temas muy “calientes,” [. . . ] “Ésa que está escribiendo esa cosa tan chocante es otra, no soy yo,” me digo. Y eso es chévere. Uno se siente bien, se siente en control. (Ferré in Díaz Rinks & Sisson-Guerrero 1997: 65) ‘Another point that seems so interesting to me is that writing in English is for me to a certain extent like writing from exile, even though I may be living in Puerto Rico. English “chills” me, it gives me distance, which lets me deal with certain very hot topics [. . . ] “That person who’s writing such a shocking thing is another person, it’s not me”, I tell myself. And that’s wonderful. One feels good, one feels in control.’

Graham and Ferré are referring to entire texts written in a language other than the reader or writer’s first one, but the point is also valid for parts of texts, such as in those containing codeswitching. In addition, just as the second language

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may act as a filter for material that would be too painful without some form of mitigation, it may also increase the interest of content that might otherwise seem too banal.

. Register and thematic content .. Register in written Spanish/English codeswitching5 Up to this point the discussion has centered on codeswitching in fiction. As mentioned in Chapter 4, codeswitching in nonfiction and nonliterary prose is scarce. Aside from poetry, the majority of written Spanish/English codeswitching in the United States is found in fiction, and the same is true for written codeswitching between other language pairs in other parts of the world. A look at the dual roles of register and prestige reveals the reasons why this is so. In a survey I conducted on oral and written codeswitching habits, 95% (N 38) of the informants said that they codeswitched occasionally in their speech, but 50% (N 20) stated that they would never juxtapose Spanish and English in their writing.6 One person reported that they would not do so in their writing because they considered codeswitching to be “more colloquial, more on the loose.” Another respondent stated: “Writing anything is too formal for codeswitching.” Still another answered: “If I did, I’d do it only on informal writing.” Two participants referred to codeswitching as unprofessional. In answer to the question, “Are there any types of writing for which you would not use both languages together? If your answer is yes, which types of writing and why not?”, their responses were, respectively: “letters to employers – because it’s not considered professional to use two languages at the same time” and “Letters to employers, application if not requested, term papers. These situations require a professional outlook and profile.” Another informant stated that codeswitching is “improper”, and “would discredit me.” Perhaps not surprising, given the academic setting in which informants were approached – and the consequences to which a different attitude might cause them to be subject – is the observation one individual made: “I feel that it’s only appropriate to write in one language for essays, term papers and exams.” Informants who said that they would use codeswitching in certain forms of writing mentioned diaries, personal notes and letters, and, on occasion, creative writing. They took pains to specify that codeswitching would be used in a letter only if the addressee understood both Spanish and English. There were

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no respondents who said that they would use codeswitching in their writing but not in their speech. Writing is virtually synonymous in the public mind with more formal registers than those found in speech (Ferguson 1968: 30). Register, in the most general sense, is a variety of language defined according to its use. Formality or informality of register is closely tied to genre, which is determined by the communicative goals and context of the text. Texts that encourage a higher interpersonal involvement are frequently written in an informal register, often approximating casual speech, whereas texts for which the primary goal is to convey content exhibit features of formal register, including more complex syntactic structures, such as, for example, more embedding and less coordination. They contain an amount of elaboration common to discourse in which the audience and writer have no mutual frame of reference, as opposed to the more economical style seen in contexts in which there is an assumption of shared information. Finegan and Biber (1994: 321) state that because informative registers favor clarity of expression, they show a preference for the use of standard forms. Oral and written texts do not always signal informal and formal registers, respectively. Narrative registers share with conversational registers a strong focus on interpersonal involvement, and thus have more in common than certain other spoken and written registers. Leckie-Tarry, summarizing the work of Tannen (1982), considers it significant that there exist genres of both oral and written narrative, whereas there is no written equivalent of dinner table conversation, nor a precise oral equivalent to formal expository prose. (Leckie-Tarry 1995: 99–100)7

She concludes that the spoken vs. written criterion is not always the most relevant one to distinguish registers. A focus on content – in opposition to interpersonal involvement – may be a more important factor, and Tannen points out that such a focus is a feature of spoken language in formal or non-dialogic genres. Does the use of codeswitching in and of itself signal an intrinsically less formal register? A review of primary and secondary sources supports this perception. Codeswitching is used less in prose than in poetry, and within that framework, surfaces very little in critical writing. In fiction, codeswitching appears most often in the dialogue, many times in a manner meant to be representative of linguistic variation – with both codes shown in non-standard form – or of stream-of-consciousness style utterances.

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In my corpus as well as in other texts, it is not unusual for codeswitching to co-occur with taboo words, which are an unmistakeable marker of register associated with an informal style. In the Spanish language version of Abraham Rodríguez’s Spidertown, for example, expletives account for a large share of the English words retained from the original work. The resulting text imitates a style common in oral codeswitching, in which expletives and other interjections are a prime locus for switching. The thematic content of novels in which codeswitching is present contributes to an overall impression of informal register. The speech events and situations portrayed are of a class associated with the left side of the informal > formal continuum: street conversations and transactions, verbal challenges and physical violence, sexual encounters. Absent for the most part are representations of more formal contexts, such as, for example, campaign speeches, religious sermons or classroom lectures. Even within fiction texts there are various registers, and these reflect the levels of formality in use outside the text. Thus, in Zapata Lives!, a novella full of intrasentential switches both in the dialogue and narrative, the representation of a formal document – Emiliano Zapata’s Manifesto to the Mexican People – is rendered entirely in English, the story’s ML (NEGK 69-73). .. Spanish/English codeswitching: Prestige Researchers’ remarks reflect an image that has long been held of SpanishEnglish codeswitching, whether oral or written, as being characteristic of an informal register unsuitable for use in the so-called higher levels of discourse. Parts of the following citations have been italicized to illustrate this point: The actual occurrence of a switch is constrained, probably more than any other factor, by the norms or the perceived norms of the speech situation. The most important of these norms for the balanced bilingual was found to be the ethnicity of the interlocutor [. . . ], once other criteria (appropriateness, formality of speech situation) were met. (Poplack 1982: 242–243; italics added) Indeed it is clear, that while “elite” or “academic” bilinguals carefully avoid using items from one language in the other, “folk” or “natural” bilinguals often alternate between languages at the word, phrase, clause, and sentence levels when speaking to other bilinguals of the same community. (Valdés-Fallis 1977: 31; italics added)

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Unlike the majority of Chicano poets, who often have no academic experience in Spanish, these writers [poets educated in Mexico] do not use the informal variant of Spanish which is compatible with English switches. (Valdés-Fallis 1977: 38; italics added) Terms like “Tex-Mex”, “Spanglish”, and other similar terms have been used indiscriminately to refer to the fact that some speakers of Spanish and English use resources of both languages when they wish to communicate to one another, especially in informal situations. (Jacobson 1982: 183; italics added) Whether or not code-switching is appropriate may result from the appraisal of the situation because [. . . ] if the topic is too formal for such a strategy [. . . ] no mixing is likely to occur. (Jacobson 1982: 189; italics added)

The fact that codeswitching is considered to belong to less formal registers is connected to the negative valuation from which it has, at least in past years, suffered. The foregoing quotes are from nearly twenty-five years ago, and most refer to codeswitching in speech. All are from academic circles. When one looks at more current sources from other places, and especially sources from popular culture, different judgments emerge. Spanglish, a term that has been used in the past to denigrate, is now heard more and more in expressions of pride and defiance.8 In the context of Chicano writing, codeswitching has long been seen as a legitimate medium of expression, but since consensus on this can never be assumed, an explicit defense is often given. The editorial council of a book compiled of work presented at Flor y Canto V, a festival held in New Mexico in 1978, states: Otra aclaración necesaria sobre la presente Antología, especialmente válida para el lector ajeno al arte y tradición chicanas, es el fenómeno de la variedad lingüística. Esta variedad de expresión, sea en inglés standard o español standard, sea bilingüismo o code-switching, u otras formas que el artista juzga necesarias para la expresión de su arte, toda esta variedad lingüística es el fruto de la rica experiencia y vida del chicano. (Armas et al. 1980: 13) ‘Another clarification necessary in regard to this Anthology, one which is especially valid for the reader unfamiliar with Chicano art and tradition, concerns the phenomenon of linguistic variation. This variety of expression, whether it be in standard English or standard Spanish, whether it be bilingual or codeswitching, or whatever other forms the artist deems necessary for the expression or his art, all of this linguistic variety is fruit of the rich experience and life of the Chicano.’

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But here what is referred to for the most part is poetry; even within Chicano writing codeswitching is less common in prose and nonliterary genres. Codeswitching is highly marked as a non-standard variant. Bourdieu notes a correlation between conformation to the standard and formality of register: Conversely, as the degree of formality in an exchange situation and the degree to which the exchange is dominated by highly authorized speakers diminish, so the law of price formation tends to become less unfavourable to the products of dominated linguistic habitus. (Bourdieu 1991: 71)

Some consider the justifiable use of codeswitching to be contingent upon the presence of a special circumstance: [. . . ] code-switching per se constitutes a radical way for artistic language to draw attention to itself, to foreground [. . . ]. Moreover, precisely because codeswitching is a radical, overt stylistic occurrence, it requires adequate literary justification in order to be deemed valid or successful. (Keller 1979: 311)

In the introduction to Giannina Braschi’s book Yo-Yo Boing! a politicolinguistic agenda is given for the author’s use of Spanish and English together. The authors of this introduction, however, do not engage in codeswitching, other than to quote Braschi herself. Once again codeswitching is something to be described, analyzed and ultimately kept apart from the register of its criticism. .. Codeswitching between other language pairs: Some comparisons The practice of codeswitching enjoys greater or lesser degrees of prestige in various parts of the world. On Senegal, for example, Swigart reports: In Dakar, the capital city of Senegal, two languages – the indigenous lingua franca, Wolof, and the official language, French – are used together more often in a fluid and unmarked kind of codeswitching than separately in their respective ‘pure’ forms. The result is a distinct mode of speech that might be best described as a third code, occupying a central position in the speech repertoire of urban bilinguals. This ‘Urban Wolof ’ has its own rules of appropriate usage, that is to say a ‘sociolinguistic grammar’, just like its constituent languages. However, it does not enjoy the same status with its speakers as those popularly recognised and sanctioned codes. (1992: 84; italics added)

The mixed code, although used extensively for everyday communication, still lacks some of the prestige that accrues to either French or Wolof in isolation. Formal occasions such as political speeches call for a “single language, whether

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the official or an indigenous language carefully expunged of all loanwords” (Swigart 1992: 87). In the former Zaire, an increase in the formality of the genre does not preclude the use of codeswitching. The context described below is a political party speech made by the governor on the radio: Here, the mixed code is seen as a suitable register for this political speech [. . . ]. The use of French elements is abundant and they give an even more formal touch to the whole argument. The mixed code is used here as a register implying authority and professional expertise. (Gysels 1992: 46)

In the United States it is still cause for comment when candidates slip a phrase or two of Spanish into campaign speeches given to Latino audiences. In speeches delivered in Spanish, an effort is made to stay entirely within that language; the politician who is unable to do so runs the risk of losing face in the eyes of his addressees. Use of Spanish by non-Latino politicians meets with a varied response. Voters polled during the 2000 U.S. presidential campaign expressed skepticism or offense at what were perceived as cynical attempts to win their vote. See, for example, Ostrom (1999: 24A); Reinert (1999: 16A); Garay (2000: 14A); Ostrom and García (2000: 19A); Ostrom and Thomma (2000: 18A). Oppenheimer (2000) cites predictions that in future elections “the most influential group of Hispanic voters [. . . ] will not be the U.S.-born, English-speaking ones, but recently arrived Latin Americans who speak Spanish”, who will be unresponsive to candidates’ limited use of that language in greetings or opening remarks, and will instead want to be addressed entirely in Spanish. Different historical, sociopolitical and economic factors are present in different situations of language contact; these factors influence the amount of prestige codeswitching enjoys, and for what modes of discourse and in which settings its use is considered appropriate. In the African context specifically, the codes in question are one or more indigenous languages, often endowed with post-colonial prestige (Blommaert 1992: 58), alongside the language of the former colonial power. The latter may be the past, if not also current, language of education and government; it facilitates access to economic benefits as a language of wider communication. As Silva-Corvalán (1989: 170–171) points out, in contrast with the language contact situations in Africa and India, between English or French and indigenous languages, Spanish in the United States is not an official language, nor has it been associated until quite recently with social, political or cultural prestige.

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.. Prognosis Representatives of popular culture demonstrate a positive attitude toward codeswitching. Nely Galan, president of Galan Entertainment, a Los Angeles television and film production company, declares: “I think Spanglish is the future [. . . ]. It’s perfectly wonderful. I speak English perfectly. I speak Spanish perfectly, and I choose to speak both simultaneously” (in Alvarez 1997: 1). In the same article codeswitching in literature is mentioned, but the reporter’s phrasing makes it clear that switching constitutes an added element, and is not the integral language of the work itself: “The much-praised Hispanic writers Sandra Cisneros, Julia Alvarez and Roberto G. Fernandez routinely drop Spanglish into their novels and poetry, believing it to be a legitimate [. . . ] form of communication” (Alvarez 1997: 3). Many realize that appealing to a target audience in its language of everyday use is sound marketing strategy. Christy Haubegger, publisher of the magazine Latina, states: If we were an English magazine, we would just be general market. If we were a Spanish-language magazine, we would be Latin American. We are the intersection of the two and we reflect a life between two languages and two cultures our readers live in. (Alvarez 1997: 2, 4)

In fact, however, there is very little codeswitching in Latina. Most of what there is appears in titles, often in the form of puns. The remainder of language alternation in the publication consists of short summaries in Spanish which appear in boxes next to the English text. The preceding comments show more public acceptance of codeswitching than in the past. Its use is in evidence on television and especially on the radio. When reference to written codeswitching is made, however, only specific genres are mentioned: novels, poetry and song lyrics. In other words, its use in writing is still confined to specialized formats, primarily for entertainment. .. The relationship between thematic content and written Spanish/English codeswitching As discussed in Chapter 2, the use of Spanish and English together in fiction written in the United States shows a strong correspondence to the thematic content of the work, which falls into the following categories: 1. The setting is one in which Spanish would be the usual language.

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2. The characters – or narrator – are ones for whom Spanish (or Spanish/English codeswitching) would be the usual language. 3. The thematic content centers on social, political or cultural issues germane to the Latino community. Spanish/English codeswitching in the United States is an ingroup practice. It serves to identify its user as a member of an ethnic group among U.S. Latinos. Within such groups, codeswitching is further associated with certain speech communities; recall Valdés-Fallis’ and Orlando Trujillo’s criticisms of inauthentic codeswitching. The use of Spanish/English codeswitching by writers who are not members of the speech communities with which it is associated, and especially by those who are non-Latino, has traditionally been cause for comment, if not criticism. Jim Sagel, one of the authors in my corpus, reports that his work is sometimes looked upon as “Chicanesca rather than Chicano” and its inclusion in Chicano anthologies is unwelcome. Sagel’s situation is compared to that of rap singers who are not African-American, in that his work is read closely for any sign of disrespect to the culture that supplies both its style and thematic content (P. Rodríguez 1992: 140). Another example of this attitude is mentioned by the late Chicano poet José Antonio Burciaga, who notes the reaction to his use of Caló: Ahora there’s gonna be esos cabrones que dicen, well, this bato was never a pachuco and what’s he toriqueando like this for? And hey, ése! It’s like gabachos who ask me how come I talk English so good, como si el English juera derecho propio de los gabas. Pos ¡pura madre, ése! You’ve got to learn and appreciate de todo bato. (Burciaga 1992a: 72–73; listed under Corpus Texts) ‘Now there’s gonna be those jerks who say, well, this guy was never a pachuco and what’s he talking like this for? And hey, man! It’s like white people who ask me how come I talk English so good, as if English belonged only to whites. Well, that’s baloney, man! You’ve got to learn and appreciate from every person.’

A result of the close attention paid to the connection between Spanish/English codeswitching, ethnicity and thematic content is a general conformity to the three conditions mentioned above wherever and whenever it is used. As a mode of dicourse it is not currently available for use outside these spheres. Its use is further restricted by considerations of register.

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 Chapter 5

Notes . Cf. Rivas (1980), who proposes a phonological explanation of codeswitching boundaries in Spanish/Guarani songs. . Audience member’s comments in regard to unidentified author’s dispute with editor over this issue. Session on Linguistic Aspects of Language Variation. American Association of Teachers of Spanish and Portuguese Annual Meeting. San Juan, Puerto Rico. 6 August 2000. . See Chapter 2 for these and other specific details about each text. . The readers I have referred to as monolingual are those who understand no words in the EL, while bilingual readers’ abilities fall on a continuum: from recognition of certain set phrases or common words to comprehension of any construction. Nassar’s monolingual reader, like Graham’s, has some comprehension in the EL. . Portions of this section were first published in Callahan, L. (2004a). The Role of Register in Spanish-English Codeswitching in Prose. The Bilingual Review / La Revista Bilingüe, 27(1), 1–13. . Survey conducted in May 1999 (see Appendix E). A total of 40 informants were selected from a population characterized by two variables: (1) an ability to write in both Spanish and English, as demonstrated by their participation in an academic program requiring those skills, and (2) membership in a speech community in which at least some codeswitching was practiced, verified by a combination of personal observation and reports from instructors in whose classes the informants were enrolled. . See also Biber (1988). . See, for example, Sommer and Vega-Merino, in which the term Spanglish has positive connotations. Use of this word in a derogatory sense is still heard, however (e.g. Pérez Firmat 2000).

Chapter 6

A sociolinguistic mirror1

. Introduction Codeswitching between Spanish and English is a natural consequence of a situation of intense daily contact. Speakers who alternate languages may profess to have little conscious awareness of their linguistic behavior, especially when their interlocutors also engage in this style of speech (Haugen 1972: 122; Blom & Gumperz 1972: 430; Lance 1975: 147). However, lack of cognizance during the act of an utterance does not mean that speakers are unaware of the sociolinguistic pressures that exist in the bi- or multilingual setting. In the United States, as in other countries where minority languages compete with a dominant one, the unequal social and economic position of each code gives rise to conflicts over language policies at school and in the workplace, and affects the prestige of each language and the access it affords its speakers to social as well as material commodities (Gal 1988; Heller 1990, 1992, 1995; Bourdieu 1977, 1982, 1991). Of great relevance in this context are the following issues: heritage language loss or maintenance, motivations for the acquisition of English or of the minority language, attitudes toward the speakers of each language and their different varieties, and beliefs concerning who may use which languages and for what purposes. Fiction containing Spanish/English codeswitching shows much preoccupation with language. This is no surprise in works which have a metalinguistic theme, such as, for example, “The English Lesson” (SENM1 ). But it is also characteristic of works in which language is not the main topic. In my corpus of thirty texts, twenty-three have one or more metalinguistic references; in two other texts there is an implicit reference to language. Thus, this feature is present in eighty-three percent of the corpus, with approximately 124 tokens. References are made primarily to two aspects: linguistic competence and language choice. That is, explicit mention is made of a character’s ability to speak, read, or write Spanish or English, or to the fact that a particular language is being spoken or ought to be spoken. In the following sections some of these

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references will be presented with a discussion of the sociolinguistic pressures they reflect.

. Representation of a language other than English The literary representation of a language distinct from that of the work as a whole may be used whenever a knowledge of that language cannot be assumed on the part of the reader. In the United States such representation serves to let the reader know that a language other than English is being spoken, without requiring him or her to decipher same. In some cases the writer lacks competence in the language he or she wishes to depict as being spoken. Literary devices range from the strategic insertion of a word or phrase from the second language to a simple statement that another language is being spoken (Traugott & Pratt 1980: 377). Instances of the latter are common in the present corpus; explicit reference is made to the fact that an utterance is in Spanish, or, in a couple of instances, that it is in an indigenous language such as Náhuatl. However, this technique is not always used to refer to the speaking of a language other than English, but to English itself. This occurs in works in which the base language is Spanish, but also in others in which it is English. Such a reference may be necessary if the reader has already been given to understand that the characters’ habitual language is not English. For example, explicit mention is made of characters’ use of English in “The English Lesson”, cited above. The story is written in English, but with the premise that Spanish is the daily language of its characters, who are students in an ESL class. Likewise, in another of the corpus texts, a novel written entirely in English with the exception of a few expletives, the first language of the protagonist’s mother is Spanish, and it is cause for comment when she uses English: (1) “So what’s the matter?” This she asked in English, always a bad sign. English made her voice sound testy and severe, hinting at an oncoming barrage of churning, scathing Spanish if the answer didn’t please her. (NEAR 205)

In the preceding example, mention is made not only of the fact of a particular language’s being spoken, but also of the implications of that fact. The same occurs in the following passage, in which the narrator acknowledges his reasons for reporting a conversation in English, while at the same time alluding to motives of ingroup solidarity for speaking Spanish:

A sociolinguistic mirror 

(2) – I feel hot too, ese, maybe I’m sick – I answered, all in Spanish, of course. I retell all this in English for form’s sake but we, my friends and I, actually wouldn’t be caught dead talking English to each other. (NEAD 80)

. Speaking Spanish in school and heritage language loss Rules against the speaking of languages other than English in school left their mark in the memories of many children, now adults, who entered school having no experience in English during a time of repressive language policies. Even after such policies fell out of favor, children with limited English proficiency suffered humiliation at the hands of peers. In example (3), a teacher directs a boy to stand up in front of the class to read aloud from a book, and his lack of reading competence in English earns him the jeers of his classmates: (3) Pos el Gabriel can’t read English muy bien cause his familia has only been ‘Well Gabriel’ ‘very well’ ‘family’ here for two years from Tijuana, and they speak puro Spanish at his ‘only’ cantón. [. . . ] Pos they started laughing and making fun of Gabriel [. . . ], ‘home’ ‘Well’ pero pobre Gabriel just kept reading. ‘but poor’ (SEMV 166-67)

Physical punishment in elementary school (NSMC 18) and suspension from high school (NECT 4) are other consequences characters recall for using Spanish at school (see also Galindo 1991: 113). The protagonist of another of the novels in the corpus remarks that his ability to speak Spanish was treated by his teachers as if it were a speech impediment (NEFG 111). English was the designated vehicle of education, as a little boy is informed on his first day of school: (4) “Now that will be enough of that Spanish lingo, Guanito. You are in school now and must learn how to talk in perfect English, because that is the best language for learning the important things of life.” (NEFG 27)

In only one of the texts, which is set in the present time, is the ability to speak both Spanish and English treated as an asset:

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(5) One day when Sapo and me were in the eighth grade, Tapia [a science teacher] told us, “You speak two languages, you are worth two people.” (NEEQ 86)

The popular belief persists according to which speaking Spanish is a disadvantage for poor, immigrant children, but an asset for children from higher socioeconomic classes, with the assumption that the latter will learn Spanish in the classroom and in foreign exchange programs (Gilman 2000: 1032). Many children who entered school speaking no English became competent in that language, but lost their first language, or suffered an arrested development in it. Even now, although Spanish is not banned on schoolgrounds, most academic work is performed in English, and few students manage to acquire an equal range of registers in both languages (Colombi 1997: 178). The majority of bilingual education programs focus on as rapid a transition as possible to English (Zentella 1997: 274–275). This leaves fewer opportunities for Spanish speakers to become literate in their native language. There are many explicit references to this topic in the corpus. For example, the narrator in a short story reports: (6) [. . . ] speaking frankly, my written castellano isn’t the best. “Language loss” ‘Spanish’ is what some professor once muttered to me when I tested out at Cal State. (SEGK 108)

In another text, a character confesses: (7) Tú sabes, yo no sé leyer en español.. Nojotros todos lo hablamos pero no lo sabemos escribir tampoco. ‘You know, I don’t know how to read in Spanish. . . All of us speak it but we don’t know how to write it either.’ (NSMC 16)

Oral competence may be retained, especially when a speech community remains intact. However, as mentioned above, speakers are apt to lack control of more formal registers and are often stigmatized for their use of a nonstandard dialect (Valdés 1997a: 9). Such dialects include varieties of Spanish that bear the signs of their co-existence with English. The passages in (8) and (9) exemplify the attitudes of condescension often expressed toward these varieties, which, depending on the region, are known by such terms as Spanglish, Mocho, Pocho, or Tex-Mex: (8) El español de Becky es algo mocho y ella prefiere el inglés; el esc., de lo más ecuánime, señala que [. . . ] no tiene reparo alguno y que los informantes pueden, deben explayarse en el idioma que más les convenga.

A sociolinguistic mirror 

‘Becky’s Spanish is a little weak and she prefers English; the writer, in the most equanimous manner, indicates that he has no objection and that the informants can, should express themselves in whatever language is best for them.’ (NSRH 72) (9) “Jehú speaks Spanish very well, you know; none of your Tex-Mex either; I heard he’d been raised in part by a Mexican national and that might account for it.” (NSRH 77)

In another text (NSMC), the protagonist’s daughter asks her mother, a native speaker and professor of Spanish, why she did not teach her that language when she was a child. The mother cites the fact that her husband did not speak Spanish, and that they lived far away from Spanish-speaking relatives. The college-aged daughter has had to learn Spanish in foreign language classes at school, a pattern common today, not only for Spanish but also for other minority languages (Hinton 2001). A parent monolingual in English and geographic separation from other speakers of the heritage language are key factors in language loss (Lipski 1993: 158). Both of these factors are cited in one of the short stories, in which the protagonist muses: (10) Very few of my grandchildren speak español, güeno ya hasta Margot, la segunda de mis hijas no se acuerda cómo hablar en español. Y es que se casó con un bolillo y vive pal noreste. Ahí todos los vicinos son bolillos y Margot no tene con quien hablar español. Yo le digo, enséñale a tus hijos, pero a la mijor le da vergüenza, digo, con sus vicinas, las güeras. ‘Very few of my grandchildren speak Spanish, well even Margot, my second daughter, doesn’t remember how to speak Spanish. She married a white man and lives in the Northeast. There all of her neighbors are white and Margot doesn’t have anyone to speak Spanish with. I tell her, teach your children, but she’s probably embarrassed, I mean in front of her neighbors, the white women.’ (SSCP1 33)

In a novella from the corpus, Lincoln Mendoza, a fourteen-year-old boy who moves away from the Latino neighborhood where he spoke Spanish at school and in the street, notices his own language loss: (11) He thought about Monica. [. . . ] He wondered if she spoke in Spanish or English to her parents. Lately, he and his mother had started using English, even at home. Lincoln’s Spanish was getting worse and worse. (NEGS 34)

Generational dynamics are an important element in the context of heritage languages, and this issue appears in metalinguistic references in the corpus. The

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use of Spanish by second and third generation speakers to address members of the first generation is characterized as a sign of respect; conversely, the use of English is seen as a sign of defiance (NEAR 124, 206-7; SSAG 28): (12) “Why must you be so contemptuous? Why can’t you answer me in Spanish?” (NEAR 206)

In one text the use of English at home is forbidden under threat of punishment: (13) – Habla español, hija, tu abuelo te va a pegar. ‘Speak Spanish, daughter, your grandfather’s going to spank you.’ (SSAG 28)

But the grandfather who insists on Spanish only is fighting a losing battle; his son and granddaughter codeswitch between Spanish and English, and the little girl uses only English at school. Several studies have shown that, despite an appearance of robustness due to the continual arrival of new immigrants, Spanish is lost by the third, if not the second, generation (e.g. Hidalgo 1993: 47; Zentella 1988: 47; Zurer Pearson & McGee 1993: 100).

. Spanish and English in the workplace Speakers of languages other than English have traditionally been at a disadvantage in the workplace. The problems they face range from decreased opportunities for advancement to threats of dismissal for speaking the other language on the job. Discrimination in hiring non-native speakers of English has in the past been justified on the basis of such speakers’ allegedly unintelligible accents (Matsuda 1991 in Valdés 1997b: 45). In other cases the ability to speak a minority language – providing one can also speak English – is recognized as an asset. Individuals who can speak both languages are sought out not only to interpret for superiors and coworkers but also to provide services to the public, especially in government and healthcare. This is acknowledged in two of the corpus texts (NSRH; NEFG), as are the informal arrangements and lack of compensation for such tasks that are all too common practice even today (Valdés 1997b: 38–41). Employees who are known to have some competence in the minority language may be called upon to provide translation or interpretation regardless of whether such work is related to the duties they were hired to perform. In one of the novels, the school principal asks a youngster to whose parents he is writing a note informing them

A sociolinguistic mirror 

of their son’s misconduct if there is anyone in the household who reads English. When the boy responds that his grandmother does, the principal replies: (14) “Good, then I won’t have to call in the janitor to translate it into Spanish.” (NEFG 40)

The child himself has earlier been asked by his teacher to provide interpretation in the classroom for other Spanish-speaking students. Note that ignorance of English is here equated to a state of general ignorance: (15) “[. . . ] I’m so glad you speak some English. Maybe you will be ‘Teacher’s Little Helper’ and translate like a good little boy for my babies who just don’t know anything useful for learning.” (NEFG 28)

In other situations portrayed in the same and different texts the importance of competence in English as a key to better employment is emphasized (e.g. NSRH 59). There are several references to the need to lose an accent. In the following example, a child repeats to his father, a sanitation worker, what his mother has said in regard to the father’s heavily accented English: (16) “Mommy says that you will always work under the city as long as you talk like a cactus eating sewer rat, poppy.” (NEFG 314)

Advocates of English-only legislation protest governmental stipulations regarding the provision of public services in languages other than English. But in fact, such policies affect only certain sectors (Crawford 1997). Multilingual services are by no means universally available, and the need for Spanish-speaking personnel is illustrated in two texts. In one of the novellas, a woman gives birth to her second child at home, incurring life-threatening complications, rather than risk repetition of a previous hospital experience, in which no one could communicate with her to explain the painful and humiliating procedures to which she was subjected (NSMC). In another text, a government project meant to offer assistance to elderly residents of a small town in New Mexico fails to send workers capable of communicating with the intended beneficiaries: (17) Casi todas las preguntas que hacían los ancianos weren’t related much to ‘Almost all of the questions that the elderly people were asking’ the agricultural process, sino these students were asking questions on ‘but rather’ other matters such as [. . . ] Could the university send someone to speak to

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them in Spanish? Muchos de los pobrecitos no le entendían nada al gabacho Greenly. ‘Many of the poor dears didn’t understand anything from the white guy Greenly’ (SEFT 151)

. Spanish as an ethnic marker Speakers may opt for the heritage language to identify themselves as members of an ethnic community (e.g. Woolard 1989: 89–90; Milroy & Milroy 1985: 122–125). Spanish as a solidarity marker, and the affective value of its use, is depicted in several of the texts (e.g. NEPT 172). In one text, the authenticity of a character’s ethnic status is called into question on account of his use of English: (18) “Ay tú, ya comensates con tu pinche Inglés, pinche pocho culero, Mexicano falso,” says Ro-Ro. ‘There you go with your stupid English, you Mexican traitor.’ (NECT 111; translation from the original)

As seen in Chapter 5, the narrator of a short story from the corpus anticipates criticism for his use of Caló, because he does not belong to a group for whose members this code is considered legitimate (SSJB 72). In a novel, a character’s use of English for professional expediency is referred to with sarcasm: (19) El que vino a saludarnos a Oli y a mí fue Conrado Aldama, Col., U.S. Army Ret. A éste sí que se le “olvidó” el español. ‘The person who came over to say hello to Oli and me was Conrado Aldama, a retired U.S. Army colonel. He’s someone who really did “forget” his Spanish.’ (NSRH 27)

In two texts characters use stereotypical images of Chicanos to ridicule or take advantage of outgroup interlocutors. In one, a party guest has told an “antimexicano” joke, to which the protagonist reacts by intentionally speaking “in the most broken English imaginable. . . ” (NSRH 88). In another, a soldier uses the same tactic to evade a challenge from an officer who has questioned his use of a medic-jeep: (20) Knowing well that military courtesy does not approve of saluting when sitting, Ese salutes the major with his left hand while he sits in the driver’s seat. Then in broken English, performing his dumb Mexican act, he says,

A sociolinguistic mirror 

“I no spic too mush Inglish, ser. I in hoss-pitel. I go back to boosh mañana. Medicks send me for bier. I not know to mush.” (NECT 118)

The use of Spanish/English codeswitching has been criticized as being an adulteration of Spanish since the nineteenth century (Leal 1982: 12). Twenty-five years ago Gumperz and Hernández-Chávez (1975: 159) reported concerns expressed by Latino parents in regard to their children’s loss of Spanish, and, by extension, denial of proper cultural heritage. Codeswitching symbolizes for some an undesirable duality of value systems. In the context of Puerto Rican writers it has been denounced as assimilationist (Cancel Ortiz 1986). Corpus author Giannina Braschi has in particular been the target of such charges. Sommer and Vega-Merino (1998: 15) compare her to Rosario Ferré, who writes in both Spanish and English, for which Ferré has been censured by fellow Puerto Rican writer Ana Lydia Vega. This debate surfaces in numerous references, not all with explicit mention of language, in Braschi’s novel Yo-Yo Boing! (NSGB). . Attitudes toward Spanish and its varieties A major issue in Spanish for Native Speakers programs is the need to teach a standard variety without rejecting the varieties of Spanish students bring to class (e.g. Porras 1997). As mentioned above, students in these courses are often speakers of stigmatized dialects of Spanish (Valdés 1997a: 9). In some cases they have internalized popular judgements of their dialect, a phenomenon reflected in this passage from the corpus: (21) [. . . ] he looked me up and down and grunted, “You is speaking English?” “Yes, sir, Mr. Greenstein. I am quite proficient in its usage.” [. . . ] “And you can maybe talk Spanish also?” “Pure Spanish no, but I can handle Puerto Rican.” (NEPT 39)

Speakers’ attitudes toward Spanish and its varieties are influenced by several factors. The position of Spanish relative to English in the United States is inseparable from the status of its speakers. As the number of Spanish-speakers grows, and political and commercial interests recognize the power, and therefore importance, of this group, so does the status of the Spanish language improve. The language enjoys an ever increasing presence in mass media such as television, popular music, radio, and the Internet. In those formats considered to be of the highest prestige, such as national news broadcasts, the variety of Spanish used is purged of stigmatized pronunciations and regional vocabulary (Lipski 1985: 221). The Spanish pronunciation on the national news most often ap-

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proximates the Mexican standard, that is, of the capital, although features of other dialects are also heard. These surface in the speech of field correspondents, not that of the anchors, and include Castilian and River Plate variants such as the interdental voiceless fricative and substitution of the alveopalatal fricative for the palatal fricative, as in asociación and calle, respectively. Avoided are more stigmatized pronunciation features, such as the lateralization of /r/ and the raising of mid vowels. Neutrality in lexical choices is also practiced, so that, for example, regional words for ‘turkey’, such as guajolote and chompipe, are eschewed in favor of the more universal pavo. The author has had as students native speakers who were unacquainted with this word and other non regional vocabulary. Lexical choices used or not used in the media reinforce speakers’ perception of their own varieties. The fewer features from their own dialect they hear, the less validation that dialect, and by extension, its speakers, receive. The reader will have noticed the portrayal of other nonstandard varieties of Spanish in passages quoted from the corpus. Words such as güeno, nojotros, and vicinas represent features that will not be heard in the speech of national news anchors.2 Characteristic of the Spanish spoken in rural areas of Northern Mexico and the Southwestern United States, these and other morphophonetic variants – such as in, for example, comensates, haiga, and íbanos – are stigmatized as markers of low economic and educational attainment.3 Codeswitching between Spanish and English, and the use of borrowings from English, is likewise disfavored, at least in more formal contexts. These prejudices are reflected in metalinguistic references in the corpus: (22) – [. . . ] Este está lleno de inglés. Quiero más español. Claro, la mezcla de lenguas es un problema de tu clase social. Yo no tengo ese problema. ‘This is full of English. I want more Spanish. Of course, language mixing is a problem of your social class. I don’t have that problem.’ (NSGB 161)

In other cases references reflect ingroup loyalty to a certain variety: (23) “Entonces tú estas diciendo que ustedes son mejores que nosotros, porque no hablamos como ustedes,” says Machete angrily. ‘Then you’re saying you’re better than us because we don’t speak like you do,’ “A cual español. Los mexicanos no saben hablar,” answers the Puerto Rican soldier [. . . ]. ‘What Spanish. Mexicans don’t know how to speak.’ (NECT 122; translations from the original)

A sociolinguistic mirror

The mexicanos referred to in this passage are Chicanos, a group of soldiers raised in an agricultural town in California’s Central Valley.

. Representation of nonstandard Spanish and English .. Dialect in literature Dialect in literature is the use of various techniques – orthographic, morphological, syntactic or lexical choices – to represent speech. The latter may be nonstandard speech, or the author may simply wish to foreground the orality of the dialogue. Hence the dialectal markers are most often restricted to dialogue, with the writer reverting to standard language for the main narrative. Eye dialect often goes no further than an attempt to close the gap between orthographic and phonetic representation. For example, wuz represents the standard American English pronunciation of ‘was’, and grasias represents the standard American Spanish pronunciation of ‘gracias’. Eye dialect in literature provides data for analysis of the structural features of language varieties, although the possibility of exaggeration or misrepresentation on the author’s part must be taken into account. The situations and speakers for which the author uses eye dialect give insight into popular attitudes as to the relative prestige of standard and nonstandard codes. The use of a nonstandard dialect in literature suggests an identification with realism, and perhaps a rejection of the values of those who set literary and hence, linguistic, standards. It may indicate an emphasis on the popular versus the elite, serving to call attention to, and to reinforce, the separation between same. Dialect representation generally falls along a continuum, from features that appear in italics to their full incorporation, undifferentiated from the rest of the text. The degree to which a dialect is incorporated into the text, the fullest extent being when the author uses it consistently not only in dialogue but also in the main narrative, is influenced by various factors. These include the author’s own dialect, that of the intended audience, and the effect he or she wishes to achieve: humor, ridicule, or solidarity, for example. A phonetic representation that deviates from standard orthography is given for the benefit of readers’ whose own pronunciation of the standard spelling would differ from that representation. Thus, grasias would be used to evoke the American pronunciation for a Castilian readership. Cuban-American author Roberto G. Fernández’ use of double ss ridicules speakers of Carribean Spanish who try to

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imitate the standard. This humor would be appreciated only by those familiar with the /s/ elision dialect. Nonstandard Spanish or English appears, respectively, in 70% (21) and 53% (16) of the corpus. This comes in the form of representation of dialect in dialogue as well as the use of nonstandard varieties in the narration. Such varieties are, for English, African American Vernacular English (AAVE) and certain varieties of New York English. Representation of AAVE is effected primarily through the use of multiple negation and invariant or zero copula. New York English is evoked by the conversion of interdental fricatives to their correspondent stops, and elimination of postvocalic /r/. Spanish varieties with a noticeable presence are Southwestern U.S. Spanish, Caribbean Spanish, and Chicano Caló. ... Southwestern Spanish Some samples of Southwestern Spanish appear earlier in this chapter. The dialect region comprises California, Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas, but this variety of Spanish shares features of the popular and rural Spanish in Northern Mexico and many other parts of the Spanish-speaking world besides. Features include diphthongization, substitution of [h] for initial /f/, and regularization of verbal paradigms. The lexicon contains archaisms, nahuatlisms, borrowings from English, and Caló (Cárdenas 3–4; Peñalosa 77; Sánchez 124– 136). The heavy representation of this variety is not surprising, given that several of the texts are set in the Southwestern United States and have as characters individuals who are members of this speech community. For example, the corpus texts SSCP1 and SSCP2 are based on interviews with elderly residents of a Latino neighborhood in San Antonio, Texas. ... Caribbean Spanish A third of the corpus authors are of Puerto Rican descent, and, much like the Chicano authors, their stories are peopled with speakers of the corresponding dialect of Spanish. Several of the most salient features of Caribbean Spanish are represented in their texts. The one most often employed to evoke Caribbean Spanish is the aspiration or elision of syllable and word final /s/. Another well-known marker of Puerto Rican Spanish is the appearance of the subject pronoun in non-emphatic usage, in preverbal postion. The second person singular tú is used this way in ¿Qué tú te crees? (NEEQ 163), for which standard Spanish would use ¿Qué te crees tú? or ¿Qué te crees? ‘What do you think?’

A sociolinguistic mirror

... Caló Chicano Caló is characterized primarily by lexical, rather than phonetic or syntactic, variation from standard Spanish. Popular Mexican Spanish along with English contribute elements to this form of Caló. Chicano Caló is a variety of popular Spanish spoken on both sides of the U.S.-Mexican border OrnsteinGalicia (1995: 117). Its most outstanding trait is a propensity for word-play. Innovation of new vocabulary often takes the form of suffixation on existing words; for example sí ‘yes’ becomes simón, seguro ‘sure’ becomes segurolas. Words may also be adapted to express the semantic content of other words that have a similar phonetic shape but unrelated semantic content. In this way, ya estuvo ‘it’s over’ becomes ya estufas. Vocabulary with etymological connections to the original Romany roots of Caló can also be heard in Chicano Caló, such as buti ‘very’, jaina ‘woman, girlfriend’, ruco ‘old man’, and chavo ‘boy’. It should be noted that the last two words are also common in Mexican popular Spanish. The most important point for the present discussion is the perception that Caló, as is true for all nonstandard varieties, is not routinely written down. To be more precise, it has been confined to the same genres and registers discussed in Chapter 5 in regard to Spanish/English codeswitching. Chicano Caló is and has in fact been found in print for some time, not only in the service of dialectal representation in dialogue and poetry, but also in the narrative discourse of Chicano literature. Caló is being used in electronic and other print media for communiques in the current Chicano political and artistic movements. ... Second language learners’ Spanish and English .... Foreigner talk. Foreigner talk refers to simplified forms of a language addressed to interlocutors presumed to have a poor understanding of the language. Foreigner talk in literature may include the speech addressed to foreigners, but more often implies a depiction of the speech of non-native speakers. It provides a source of data for linguistic forms, sociolinguistic attitudes, and psycholinguistic concerns such as language acquisition. Depictions of foreigner talk, whether uttered by or addressed to the non-native speaker, give an indication of social and ideological perceptions held by native speakers of the ethnic groups to which their interlocutor belongs. The author’s language choices, and the way the author uses the language, show his or her social values, whether these be solidarity with or rejection of certain groups. The defining characteristic of foreigner talk, whether in literature or speech, is formal simplification: unconjugated verbs, elimination of copula, pronouns, articles, insertion of pronouns in imperatives, analytic paraphrase, and semantic underspecification. The representation of L2 English and L2

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Spanish is featured in one third of the corpus texts. The speech of second language learners of English appears in six texts, and that of L2 speakers of Spanish in four texts. Phenomena depicted for English include substitution of the progressive for the simple present tense, as well as a lack of third person singular morphology, past tense, do support, and question inversion. In one text, as the authors themselves explain, the Chicano characters “were assigned accents in English” (NEFG 6); a German-speaker is also assigned an accent in this work. However, some of the features used are unrealistic, such as epenthetic /e/ added even to unclustered initial /s/. Another primary feature of this novel is the replacement of the voiced and voiceless interdental fricatives with the voiced and unvoiced alveolar stops, respectively. Consistent throughout the novel is representation of Spanish-speakers’ replacement of word initial approximant /y/ in English with the affricate [dZ], as in: (24) “Jou done good today, Juanito, pero jou better tell la maestra que jou lied ‘but’ ‘the teacher that’ or eshe will keep jou in dat dark closet forever,” advised María. (NEFG 32; italics added)

Portrayal of L2 Spanish is more limited, although there are numerous references to heritage speakers’ lack of competence in that language. In two texts the diphthongization of vowels, as in comprenday (NEPT 118), serves to signal an Anglophone’s speech. In another text a minor character, commenting on the weather to a female patron at a bar, adds a final vowel to the word cool, hoping to Hispanicize his pronunciation (SSJS 51). This results in an inappropriate utterance which ridicules the speaker and produces a humorous effect for the reader (cf. Azevedo 1992: 70). .. Significance of the use of nonstandard varieties and L2 speech The use of nonstandard forms heightens the orality of the text via the writing down of forms that are not usually seen in print. This is a well-documented device employed by writers to approximate speech. However, it cannot always be ascribed to a mere desire to make what is written down seem like speech. In some cases it could be argued that the author’s indifference to the conventions of written language signal a refusal to accommodate to standard conventions. This point will be explored further in Chapter 7.

A sociolinguistic mirror

Notes . Earlier versions of portions of this chapter were first published in: Callahan, L. (2001a) Metalinguistic references in a Spanish/English corpus. Hispania, 84(3), 417–427. . Standard spellings, reflecting prestige variety pronunciation, are: bueno ‘good, fine, OK’; nosotros ‘we, us’; vecinas ‘female neighbors’. . Standard spellings are: comenzaste ‘you started’; haya ‘that there be’; íbamos ‘we would go’.

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JB[v.20020404] Prn:11/05/2004; 14:17

F: SIB2707.tex / p.1 (40-130)

Chapter 7

The costs of codeswitching

. Introduction Let us begin with a comparison of the domains for Spanish/English codeswitching to the domains of another nonstandard language variety. Singh (2000: 101– 105) cites the use by Trinidadian authors of TEC, Trinidad’s English-lexifier creole. Authors use TEC for characters’ diologue, and reporters use it to quote witnesses verbatim and as the main language of certain newspaper columns of a humorous nature. TEC sometimes also appears in advertising captions. However, as Singh observes, “[d]espite such breakthroughs, the use of TEC in the media [. . . ] vis-à-vis that of standard English, essentially remains limited” (105). The relationship between certain domains and topics and the use of this creole bears a striking resemblance to that which obtains between thematic content and the domains of Spanish/English codeswitching usage. The creole has begun to appear in political speeches to signal solidarity with listeners. But TEC remains confined to sharply delineated areas: [. . . ] since English has remained the official language of government and administration, such TEC usage is again firmly embedded in standard English narrative. The media, too, largely conform to official language policy: standard English is the main vehicle of commentary and reporting. However, TEC is now often used for specific purposes. In newspapers, writers of ‘entertainment’ columns will use TEC. (Singh 2000: 105)

This mirrors the range of genres described for Spanish/English codeswitching in Chapter 5: primarily in the field of entertainment. In contrast to the situation described by Singh, there is no official language in the United States, various state resolutions notwithstanding. Language choices are motivated in most cases less by law than by market forces.

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. The language marketplace .. Codeswitching as symbolic capital Language choice can be used to negotiate relations at work and in other domains. Quebec is a case in point. Heller (1992) describes situations in which the ability to codeswitch – primarily in the sense of situational codeswitching – is an advantage on the job market. In the past it allowed French Canadians to participate in activities controlled by English speakers. The political mobilization of Francophones now permits French speakers to impose their first language in spheres formerly dominated by Anglophones. There are parallels in the United States to some of the phenomena seen in Quebec, though of a much narrower scope. For example, French language immersion schools for the children of middle class Anglophones have their counterpart in the two-way Spanish-English and Mandarin-English immersion programs in some California school districts. There are also parallels between the concerns that parents living apart from Francophone communities in Canada and those living apart from Hispanophone areas in the U.S. have. Both wish their children to maintain the heritage language, not only for ingroup identity but also to have access to future economic opportunities as the home language gains value in mainstream society. Accounts of a correlation between higher earning power and Spanish-English bilingualism are becoming frequent. On its national newscast Telemundo reported findings that showed completely bilingual Latinos to enjoy higher salaries than those who speak only English (1 February 2000). As for non-Hispanics, the New York Times reports that “New Yorkers see Spanish as essential skill” (Ojito 1999). Workers in the service industries, medicine, law, and religion are seeking instruction in Spanish at Berlitz and other language schools. Myers-Scotton (1993b: 7) states that individual choices in codeswitching practices are motivated by each speaker’s perception of “the relative costs and rewards of one choice over another”. The concept of costs and rewards is not restricted to financial considerations nor to individual interactions. It is a useful construct to describe the advantages and disadvantages of choosing one option over others in a given situation to negotiate for attention, goods, or commodities from interlocutors or from society at large. Pierre Bourdieu notes: In the case of symbolic production, the constraint exercised by the market via the anticipation of possible profit naturally takes the form of an anticipated censorship, of a self-censorship which determines not only the manner

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of saying, that is, the choice of language – ‘code switching’ in situations of bilingualism – or the ‘level’ of language, but also what it will be possible or not possible to say. (1991: 77)

We saw in Chapter 6 how different languages can have unequal value in a given context. For example, English is more highly valued in the classroom, while Spanish may be prescribed to address parents and peers. Unequal values obtain wherever minority languages compete with a dominant code, and is of special relevance in situations where codeswitching is a factor. As Gal (1988: 247) notes: “[. . . ] codeswitching usually involves the use of a state-supported and powerfully legitimated language in opposition to a stigmatized minority language that has considerably less institutional support”. Since languages do not exist apart from their speakers, it follows that speakers of less-valued codes will lack the privileges associated with competence in the language of higher prestige. And this is in fact what happens in many contexts. But there is also evidence that some speakers, or groups of speakers, can turn the unequal value of languages to their advantage. This phenomenon can be analyzed in terms of economy and ecology. Bourdieu (1977) views dominant codes as linguistic and cultural capital which ensure advantages for their users. In turn, speakers of less favored languages compete for these same advantages. Lacking full access to conventional channels of power, they may still achieve their objectives and experience success through alternate avenues. This may depend on the implications of each code’s use, or on the simple fact that a speaker has competence in more than one. Gal (1988) and Heller (1992) argue that language provides speakers with the potential to resist or negotiate inequities. As Canagarajah (1995: 7) observes: “[. . . ] the ability to resist inequalities through code-choice is related to the context-creating potential of language. Code choice can help redefine situations, identities, roles, and relationships to further the interests of the otherwise disadvantaged”. Minderhout (1972) outlines an elegant application of economic principles to language use. Under this model, the innovative speaker is seen as an entrepreneur, who, just as in the traditional business model, takes risks in order to maximize returns. This speaker’s innovation is to engage in an unexpected, marked, use of language, and the ability to do so is his or her asset. This speaker’s risk is the disapproval or even financial loss such usage may cause him or her to incur, and the profit is monetary reward, or increased social or political power. Borrowing a term from ecology, Minderhout calls the point at which an entrepreneur exploits his or her environment that entrepreneur’s

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niche. An author who uses Spanish/English codeswitching in the United States may not obtain financial gain, but may attain social and professional recognition for what is seen as an artistic innovation. In regard to risks, codeswitching is the object of language purists’ disdain, and the use of Spanish mixed with English diminishes the readership and hence profit-bearing potential of any text. Paradoxically, if a writer’s use of codeswitching had the effect of gaining more acceptance for this mode of discourse, this would lessen the innovativeness of his or her ability to codeswitch, thereby reducing the value of the asset. In Minderhout’s model: Limitations may include the values of the community, expectations of return, and the likelihood of certain responses of the parties involved. Typically, the entrepreneur proceeds by combining previously unconnected spheres of exchange. A sphere of exchange is one in which goods and services circulate freely. Goods and services in one sphere are not normally exchanged for goods and services in another sphere. [. . . ] Barriers of cost prevent individual conversions between the spheres. The Lapp who attempts to enter a status in the Norwegian segment finds his Lappishness connected with a stigma of inferiority which is sanctioned by ridicule, insults, and avoidance. Similarly, that same Lapp, on being rebuffed by Norwegian society, finds that he cannot conveniently reenter Lapp society. (Minderhout 1972: 58–59)

We can make an analogy between the Lapp Minderhout refers to and the author using Spanish/English codeswitching who tries to gain access to the sphere of mainstream publishing in the United States. The author finds that his or her codeswitching is connected to a stigma of inferiority from both the mainstream, English-only world, and Spanish-only purists in the author’s own speech community. Minderhout continues: “The essential criteria for an entrepreneur are in the creation of a channel of conversion, in innovation, and in risk-taking” (1972: 63). In the case at hand, the author’s channel is the text containing codeswitching, the codeswitching itself is the innovation, the conversion is the oral style in a written format, and furthermore in the world of mainstream publishing. The risk taken is the use of this particular mode of discourse, for the reasons outlined above: codeswitching may earn the author the disapproval of one group without winning entrance into another. Myers-Scotton (1993b: 141) predicts that “users of marked choices will be those with status sufficiently high to allow them to take chances; and those so positioned that the possibility of achieving such status is real [. . . ]”. These categories apply to at least two of the authors in my data. Cormac McCarthy and

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Giannina Braschi include a significant amount of untranslated Spanish in their works. In the case of McCarthy, an author who enjoys the commercial success of several bestsellers, his use of Spanish in this manner is made possible by his secure material position in society. In Braschi’s case, critics and the author herself allude to the danger that her use of Spanish – and, conversely, English – will limit the potential readership of the book. .. From speaker to user: Transactions in the language marketplace Speakers as entrepreneurs is an analogy that is particularly appropriate to a discussion of language choice and market factors. I will modify it to “speaker as user”. Being a user of a language suggests a greater degree of agency than does merely being a speaker. It implies conscious decisions and premeditation of consequences. Transactions in the language marketplace occur when a user of a language or variety exploits the ability to use that code for purposes beyond the communication of purely referential information. The language user gets something in return: attention, money, or power. Access to the code used must not be universal; if it is, the user has no asset to exploit. Blommaert (1992: 67) documents an example of a codeswitched variety as an exclusive resource: When a University staff member switches to Campus Kiswahili [a variety with English/Kiswahili], this choice automatically excludes all those who have not obtained the same degree of mastery in the two languages. In other words, the identity construction effected through Campus Kiswahili is one which makes use of an exclusive resource, one which excludes 90% of society.

. The relative positions of Spanish and English in the United States While Spanish is spoken by some 20 million people in the United States, it remains subordinate to English by any measure. It is only in one or two places in the country, most notably Miami, Florida, that it can be used by anyone, anywhere, to do anything. Nevertheless, as the number of Spanish speakers grows, so does its power. One of the chief arenas in which this is manifested is the media, largely driven by advertisers who recognize the potential of a huge market.



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.. Latino and not monolingual in Spanish As of the year 2000 all sectors of the Spanish language media, but particularly television, had registered tremendous growth (Navarro 8 August 2000). This is not limited to the giants Univisión and Telemundo; some smaller, independent, stations also broadcast to the Spanish monolingual audience (Martínez 2001). Along with this phenomenal growth comes a popular misconception about the profile of the Latino audience. The television reporter for the newspaper of a major city – a city with a large Hispanic population – exemplifies this misconception in his statement: There is one very simple reason the viewership for Spanish-language television in this country has skyrocketed in recent years. The American networks – broadcast and cable – have failed the Hispanic community miserably. (McCollum 2000: 14E)

He goes on to cite the lack of Hispanic characters and Latino actors in leading roles in network television. While the underrepresentation of Latinos in Hollywood is certainly true, his first statement paints an inaccurate picture, for the simple reason that membership in the Hispanic community does not automatically equate to being Spanish-speaking. The United States’ two major Spanish language television networks, Univisión and Telemundo, broadcast imported telenovelas that reflect neither “the experiences of Latinos who speak English, [n]or [. . . ] the bilingual experiences of most Latinos in the United States [. . . ]” (Dávila 2001). Some ethnic media are becoming aware of the fact that being of Latino ethnicity does not necessarily mean that an individual speaks Spanish, and are reaching out to Hispanic audiences in English or in Spanish/English codeswitching (Spanglish, Omaha World Herald).1 In fact, there are signs that programmers in various media are beginning to recognize the potential of a heretofore unrecognized market: second and third generation Latinos who are either English dominant or habitual codeswitchers. Certain magazines cater to this market. One of these is Latina, cited in Chapter 5. Although there is little actual codeswitching in Latina, the fact that a magazine publisher is aware of this characteristic of its readers is significant. TodoLatino! is a website designed for “the English-dominant Latino professional community” (Boatman 1999b). OYE magazine, in the same vein as TodoLatino!, aims for a particular socioeconomic group within an ethnic population. Its target reader is the upwardly mobile Latino man. Like the pub-

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lisher of Latina, editor Cesar Recendez sees no conflict between Latino cultural awareness and English dominance. Of OYE’s intended audience, he comments: Some people might consider this the acculturated man, but in our mind, it’s bi-cultural. It’s a Latino man who’s very in tune with his Latino heritage, but also quintessentially American. (Boatman 1999a: 7)

Recendez also points out the erroneous view that all Latinos speak Spanish. Advertisers trying to reach the Latino market who concentrate exclusively on Spanish-language media are laboring under a “false assumption [. . . ]. They basically assume the way to reach Latinos is through Spanish. That overlooks the fact that the majority of us are bilingual, if not English-dominant” (Boatman 1999a: 7). Even though more and more U.S. Latinos are bilingual and/or Englishdominant, monolingual Spanish-language media serve another sector of the population: that fed by the continuous influx of new immigrants. This steady supply of consumers, who upon arrival are still monolingual in Spanish, ensures that Spanish remains vibrant in the United States despite an ongoing shift to English (Morales 1999: 265). .. Reactions to the use of Spanish in the public sphere A repeated occurrence during the 2000 presidential campaign reveals something of the relative importance of Spanish and English in the United States: both of the major party candidates used every opportunity to speak Spanish. On November 27, 2000, the day George W. Bush declared himself winner of the disputed election that opponent Al Gore had yet to concede, a pair of tourists from Mexico, a married couple in their forties, described their encounter with Bush to a correspondent on Univisión’s nightly newscast. The wife reported that they had shaken hands with Bush, and that he had told them Mexico was going to be an important nation under his administration. “¿Y les habló en español?” ‘and did he speak to you in Spanish?’ asked the reporter. The woman replied that not only had the president-elect spoken to them in Spanish, but that his Spanish was perfect. Their enthusiasm for Bush based on his linguistic ability was not shared by many U.S. Latinos. As mentioned in Chapter 5, several people interviewed during the campaign expressed their displeasure with non-Latino candidates’ use of Spanish in political speeches.2 One television viewer deemed it unfitting for candidates to use Spanish when addressing general audiences, although she considered it appropriate for speeches to Hispanic groups (Ostrom 1999). Nevertheless, in one newspa-

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per’s poll, a third of the respondents said they might vote for a candidate who advertised in Spanish or spoke the language. This figure rose to fifty-five percent among voters coming from households where mostly Spanish is spoken (Ostrom & Thomma 2000). However, the criticism that speaking Spanish is no substitute for addressing important issues is expressed repeatedly. Arturo Vargas, executive director of the National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed Officials sums up this view: “Stop speaking so much Spanish and give me more substance” (Ostrom & Thomma 2000). The suspicion that candidates speak Spanish as a smokescreen for a lack of any real concern for Hispanics’ welfare causes Latinos to perceive their use of the language as an insult (Garay 2000). Regardless of any negative impressions on the part of its intended audience, the use of Spanish in the 2000 presidential race – during which entire speeches at a party convention were delivered in Spanish – is in sharp contrast to events of three decades ago in the small town of Crystal City, Texas. There in 1969 an announcer’s translation of his opening remarks into Spanish at a high school football game met with vehement protests (Shockley 1974: 165). This was a reaction not so much to the use of Spanish alongside English, but to the loss of a monopoly on power that this use symbolized. The announcer’s use of Spanish was part of a larger protest by Chicano students, which had provoked a change in power relations in the small community.

. Challenging the balance of power Speakers may challenge the balance of power on an individual and collective basis. Woolard (1985) points out that not all situations of power relations are transparent. What may look like the hegemony of one language is sometimes only accommodation on the part of minority language speakers. A case in point is Barcelona during the era immediately after Franco’s death, when Catalan, owing to the economic power of Catalan business owners, was clearly the language of highest prestige, despite Castilian’s status as the state language. Catalan speakers accommodate to monolingual speakers of Castilian, giving Castilian speakers the appearance of hegemony. The choice of a language is influenced by its value in the macrosociolinguistic environment, or, in the words of Bourdieu, the language marketplace. Bourdieu speaks of the power that some have to impose their own linguistic products and to exclude other products (Bourdieu 1977: 24). What is at stake is the right to participate, and hence the ability to compete for valued resources,

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be those social or material. Heller cites the case of Quebec, where codeswitching has been successfully used to alter the balance of linguistic prestige. French has become a “new form of symbolic capital which has changed its value in the marketplace and its place there” (Heller 1992: 133). The result has been a change in the balance of power, as opposed to the creation of an alternate, or parallel, marketplace (Heller 1992: 138–39). Heller speaks of codeswitching as a means of both accommodation and power display in the negotiation of disputed goods. This bears extrapolation to the authors in my corpus. U.S. authors’ use of Spanish-English codeswitching constitutes their own display of power in that they do not fully accommodate to the monolingual English only marketplace and yet are still able to participate in that marketplace. Spanish has already become symbolic capital in many domains in this country, for example in public service and health care, and to a lesser extent in government and education. The publishing – by major commercial houses – of authors who alternate languages may be a sign of Spanish’s entry into yet another domain as symbolic capital. A separate Spanish language media has existed for years in the U.S., and major publishers have added monolingual Spanish language divisions in the past ten years or so. What the works in my corpus do is bring Spanish, via codeswitching, into the general marketplace. A comparison can be made between their works and some popular music lyrics, in which Spanish appears albeit in what some would consider a tokenistic form. Nevertheless, what we are seeing is the presence of at least some Spanish alongside English where before there was none. Codeswitching is a microlevel symptom of a macrolevel change (Heller 1988a: 12). Its use by authors – whether or not this is their conscious intention – re-defines social reality; and influences what discourse resources are available for what domains. This includes a rejection of monolingual English as well as of monolingual Spanish.

Notes . See also www.pocho.com. . See Callahan (2004b).

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Tilden, K. (1985). Sociolinguistic aspects of Jakarta dialect switching in Bahasa Indonesia in eight Indonesian novels. Dissertation, University of Michigan. Timm, L. A. (1975). Spanish-English code-switching: El porqué y how-not-to. Romance Philology, 28(4), 473–482. —— (1978). Code-Switching in War and Peace. In M. Paradis (Ed.), The Fourth LACUS Forum 1977. Columbia, SC: Hornbeam Press. Toribio, A. J. (2000). Once upon a time en un lugar muy lejano. . . Spanish-English Codeswitching across Fairy Tale Narratives. In A. Roca (Ed.), Research on Spanish in the United States. Linguistic Issues and Challenges (pp. 184–203). Somerville, MA: Cascadilla Press. Toribio, A. J. & Rubin, E. J. (1996). Code-switching in generative grammar. In A. Roca & J. B. Jensen (Eds.), Spanish in Contact: Issues in Bilingualism (pp. 203–226). Somerville, MA: Cascadilla Press. Torres, C. (2000). El Toque: A Chiclit Fix for Webbones. No. 11. July 22. Accessed July 24, 2000. —— (2000a). El Toque: A Chiclit Fix for Webbones. No. 16. 10 November. Accessed November 15, 2000. Traugott, M. C. & Pratt, M. L. (1980). Linguistics for Students of Literature. New York: Harcourt Brace. Valdés, G. (1981). Codeswitching as deliberate verbal strategy: A microanalysis of direct and indirect requests among bilingual Chicano speakers. In R. P. Durán (Ed.), Latino Language and Communicative Behavior (pp. 95–107). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. —— (1997a). The teaching of Spanish to bilingual Spanish-speaking students: Outstanding issues and unanswered questions. In M. C. Colombi & F. X. Alarcón (Eds.), La enseñanza del español a hispanohablantes: Praxis y teoría (pp. 8–44). New York: Houghton Mifflin. —— (1997b). Bilinguals and bilingualism: language policy in an anti-immigrant age. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 127, 25–52. Valdés-Fallis, G. (1976). Code-switching in bilingual Chicano poetry. Hispania, 59, 877–886. —— (1977). The sociolinguistics of Chicano literature: Towards an analysis of the role and function of language alternation in contemporary bilingual poetry. Point of Contact / Punto de contacto, I(4), 30–39. Valdez, L. (1971). Preface. In L. Valdez, Actos y el Teatro Campesino. Fresno, CA: Cucaracha Press. Vargas Saavedra, L. (1997). Sobre el bilingüismo en la literatura. Alba de América, 15(28–29), 315–321. Warner, M. L. (1986). Cantomorphosis: Multilingualism in the ‘Cantos’ of Ezra Pound. Dissertation, University of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Weinreich, U. (1953). Languages in Contact. The Hague: Mouton. Whinnom, K. (1983). The mamma of the Kharjas or some doubts concerning Arabists and Romanists. La Corónica, 11(1), 11–17. Woolard, K. A. (1985). Language variation and cultural hegemony: toward an integration of sociolinguistic and social theory. American Ethnologist, 12(4), 738–748. —— (1987). Codeswitching and comedy in Catalonia. IPRA Papers in Pragmatics, 1(1), 106122.

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References

—— (1989). Double Talk: Bilingualism and the Politics of Ethnicity in Catalonia. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Woolford, E. (1983). Bilingual code-switching and syntactic theory. Linguistic Inquiry, 14(3), 520–536. Wrenn, P. (1993). A case for Acadian – The politics of style. Visible Language, 27(1–2), 229– 251. Ybarra-Frausto, T. (1979). Alurista’s poetics: The oral, the bilingual, the pre-Colombian. In Sommers & Ybarra-Frausto (Eds.), 117–132. Zamora Vicente, A. (1989/1967). Dialectología española (2a ed.). Madrid: Gredos. Zentella, A. C. (1988). Language politics in the U.S.A.: The English-only movement. In B. J. Craige (Ed.), Literature, Language, and Politics. London: University of Georgia Press. —— (1997). Growing Up Bilingual. Oxford: Blackwell. Zéphir, F. (1998). Black native languages in the educational system: Sociolinguistic parallels between African American English and Haitian Creole. Modern Language Association Convention. San Francisco, December 28. Zurer Pearson, B. & McGee, A. (1993). Language choice in Hispanic-background junior high school students in Miami: A 1988 update. In A. Roca & J. M. Lipski (Eds.), Spanish in the United States. Linguistic Contact and Diversity (pp. 91–101). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.

Corpus texts Short stories-ML English Hernández-Avila, Inés (1995). Enedina’s Story. In Lillian Castillo-Speed (Ed.), Latina: Women’s Voices from the Borderlands (pp. 229–239). New York: Touchstone (Simon & Schuster). SEIH Keller, Gary D. (1989). The Raza Who Scored Big in Anáhuac. In Julian Palley (Ed.), Best New Chicano Literature 1989 (pp. 108–124). Tempe, AZ: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. SEGK Meléndez, A. Gabriel (1987). Visiones Otoñales / Autumn Visions. In Rudolfo A. Anaya (Ed.), Voces: An Anthology of Nuevo Mexicano Writers (pp. 56–61). Albuquerque, NM: El Norte Publications. SEGM Mohr, Nicholasa (1994/1977). In Nueva York. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. —— (1994a). The English Lesson. In Mohr (1994), 49–72. SENM1 —— (1994b.) The Robbery. In Mohr (1994), 158–188. SENM2 Sagel, Jim (1991). Más Que No Love It. Albuquerque: West End Press. —— (1991a). The Late Joe Hurts. In Sagel (1991), 99–117. SEJS Soto, Gary (1990). Two Dreamers. In Gary Soto, Baseball in April and Other Stories (pp. 23–32). New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. SEGS Tenorio, Francisca (1987). Old Dogs New Tricks. In Rudolfo A. Anaya (Ed.), Voces: An Anthology of Nuevo Mexicano Writers (pp. 150–153). Albuquerque, NM: El Norte Publications. SEFT



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F: SIB27RE.tex / p.14 (1322-1429)

 References

Vélez, Manuel J. (1992). En El Eastside. Puerto del Sol, Special Supplement: Caló, 27(1), 166– 171. SEMV Xavier, Emanuel (1999). Banjee Hustlers. In Jaime Manrique (Ed.), Bésame Mucho: New Gay Latino Fiction (pp. 147–175). New York: Painted Leaf Press. SEEX

Novels and novellas-ML English Delgado, Abelardo (1982). Letters to Louise. Berkeley, CA: Tonatiuh-Quinto Sol International. NEAD Garcia Jr., Felix & Randall Jimenez (1996). Voices of Matatlan. San José, CA: Chusma House. NEFG Keller, Gary D. (1994). Zapata Lives! Tempe, AZ: Maize Press. NEGK McCarthy, Cormac (1994). The Crossing. New York: Knopf. NECM Quiñonez, Ernesto (2000). Bodega Dreams. New York: Vintage. NEEQ Rodríguez, Abraham, Jr. (1994/1993) Spidertown. New York: Penguin. NEAR Soto, Gary (1991). Taking Sides. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. NEGS Thomas, Piri (1972). Savior, Savior, Hold My Hand. New York: Doubleday. NEPT Trujillo, Charley B. (1994). Dogs From Illusion. San José, CA: Chusma House. NECT

Short stories-ML Spanish Alarcón, Justo S. (1981). Chulifeas Fronteras. Albuquerque, NM: Pajarito Publications. —— (1981a). Despojo. In Alarcón (1981), 30–38. SSJA1 —— (1981b). Reconocimiento. In Alarcón (1981), 80–88. SSJA2 Burciaga, José Antonio, El Tónico del Chuco (1992a). ¿Cómo la Vicks? Puerto del Sol, Special Supplement: Caló, 27(1), 70–73. SSJB Gaspar de Alba, Alicia (1984). El pavo. In Ricardo Aguilar et al. (Eds.), Palabra Nueva: Cuentos Chicanos (pp. 27–33). The University of Texas at El Paso: Texas Western Press. SSAG Ponce-Meléndez, Carlos (1999). Pláticas de mi barrio. Tempe, AZ: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. —— (1999a). Doña Bilingüe. In Ponce-Meléndez (1999), 31–36. SSCP1 —— (1999b). Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo. In Ponce-Meléndez (1999), 51– 58. SSCP2 Sagel, Jim (1991b). El difunto Joe Hurts. In Sagel (1991), 41–58. SSJS Vigil, Christine (1992). Jardín de Chimayó. Puerto del Sol, Special Supplement: Caló, 27(1), 228–231. SSCV

Novels and novellas-ML Spanish Braschi, Giannina (1998). Yo-Yo Boing! Pittsburgh: Latin American Literary Review Press. NSGB Cota-Cárdenas, Margarita (1985). Puppet. Austin, TX: Relámpago Books Press. NSMC Hinojosa, Rolando (1981). Mi querido Rafa. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. NSRH

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F: SIB27RE.tex / p.15 (1429-1566)

References

Non-corpus texts Achebe, Chinua (1958). Things Fall Apart. London: Heinemann. Akwilombe, Rashidi (1988). Dar Imenihadaa. Dar es Salaam: Akajase Enterprises. Alarcón, Justo S. (1981c). Contaminación. In Alarcón (1981), 16–26. Alurista (1982). Return: Poems Collected and New. Ypsilanti, MI: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. Alvarez, Julia (1994). In the Time of the Butterflies. New York: Plume. Alvarez, Julia & Rolando Costa Picazo (1998). En el tiempo de las mariposas. New York: Plume. Anaya, Rudolfo (1972). Bless Me, Ultima. Berkeley, CA: Tonatiuh-Quinto Sol. Anzaldúa, Gloria (1987). Borderlands / La Frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute. Brontë, Charlotte (1971/1847). Jane Eyre. New York: W. W. Norton. Brossard, Nicole (1990). Picture Theory. New York: Roof Books. Burciaga, José Antonio (1992b). Undocumented Love-Amor Indocumentado. San José, CA: Chusma House Publications. Cabré, Jaume (1984). La Teranyina. Barcelona: Edicions Proa. Causse, Michèle ($2F). (n.d.) Chávez, Denise (1988). Novena Narrativas y Ofrendas Nuevomexicanas. In María HerreraSobek & Helena María Viramontes (Eds.), Chicana Creativity and Criticism: Charting New Frontiers in American Literature (pp. 85–100). Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. Cisneros, Sandra (1994). The House on Mango Street. (Reprint). New York: Knopf. —— (1994). La casa en Mango Street. Elena Poniatowska (Trans.). New York: Vintage. Clement, Cathy (1996). Aleng. Esch-sur-Sure: Op der Lay. Cortázar, Julio (1979/1963). Rayuela. Barcelona: Bruguera. —— (1982). Un tal Lucas. Madrid: Ediciones Alfaguara. Delgado, Abelardo B. (1977). Mictlan. In García-Camarillo (1977), 8. Delicados, Los. (n.d.). Los Delicados: Poetas del Sol. Audio CD. San Francisco: Self-produced. Dike, Fatima (1977). The First South African. Johannesburg: Ravan. Eco, Umberto (1998). El nombre de la rosa. (Il nome della rosa 1980.) Ricardo Pochtar (Trans.). Barcelona: Plaza & Janés. Fugard, Athol (1974). Three Port Elizabeth Plays: The Blood Knot, Hello and Goodbye, Boesman and Lena. London: Oxford University Press. García, Cristina (1992). Dreaming in Cuban: a Novel. New York: Knopf. —— (1994). Soñar en cubano. New York: Ballantine. —— (1997). The Agüero Sisters: A Novel. New York: Vintage. —— (1997b). Las hermanas Agüero. Alan West (Trans.). New York: Vintage. García-Camarillo, Cecilio (Ed.). (1977). Nahualliandoing. San Antonio, TX: Caracol. Grito Serpentino (2000). Grito Serpentino. Audio CD. Godbout, J. (1965). Le couteau sur la table. Paris: Editions du Seuil. Gómez-Peña, Guillermo (1996). Borderama. In Guillermo Gómez-Peña (Ed.), The New World Border. San Francisco: City Lights. —— (2000). Dangerous Border Crossers: The Artist Talks Back. New York: Routledge.



JB[v.20020404] Prn:31/05/2004; 12:59

F: SIB27RE.tex / p.16 (1566-1705)

 References

Herrera, Juan Felipe (1974). Rebozos of love, we have woven, sudor de pueblos, on our back. San Diego, CA: Toltecas en Aztlan. Huerta, Jorge (Ed.). (1989). Necessary Theatre. Six Plays about the Chicano Experience. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. Jordana, Cèsar-August (1975). El rusio i el pelao. Barcelona: Edicions 62. Joyce, James (1992/1914). Ulysses. New York: Random House. Karimi, Robert (2000). Eat Me, Do Me, Be Me. Newark, CA: Y Qué?! Press. Laviera, Tato (1979). La Carreta Made a U-Turn. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. Lawrence, D. H. (1955/1926). The Plumed Serpent. London: Heinemann. Loranger, F. (1970). Medium saignant. Ottawa: Editions Leméac. Maillu, David G. (1989). Without kiinua mgongo. Nairobi. Maldonado, Jesús (1972). Under a never-changing sun. In Shular (1972), 33–34. Marsé, Juan (1990). El amante bilingüe. Barcelona: Editorial Planeta. Martin, Andreu (1990). Jesús en los infiernos. Barcelona: Plaza & Janés. —— (1991/1987). Barcelona Connection. Barcelona: Ediciones B. McCarthy, Cormac (1992/1985). Blood Meridian. New York: Vintage. —— (1992). All the Pretty Horses. New York: Knopf. —— (1998). Cities of the Plain. New York: Knopf Montalvo, José (1977). Mictlan. In García-Camarillo (Ed.), 14. Montoya, José (1972). In a pink bubble gum world. In Romano (Ed.), 228–229. Mora, Víctor (1972). Els plàtans de Barcelona. Barcelona: Editorial Laia. Morales, Ed. (1994). Rebirth of New Rican. In Algarín & Holman, 98–99. Morris, Tracie (1994). Morenita. In Algarín & Holman, 102–106. Nabokov, Vladimir (1983/1957). Pnin. Ann Arbor, MI: Ardis. —— (1962). Pale Fire. New York: Putnam’s. Okurut, Mary Karooro (1998). The Invisible Weevil. Kampala: Femrite Publications. Panorama. Porcel, Baltasar (1979). Els argonautes (2nd ed.). Barcelona: Edicions 62. Pound, Ezra (1998/1934.) The Cantos of Ezra Pound. New York: New Directions. Richer, G. (1971). Tiens-toi bien après les oreilles à Papa. Ottawa: Editions Leméac. Rodoreda, Mercè (1967). Zerafina. La meva Cristina i altres contes. Barcelona: Edicions 62. Rodríguez, Abraham, Jr. (1999/1993). Spidertown. Ramón Albino (Trans.). New York: Vintage Español. Rodríguez, Luis J. (1993). Always Running. La Vida Loca: Gang Days in L.A. New York: Simon & Schuster. —— (1996). La Vida Loca. El testimonio de un pandillero en Los Angeles. Ricardo Aguilar Melantzón & Ana Brewington (Trans.). New York: Simon & Schuster-Libros en Español. Roig, Montserrat (1978). Molta roba i poc sabó. . . i tan neta que la volen. Barcelona: Edicions 62. Romano, Octavio & Herminio Ríos (Eds.). (1972). El espejo. Berkeley, CA: Quinto Sol Publications. Sales, Joan (1956). Incerta glòria. Barcelona: Aymà S. A. Editora. Salinas, Raúl (1999/1980). Un Trip through the Mind Jail y Otras Excursiones. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press.

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F: SIB27RE.tex / p.17 (1705-1809)

References 

Sánchez, Elba Rosario & Olga Angelina García Echeverría (2000). When Skin Peels. Audio CD. San Diego, CA: Calaca Press. Santiago, Esmeralda (1993). When I Was Puerto Rican. New York: Vintage. —— (1994). Cuando era puertorriqueña. New York: Vintage Español. —— (1996). América’s Dream. New York: Harper Collins. —— (1997). El sueño de América: Novela. New York: Harper Collins. Shular, A. C. et al. (Eds.). (1972). Literatura chicana: Texto y contexto. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Silva, Beverly (1983). The Second St. Poems. Ypsilanti, MI: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. Simon, Claude (1969). La Bataille de Pharsale. Paris: Editions de Minuit. Soyinka, Wole (1970). The Interpreters. New York: Collier Books. Taco Shop Poets (1999). Chorizo Tonguefire. Audio CD. San Diego, CA: (Co-Produced with) Calaca Press. Tafolla, Carmen (1985). Historia sin título. In Santiago Daydí-Tolson (Ed.), Five Poets of Aztlán (p. 196). Binghamton, New York: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. Thomas, Piri (1997/1967). Down These Mean Streets. New York: Vintage. —— (1998). Por Estas Calles Bravas. S. D. Thomas (Trans.). New York: Vintage Español. —— (1994/1974). Seven Long Times. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. Tolstoy, L. N. (1942/1869). War and Peace. L. & A. Maude (Trans.). New York: Simon & Schuster. —— (1960/1869). Voyna i mir. 4 vols. Moscow: Gosudarstevennoe uchebno-pedagogicheskoe izdatel’stvo. Vaca, Nick C. (1969). The Week of the Life of Manuel Hernández. In Octavio Ignacio Romano-V, (Ed.), El Espejo-The Mirror: Selected Mexican-American Literature (pp. 136– 149). Berkeley, CA: Quinto Sol. Valdez, Luis (1990). Early Works: Actos, Bernabé and Pensamiento Serpentino. Houston, TX: Arte Público. Vega, Ana Lydia (1983). Pollito Chicken. In Ana Lydia Vega, Vírgenes y mártires. Río Piedras: Editorial Antillana. Vélez, Manuel J. (1998). Bus Stops and other poems. San Diego, CA: Calaca Press. Vigil, Evangelina (1982). Thirty an’ Seen a Lot. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. Villanueva, Tino (1972). Que hay otra voz. In Shular (Ed.), 256–257. Zaimoglu, Feridun (1995). Kanak Sprak. 24 Miβtöne vom Rande der Gesellschaft. Hamburg: Rotbuch Verlag. —— (1997). Abschaum. Die wahre Geschichte von Ertan Ongun. Hamburg: Rotbuch Verlag. —— (1998). Koppstoff. Kanaka Sprak vom Rande der Gesellschaft. Hamburg: Rotbuch Verlag.

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F: SIB27APA.tex / p.1 (40-155)

Appendices

Appendix A Corpus texts listed in alphabetical order by code and cross-referenced to numerical position of text summary in Chapter 2 NEAD

(11) Delgado, Abelardo (1982). Letters to Louise. Berkeley, CA: TonatiuhQuinto Sol International. NEAR (3) Rodríguez, Abraham, Jr. (1994/1993). Spidertown. New York: Penguin. NECM (14) McCarthy, Cormac (1994). The Crossing. New York: Knopf. NECT (15) Trujillo, Charley B. (1994). Dogs From Illusion. San José, CA: Chusma House. NEEQ (7) Quiñonez, Ernesto (2000). Bodega Dreams. New York: Vintage. NEFG (10) Garcia Jr., Felix & Randall Jimenez (1996). Voices of Matatlan. San José, CA: Chusma House. NEGK (13) Keller, Gary D. (1994). Zapata Lives! Tempe, AZ: Maize Press. NEGS (2) Soto, Gary (1991). Taking Sides. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. NEPT (9) Thomas, Piri (1972). Savior, Savior, Hold My Hand. New York: Doubleday. NSGB (25) Braschi, Giannina (1998). Yo-Yo Boing! Pittsburgh: Latin American Literary Review Press. NSMC (24) Cota-Cárdenas, Margarita (1985). Puppet. Austin, TX: Relámpago Books Press. NSRH (30) Hinojosa, Rolando (1981). Mi querido Rafa. Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. SEEX (6) Xavier, Emanuel (1999). “Banjee Hustlers.” In Jaime Manrique (Ed.), Bésame Mucho: New Gay Latino Fiction (pp. 147–175). New York: Painted Leaf Press. SEFT (19) Tenorio, Francisca (1987). “Old Dogs New Tricks.” In Rudolfo A. Anaya (Ed.), Voces: An Anthology of Nuevo Mexicano Writers (pp. 150– 153). Albuquerque, NM: El Norte Publications.

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F: SIB27APA.tex / p.2 (155-159)

 Appendices

SEGK

SEGM

SEGS SEIH

SEJS SEMV SENM SENM2

SSAG

SSCP1

SSCP2

SSCV SSJA1 SSJA2 SSJB SSJS

(16) Keller, Gary D. (1989). “The Raza Who Scored Big in Anáhuac.” In Julian Palley (Ed.), Best New Chicano Literature 1989 (pp. 108–124). Tempe, AZ: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. (17) Meléndez, A. Gabriel (1987). “Visiones Otoñales/Autumn Visions.” In Rudolfo A. Anaya (Ed.), Voces: An Anthology of Nuevo Mexicano Writers (pp. 56–61). Albuquerque, NM: El Norte Publications. (1) Soto, Gary (1990). “Two Dreamers.” In Gary Soto, Baseball in April and Other Stories (pp. 23–32). New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. (8) Hernández-Avila, Inés (1995). “Enedina’s Story.” In Lillian CastilloSpeed (Ed.), Latina: Women’s Voices from the Borderlands (pp. 229–239). New York: Touchstone (Simon & Schuster). (12) Sagel, Jim (1991a). “The Late Joe Hurts.” In Jim Sagel, Más Que No Love It (pp. 99–117). Albuquerque: West End Press. (18) Vélez, Manuel J. (1992). “En El Eastside.” Puerto del Sol, Special Supplement: Caló, 27(1), 166–171. (5) Mohr, Nicholasa (1994a). “The English Lesson.” In Nicholasa Mohr (1994/1977), In Nueva York (pp. 49–72). Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. (4) Mohr Nicholasa (1994b), “The Robbery.” In Nicholasa Mohr. (1994/1977). In Nueva York (pp. 158–188). Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. (21) Gaspar de Alba, Alicia (1984). “El pavo.” In Ricardo Aguilar et al. (Eds.), Palabra Nueva: Cuentos Chicanos (pp. 27–33). The University of Texas at El Paso: Texas Western Press. (28) Ponce-Meléndez, Carlos (1999a). “Doña Bilingüe.” In Carlos PonceMeléndez. Pláticas de mi barrio (pp. 31–36). Tempe, AZ: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. (26) Ponce-Meléndez, Carlos (1999b). “Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.” In Carlos Ponce-Meléndez, Pláticas de mi barrio (pp. 51–58). Tempe, AZ: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. (27) Vigil, Christine (1992). “Jardín de Chimayó.” Puerto del Sol, Special Supplement: Caló, 27(1), 228–231. (20) Alarcón, Justo S. (1981a). “Despojo.” In Justo S. Alarcón, Chulifeas Fronteras (pp. 30–38). Albuquerque, NM: Pajarito Publications. (22) Alarcón, Justo S. (1981b). “Reconocimiento.” In Justo S. Alarcón, Chulifeas Fronteras (pp. 80–88). Albuquerque, NM: Pajarito Publications. (29) Burciaga, José Antonio, El Tónico del Chuco (1992). “¿Cómo la Vicks?” Puerto del Sol, Special Supplement: Caló, 27(1), 70–73. (23) Sagel, Jim (1991b). “El difunto Joe Hurts.” In Jim Sagel, Más Que No Love It (pp. 41–58). Albuquerque: West End Press.

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F: SIB27APA.tex / p.3 (159-276)

Appendices 

Appendix B Tabulation of CS by syntactic category text seih segk segm senm1 senm2 sejs segs seft semv seex nead nefg negk necm neeq near negs nept nect ssja1 ssja2 ssjb ssag sscp1 sscp2 ssjs sscv nsgb nsmc nsrh

1 22 73 57 3 2 84 5 24 60 2 215 608 225 444 41 13 27 245 110 5 5 33 14 14 12 37 5 54 114 33

2 3 5 1 14 12 1 1 1 4

9 22 44 21 8 5 2 3 87 8

6

4 1 2

7 11 11 7 1 13 21 50 8 4 4 7 1 44 32 1 7 1 1 2 2 13 10 11 3 80 547 4 8 1 31

41 2 4

1 1 3 2 1 3 5 1 1 6 4 25 5 4 6

10 2 6 10 12 1

5 6 2 1 1 2 8 1 5

8 16 33 28 1 1 13 3 16 25

75 342 87 14 5 55 17 9 1 19 7 2 5 210 70 2 66 10 3 1 11 5 9 10 26 9 3 6 12 2 1 6 21 16 7 9 13 11 58 4 40 36 14 67 86

9 1 1 10

10 2 4 3

11 12 2 1 4 6 3 5

1 2 1

13 17

7 8 14 3 2

6 11 10 1

5 6 2 6 16 6

11 8 12 38 7 1 1

19 12 19 3 6

1 3

1 2 2

1

2

5

1 8

1 2 4 1 7 10 8

3 1 5

2 6 4

4 1 9

21 8 48

9 3 7

20 4 21

13 7 5 3

14 4 2 1

total 74 152 129 28 29 3 165 3 19 8 7 94 15 3 228 1 14 15 2 378 3 2 1723 14 5 433 471 5 3 134 25 3 79 10 1 705 34 14 264 1 10 22 3 8 122 24 14 5 71 4 39 56 5 169 2 1 26 51 12 276 60 9 330 146 23 464

1. Noun 2. Adjective 3. Adverb 4. Verb 5. Preposition 6. Conjunction 7. Interjection 8. NP 9. AdjP 10. AdvP 11. VP 12. PP 13. Independent clause 14. Subordinate clause

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F: SIB27APA.tex / p.4 (276-357)

 Appendices

Appendix C Tabulation of CS by MLF constituent type

Text

ML + EL

EL Islands

Total

SEIH SEGK SEGM SENM1 SENM2 SEJS SEGS SEFT SEMV SEEX NEAD NEFG NEGK NECM NEEQ NEAR NEGS NEPT NECT SSJA1 SSJA2 SSJB SSAG SSCP1 SSCP2 SSJS SSCV NSGB NSMC NSRH

48 107 83 5 4 90 8 34 108 4 306 776 322 465 55 15 33 467 153 6 9 64 14 29 24 61 14 96 206 190

31 49 48 1 4 17 3 66 77 4 110 360 127 17 24 2 7 100 38 1 6 51

79 156 131 6 8 107 11 100 185 8 416 1136 449 482 79 17 40 567 191 7 15 115 14 68 43 146 29 203 277 367

39 19 85 15 107 71 177

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F: SIB27APA.tex / p.5 (357-472)

Appendices 

Appendix D Tabulation of CS by discourse function text seih segk segm senm1 senm2 sejs segs seft semv seex nead nefg negk necm neeq near negs nept nect ssja1 ssja2 ssjb ssag sscp1 sscp2 ssjs sscv nsgb nsmc nsrh

1 53 117 90 10 2 95 14 68 126 5 303 951 317 471 51 10 59 484 172 7 9 57 16 63 34 96 14 274 217 298

2 14 1

3 2 4

4 1 9

5 13 11 12

5

1 11 11 1

23 6 2 606 35

2 15 1 6 13 8 25 3 1 13 10 15

1

1 9 4 4 15

13

11 13 6 10 22 7 1 5 100 75 17 85 7 11 2 1 3 3 2 4 6 8 1 2 2 3 48 1 3 9 6

3 2

80 75

6 19 31 5 7 11 20 4 1 13 4 31 81 53

1 9 4 1 33 2 2 33 2 3 1 2 62 19 4 6

56 5 25 166 63

17 10 2 2 14 27 5 6 13

7 10 8 4 1 6 3

1 4

52 41 136 89

7 5

1 2 15 2 2 47

8 1 4

1 1

1 1 2

total 94 181 118 27 31 168 30 77 226 26 360 1748 453 471 177 27 135 857 374 10 23 84 33 71 39 169 22 276 406 653

1. Referential 2. Vocative 3. Expletive 4. Quotation 5. Commentary and repetition 6. Set phrases, tags, exclamations 7. Discourse markers 8. Directives

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 Appendices

Appendix E Questionnaire1 1. Which language do you use most often in your daily life? Spanish ____ English ____ 2. How often do you switch between Spanish and English when you are speaking to someone? Never ____ Occasionally ____ Sometimes ____ Often ____ Always ____ 3. Are there any situations in which you would try not to switch between languages? (If your answer is no, please go to Question 4.) If yes, which situations? Why would you try to refrain from codeswitching in those particular situations? 4. How often do you use both Spanish and English when you write something? Never ____ Occasionally ____ Sometimes ____ Often ____ Always ____ 5. Are there any types of writing for which you would not use both languages together? (diary, personal notes, letters to friends/family, creative writing such as stories or poetry, letters to employers, job applications, term papers, etc.) If your answer is yes, which types of writing and why not? Additional Information: Age ____ Sex ____ Language(s) of instruction for primary, secondary schooling __________ Number of years of university completed ____ Your major __________

1. Execution of this survey was in compliance with the requirements set forth by the University of California’s Committee for Protection of Human Subjects; project # 99-6-99.

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Index of names

A Achebe, C. 89 Adams, R. 82 Agheyisi, R. 45 Akwilombe, R. 89 Alarcón, J. 6, 26, 32–33, 42–43, 77, 105 Algarín, M. 86 Alurista 84, 86, 95 Alvarez, J. 91, 118 Alvarez, L. 45, 94, 118 Anaya, R. 86 Annamalai, E. 40 Anzaldúa, G. 92, 95 Aparicio, F. R. 83 Armas, J. 115 Armistead, S. G. 81 Arteaga, A. 96 Auer, P. 16, 19, 76 Austin, J. L. 20 Azevedo, M. M. 88–89, 100, 111, 134 B Backus, A. 80, 95 Bandia, P. 89, 96, 103 Belazi, H. M. 49 Benjamin, C. 62 Bentahila, A. 61 Berk-Seligson, S. 8 Biber, D. 113, 120 Blahnik, J. 87 Blom, J. 17, 101, 121 Blommaert, J. 18–19, 89, 93, 117, 141 Blum-Kulka, S. 76

Boatman, K. 142–143 Bokamba, E. 53 Bourdieu, P. 3–4, 80, 116, 121, 138–139, 144 Braschi, G. 34, 37, 49, 55, 60, 62, 77, 95, 116, 129–130, 141 Brill, S. 95 Brody, J. 76 Brontë, C. 88 Brossard, N. 83 Brown, B. 61 Burciaga, J. A. 35, 50, 62, 66, 68, 86, 95, 99, 119, 128 Butt, J. 62

C Cabré, J. 96 Callahan, L. 22, 86, 96, 120, 135, 145 Canagarajah, A. S. 139 Cancel Ortiz, R. 90, 129 Candalija Reina, J. A. 91 Candelaria, C. 83 Canonica, E. 87 Cárdenas, D. N. 132 Causse, M. 83 Cervantes, L. D. 86 Chávez, D. 87 Cintron, Z. 83 Cisneros, S. 91, 118 Clement, C. 88 Clyne, M. 80 Colombi, M. C. 124 Córdova, R. H. 85 Cortázar, J. 36, 88, 100

JB[v.20020404] Prn:3/06/2004; 14:34

F: SIB27NI.tex / p.2 (141-223)

 Index of names

Coto-Cárdenas, M. 33, 37, 44, 51–52, 54–55, 58, 68, 73, 122, 124–125, 127 Crawford, J. 127 Crockett, K. 96 Crowder, M. 87 D Dabke, R. 96 Davies, E. D. 61 Dávila, A. 142 Delgado, A. 30, 43, 56, 64, 86, 106, 122 de Vega, L. 87–88 Díaz Rinks, G. 111 Dike, F. 87 Diller, H. 82 D’Souza, F. 96 E Eco, U. 95 Elías-Olivares, L. 19 Eliot, T. S. 83, 86 F Ferguson, C. A. 113 Fernández, R. G. 118, 131 Ferré, R. 111, 129 Finegan, E. 113 Fishman, J. 17, 85 Flores, J. 83 Forster, L. 81–82, 87 Foster, D. W. 95 Fugard, A. 87 G Gal, S. 3, 17, 21–22, 80, 121, 139 Galindo, D. L. 53, 122 Garay, A. 117, 144 García, C. 91 García, E. 96–97, 117 Garcia, F. 29, 39, 52, 61, 104, 107–108, 122, 126–127, 134

García, M. 45, 94 García Echeverría, O. A. 86 García Gómez, E. 81–82 Gaspar de Alba, A. 33, 39, 126 Gilman, S. L. 124 Gingràs, R. 7 Godbout, J. 87 Gómez-Peña, G. 87, 93 Graedler, A. 38, 92, 101, 103 Graham, A. 110–111, 120 Grice, H. P. 20 Griffith, L. 86 Grobler, E. 87 Gumperz, J. J. 16–19, 21, 56, 84, 101, 121, 129 Gutierrez, E. 94, 96 Gysels, M. 11, 19, 117 H Halmari, H. 76, 82 Hankamer, J. 95 Haugen, E. 7, 101, 121 Heinemann, U. 89 Heller, M. 3, 16, 21–22, 76, 80, 121, 138–139, 145 Heredia-Deprez, C. 19 Hernández-Avila, I. 29, 105, 107–108 Hernández-Chávez, E. 18, 84, 129 Herrera, J. F. 86 Hess, N. 96 Hidalgo, M. 126 Hinojosa, R. 35, 42, 51–52, 55, 72, 124–128 Hinton, L. 125 Hodgson, R. 102, 110 Holman, B. 86 Huerta, J. 87 I Imahara, K. K. 78 J Jacobson, R. 11, 115

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F: SIB27NI.tex / p.3 (223-304)

Index of names 

Jake, J. L. 22, 58–59 Jimenez, R. 29, 39, 52, 61, 104, 107–108, 122, 126–127, 134 Johnson, M. G. 76, 80 Jordana, C. 96 Joshi, A. 55 Joyce, J. 36, 88 K Kamwangamalu, N. M. 40, 53, 76 Karimi, R. 86, 95 Keller, G. 12, 30–31, 37, 55, 65, 72–73, 83–85, 100, 105, 107–108, 114, 116, 124 Kun, J. 96 Kurtböke, N. P. 8, 10, 80 Kürtösi, K. 83, 87 L Labarthe, E. A. 84, 95 La Fountain-Stokes, L. M. 95 Lalla, B. 96 Lance, D. M. 8, 101, 121 Langland, W. 82 Lapesa, R. 86 Lapidus, N. 63 Laviera, T. 86 Lawrence, D. H. 88, 104, 108–109 Leal, L. 129 Leckie-Tarry, H. 113 Lee, C. L. 40, 76 Lipski, J. M. 83–84, 125, 129 Loranger, F. 87 M Mackey, W. 87–88 Maillu, D. G. 89 Maldonado, J. 85–86 Mann, T. 88 Marsé, J. 89 Martín, A. 89 Martínez, A. 142 Maschler, Y. 76 Matsuda, M. J. 126

Mazrui, A. 45 McCarthy, C. 31, 77–79, 88, 104, 106–107, 109, 140–141 McClure, E. 16, 49, 67, 76, 91 McCollum, C. 96, 142 McGee, A. 126 Meechan, M. 10, 102 Meléndez, G. 32, 61–62, 73, 107–108 Milroy, J. 128 Milroy, L. 128 Minderhout, D. 139–140 Miner, E. A. 89, 92–93 Mohr, N. 28, 74, 81, 85, 104–105, 121 Monroe, J. T. 81 Montalvo, J. 86 Montoya, J. 85–86 Mora, V. 96 Moraga, C. 95 Morales, A. 143 Morales, E. 86 Morris, T. 86 Moyer, M. G. 92 Mun, M. R. P. 8 Myers-Scotton, C. 2, 7–16, 19–22, 38, 40–41, 50, 53, 57–61, 65–70, 80, 83, 95, 138, 140 N Nabokov, V. 88 Nassar, J. 88, 110, 120 Navarro, M. 142 Nortier, J. 8 O Ojito, M. 138 Okurut, M. K. 89 Olshtain, E. 76 Omole, J. O. 89, 96 Oppenheimer, A. 117 Orlando Trujillo, I. 83–86, 100, 119 Ornstein-Galicia, J. L. 66, 133 Ostrom, M. A. 117, 143–144 Otheguy, R. 63

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F: SIB27NI.tex / p.4 (304-384)

 Index of names

P Pandit, I. 81, 92 Park, J. E. 8 Paul, C. A. 83 Peñalosa, F. 132 Pérez, J. 87 Pérez, S. 87 Pérez Firmat, G. 120 Pfaff, C. W. 9, 19, 49, 89, 101 Picard, D. 92 Pike, K. 8–9 Pinate, M. D. 86 Ponce-Meléndez, C. 34–35, 55, 104, 108, 125, 132 Poplack, S. 7, 10, 18, 55, 95, 102, 114 Porcel, B. 96 Porras, J. E. 129 Pound, E. 83, 86 Pratt, M. L. 95, 121 Q Quiñonez, E. 29, 45, 72, 74, 101, 104, 107, 123, 132 R Reinert, P. 117 Reyes, R. 7, 15, 23, 67, 95–96 Richer, G. 87 Rivas, A. M. 120 Rodoreda, M. 96 Rodríguez, A. 9, 27, 91, 104–105, 114, 121, 126 Rodríguez, L. J. 91 Rodríguez, P. 36, 119 Roig, M. 96 Ross, K. 93 Rubin, E. J. 102 Rudin, E. 83, 88–91, 100, 103, 106, 110 S Sagel, J. 30, 33, 36, 50, 67, 105–106, 119, 134 Sales, J. 96

Salinas, R. 86 Salmons, J. 69 Sánchez, R. 18, 21, 132 Sánchez-Scott, M. 87 Sankoff, D. 10 Santiago, E. 91 Saraiva, A. 82 Sarkonak, R. 102, 110 Schiffman, H. 95 Sempere Martínez, J. A. 82 Shakespeare, W. 87 Shockley, J. S. 144 Silva, B. 86 Silva-Corvalán, C. 117 Simon, C. 88 Singh, I. 137 Sisson-Guerrero, E. 111 Sommer, D. 120, 129 Soto, G. 26–27, 105, 108, 110, 125 Soyinka, W. 89 Sperber, D. 20 Stølen, M. 91 Swigart, L. 17, 19, 116–117

T Tafolla, C. 86 Tannen, D. 113 Tenorio, F. 32, 50, 105, 108, 127–128 Tessier, J. 83 Thomas, P. 9, 29, 37, 50, 61, 63–65, 91, 102, 104, 106, 108, 128–129, 134 Thomma, S. 117, 144 Tilden, K. 96 Timm, L. A. 37, 54–56, 89 Tolstoy, L. N. 88–89 Toribio, A. J. 102 Torres, C. 53, 66 Traugott, M. C. 95, 121 Troike, R. 8 Trujillo, C. 31, 41–43, 51, 56, 62, 77–78, 104, 106, 108, 122, 128–130

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Index of names

V Valdés, G. 19, 76, 124, 126, 129 Valdés-Fallis, G. 83–85, 99–100, 114–115, 119 Valdez, L. 87 Vargas Saavedra, L. 111 Vega, A. L. 129 Vega-Merino, A. 120, 129 Vélez, M. 32, 73, 86, 122 Vigil, C. 34, 59 Vigil, E. 86 Villanueva, T. 86 W Warner, M. L. 83 Weinreich, U. 45 Whinnom, K. 81 Wilson, D. 20

Woolard, K. A. 7, 93, 128, 144 Woolford, E. 56 Wrenn, P. 92 X Xavier, E.

28

Y Ybarra-Frausto, T. 84, 86 Z Zaimoglu, F. 89 Zamora Vicente, A. 50 Zentella, A. C. 94, 124, 126 Zéphir, F. 102 Zurer Pearson, B. 126



JB[v.20020404] Prn:3/06/2004; 14:30

F: SIB27SI.tex / p.1 (26-126)

Index of subjects

A AAVE 102, 132 accent 127, 134 acceptability 10, 56, 100, 102 acquisition 121, 133 adjectives 13–14, 47–48, 61, 64–65, 68 adverbs 8, 47–48, 56, 64–65, 101 aesthetic 20, 85, 88 appropriation 99 articles 58–59, 62–63, 66, 133 artificial 3, 38, 83, 88, 90, 99, 100, 109 attitudes 16, 100, 103, 112, 118–119, 121, 124, 129, 131, 133 authentic 3, 37, 72, 83, 99–100 B bare forms see Matrix Language Frame Model bicultural 111 bilingualism 84–85, 110, 138–139 bilinguals 10, 18, 40, 82, 89, 114, 116 borrowing 2, 5, 6–11, 15, 23, 29, 38–39, 53, 59, 63–66, 81, 108–109, 130, 132, 139; see also loan nonce 10 C Caló 31–32, 35, 66, 70, 95, 119, 128, 132–133 calque 61

channel 101–102, 139–140 Chicano 99, 101, 115–116, 119, 128, 131–134, 144 clauses 2, 8, 60, 114 complement 49–51, 53 coordinate 58 independent 28–29, 31–32, 34, 43–44, 47–49, 57–60 relative 43 subordinate 49, 53, 59 codeswitching between pronoun and verb 55–57 conversational 5 emblematic 5, 18, 53, 71, 74, 79, 89, 90, 93 intersentential 21, 27, 30, 33–34, 45, 60, 84 intrasentential 5, 11–12, 21, 27, 34, 43, 47–48, 57, 77, 82, 84, 87–88, 90, 93, 95, 109, 114, 148, 151–152, 156 metaphorical 5, 17–18, 82 mimetic 83, 88, 90, 109–110 situational 5, 17, 20, 138 colloquial 112 colonial 117 competence 3, 9, 32, 35, 38, 71, 75, 84–85, 110, 121–124, 126–127, 134, 139 complementizer 2, 14, 44–45, 49–53, 57, 80 conjunctions 28, 32, 47–48, 54, 69, 104, 111 conscious 1, 22, 53, 91, 101–102, 111, 121, 141, 145

JB[v.20020404] Prn:3/06/2004; 14:30

F: SIB27SI.tex / p.2 (126-203)

 Index of subjects

content morphemes see Matrix Language Frame Model conversational see codeswitching creole 96, 137 D determiners 39, 59, 61–63 dialect 6, 17, 50, 63, 66, 88, 92, 96, 109, 124, 129–133 eye 131 literary 147 dialogue 90, 94–96, 100, 106, 108–109, 113–114, 131–133 directionality of codeswitch 18–19, 47, 53, 55, 57 discourse markers 13, 53, 74–76, 79 discrimination 32, 37, 126 domain 3, 17, 45, 84–85, 137–138 drama 36, 82, 86, 96 E ecology 139 economy political 76, 139 education 117, 123–124, 130, 145; see also school EL island see Matrix Language Frame Model Embedded Language see Matrix Language Frame Model emblematic see codeswitching entrepreneur 139–141 ethnicity 3, 18, 20–21, 26, 36, 78, 85, 114, 119, 128, 133, 142 eye dialect see dialect

formality vs. informality 19, 32, 69, 71, 91–92, 112–117, 124, 126, 132; see also register formulaic phrases 109; see also set phrases G gender 59, 63–65 genre 3, 26, 69, 83, 86–87, 91, 94, 113, 116–118, 133, 137 glossary 27, 29, 30, 108 grammar 2, 116 bilingual 84 EL 64–65 internal 102 ML 13 H hegemony 144 heritage language 121, 123, 125, 128, 138 I immigrant 18–19, 28, 124, 126, 143 language 75 indigenous 31, 86, 96, 116–117, 122 indirect speech 31, 52, 88, 106 inference 20, 76, 103 conversational 17 informal see formality ingroup 37, 99, 119, 122, 130, 138 Internet 39, 68, 91, 129 intersentential see codeswitching intrasentential see codeswitching K

F fiction 1, 3, 25–26, 36, 41, 69, 72, 88–90, 112–114, 118, 121 flagging 9 foreigner talk 133, 148

kinship terms 30, 39, 71 L L1

5, 9

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F: SIB27SI.tex / p.3 (203-261)

Index of subjects 

L2 5, 9, 84, 133–134 language choice 3, 16, 34, 121, 133, 137–138, 141, 152, 159 language marketplace 4, 22, 138, 141, 144 language policies 121, 123 literary 2, 6, 34, 66, 81, 88, 90, 92, 100, 112, 116, 122, 131 loan 6–11, 38, 63, 82, 117; see also borrowing

mimetic see codeswitching minority language 121, 125–126, 139, 144 monolingual 3–5, 10, 16, 25, 27–35, 38–39, 41–42, 54, 60, 66, 76–80, 84, 97, 100, 103–104, 108–110, 120, 125, 142–145 Morpheme Order Principle see Matrix Language Frame Model multilingual 82–83, 109, 121, 127

M

N

macrosociolinguistic see sociolinguistic marked choice 19–21, 140; see also unmarked choice Markedness model 19–20, 22, 83 Matrix Language see Matrix Language Frame Model Matrix Language Frame Model 2, 11, 22, 57–58 bare forms 14, 39, 64, 66 content morphemes 13–14, 59 EL island 8, 12–13, 15–16, 40, 50, 57, 60–65, 80 internal 13, 35, 58, 61–62 EL Island Hypothesis 15 Embedded Language 9, 11, 15, 22, 88 Matrix Language 2, 7, 9, 11, 22, 26, 40, 57–58 Morpheme Order Principle 14, 60, 62 system morpheme 13–14, 22, 40, 53, 58–59, 60, 62–66 early 58–59, 63 late 40, 62, 80 System Morpheme Principle 13–14, 66 metalinguistic references 30–35, 121, 125, 130, 135 metaphorical see codeswitching microsociolinguistic see sociolinguistic

narrative 1, 3, 25, 27–33, 35–36, 41–43, 69, 71–72, 76, 79, 90, 99, 108–109, 113–114, 131, 133, 137 nonfiction 36, 53, 66, 91–92, 112 nonstandard see standard nonverbal 101 nouns 8, 13, 27–35, 43, 47–48, 51, 59–61, 64, 67–68, 76 noun phrases 27, 109, 32, 30, 29, 35, 42, 109 single nouns 8, 27, 42, 48–49, 109 verbal nouns 67 novels 2, 25, 29, 34–35, 41, 88–91, 95, 104, 108–110, 114, 118, 122–123, 125–129, 134, 142

O official language 116–117, 137 orthography 131

P poetry 1, 3, 36, 81, 83–86, 90, 106, 109–110, 112–113, 116, 118, 133 power 4, 16, 19, 21–22, 117, 119, 138–139, 141, 144–145 pragmatic 2, 5, 11, 15–16, 18, 68, 76 sociopragmatic 14, 16, 100 prepositions 13, 15, 47–48, 54, 58

JB[v.20020404] Prn:3/06/2004; 14:30

F: SIB27SI.tex / p.4 (261-319)

 Index of subjects

prestige 22, 37, 92, 112, 114, 116–117, 120, 129, 131, 135, 139, 144–145 products linguistic 4, 116, 144 profit 138–140 pronouns 55–57, 132–133; see also codeswitching, between pronoun and verb proper names 39, 51, 71, 80 psycholinguistic 133 Q quantifiers 64–65 quotation 16, 22, 33, 52, 63–64, 70–72, 75–76, 109 R radio 93–94, 96, 117–118, 129 referential 17, 20, 39, 70–73, 75–76, 79, 141 register 3, 16, 32, 92, 96, 112–114, 116–117, 119–120; see also formality rewards costs and 20, 22, 138–139 S school 17, 27, 29, 31–33, 121, 123–126, 138, 144; see also education set phrases 29–30, 70, 74, 75, 79, 120; see also formulaic phrases single words 5, 7, 8–10, 25, 39, 90–91, 95, 102; see also nouns, single situational see codeswitching sociocultural 90, 111 sociolinguistic 3, 11–12, 14, 16, 40, 67, 81, 83, 88–90, 100, 116, 121–123, 125, 127, 129 macrosociolinguistic 16, 19, 21–22, 144

microsociolinguistic 16 sociopragmatic see pragmatic song lyrics 87, 93–94, 118, 145 Spanglish 45, 87, 90, 93–94, 115, 118, 120, 124, 142 speech community 18, 21, 74, 77, 99, 120, 124, 132, 140 speech event 5, 19, 114 spoken-word 86, 96 standard 17, 38, 43, 53, 65, 70–71, 85, 89, 96, 102, 113, 115–116, 129–135, 137 nonstandard 3, 45, 71, 89, 91, 108, 113, 116, 124, 130–134, 137 status 77, 116, 129, 140, 144 symbolic capital 138, 145 system morpheme see Matrix Language Frame Model System Morpheme Principle see Matrix Language Frame Model T taboo words 28, 32, 70, 114 tag questions 8, 91 television 93–94, 118, 129, 142 Tex-Mex 45, 115, 124–125, 151 thematic content 3, 26, 33, 36–37, 84, 103, 111–112, 114, 118–119, 137 translation 3, 9, 22, 27, 29–30, 33–35, 50, 72, 90–91, 95, 103, 105–106, 108–111, 126, 144 contextual 26, 28–32, 35, 73, 91, 103, 106–108 literal 27–28, 103–104, 111 nonliteral 103, 106 typographic 3, 44, 70, 101–103, 109 U unmarked choice 19–21; see also marked choice

JB[v.20020404] Prn:3/06/2004; 14:30

F: SIB27SI.tex / p.5 (319-336)

Index of subjects

V verbs

13–15, 44, 47–48, 54–55, 57, 60, 66–68, 72, 80, 101, 132–133 complex verbal constructions 30, 54, 57, 80 do verbs 14, 67 finite verbs 54–55

verb phrases 28 visual 38, 92, 102–103, 109; see also typographic vocatives 18, 28, 30, 33, 39, 70–71, 73, 75, 79, 90 W workplace 121, 126



In the series Studies in Bilingualism (SiBil) the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 1 2 3 4 5

6 7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

FASE, Willem, Koen JASPAERT and Sjaak KROON (eds.): Maintenance and Loss of Minority Languages. 1992. xii, 403 pp. BOT, Kees de, Ralph B. GINSBERG and Claire KRAMSCH (eds.): Foreign Language Research in Cross-Cultural Perspective. 1991. xii, 275 pp. DÖPKE, Susanne: One Parent – One Language. An interactional approach. 1992. xviii, 213 pp. PAULSTON, Christina Bratt: Linguistic Minorities in Multilingual Settings. Implications for language policies. 1994. xi, 136 pp. KLEIN, Wolfgang and Clive PERDUE: Utterance Structure. Developing grammars again. In cooperation with Mary Carroll, Josée Coenen, José Deulofeu, Thom Huebner, Anne Trévise. 1992. xvi, 354 pp. SCHREUDER, Robert and Bert WELTENS (eds.): The Bilingual Lexicon. 1993. viii, 307 pp. DIETRICH, Rainer, Wolfgang KLEIN and Colette NOYAU: The Acquisition of Temporality in a Second Language. In cooperation with Josée Coenen, Beatriz Dorriots, Korrie van Helvert, Henriette Hendriks, Et-Tayeb Houdaïfa, Clive Perdue, Sören Sjöström, Marie-Thérèse Vasseur, Kaarlo Voionmaa. 1995. xii, 288 pp. DAVIS, Kathryn A.: Language Planning in Multilingual Contexts. Policies, communities, and schools in Luxembourg. 1994. xix, 220 pp. FREED, Barbara F. (ed.): Second Language Acquisition in a Study Abroad Context. 1995. xiv, 345 pp. BAYLEY, Robert and Dennis R. PRESTON (eds.): Second Language Acquisition and Linguistic Variation. 1996. xix, 317 pp. BECKER, Angelika and Mary CARROLL: The Acquisition of Spatial Relations in a Second Language. In co-operation with Jorge Giacobbe, Clive Perdue & Rémi Porquier. 1997. xii, 212 pp. HALMARI, Helena: Government and Codeswitching. Explaining American Finnish. 1997. xvi, 276 pp. HOLLOWAY, Charles E.: Dialect Death. The case of Brule Spanish. 1997. x, 220 pp. YOUNG, Richard and Agnes Weiyun HE (eds.): Talking and Testing. Discourse approaches to the assessment of oral proficiency. 1998. x, 395 pp. PIENEMANN, Manfred: Language Processing and Second Language Development. Processability theory. 1998. xviii, 367 pp. HUEBNER, Thom and Kathryn A. DAVIS (eds.): Sociopolitical Perspectives on Language Policy and Planning in the USA. With the assistance of Joseph Lo Bianco. 1999. xvi, 365 pp. ELLIS, Rod: Learning a Second Language through Interaction. 1999. x, 285 pp. PARADIS, Michel: A Neurolinguistic Theory of Bilingualism. 2004. viii, 293 pp. (+ index). AMARA, Muhammad Hasan: Politics and Sociolinguistic Reflexes. Palestinian border villages. 1999. xx, 261 pp. POULISSE, Nanda: Slips of the Tongue. Speech errors in first and second language production. 1999. xvi, 257 pp. DÖPKE, Susanne (ed.): Cross-Linguistic Structures in Simultaneous Bilingualism. 2001. x, 258 pp. SALABERRY, M. Rafael: The Development of Past Tense Morphology in L2 Spanish. 2001. xii, 211 pp. VERHOEVEN, Ludo and Sven STRÖMQVIST (eds.): Narrative Development in a Multilingual Context. 2001. viii, 431 pp. SCHMID, Monika S.: First Language Attrition, Use and Maintenance. The case of German Jews in anglophone countries. 2002. xiv, 259 pp. + CD-rom. PILLER, Ingrid: Bilingual Couples Talk. The discursive construction of hybridity. 2002. xii, 315 pp. DIMROTH, Christine and Marianne STARREN (eds.): Information Structure and the Dynamics of Language Acquisition. 2003. vi, 361 pp. CALLAHAN, Laura: Spanish/English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus. 2004. vi, 170 pp. + index. SCHMID, Monika S., Barbara KÖPKE, Merel KEIJZER and Lina WEILEMAR (eds.): First Language Attrition. Interdisciplinary perspectives on methodological issues. viii, 364 pp. + index. Expected Fall 2004