I noticed you cited an earlier source from Jones but wasn’t sure if you were aware of this one. They say that this “is a revision of schemes by Longacre(1976b), Longacre and Levinsohn (1978), and Hopper (1977), and others, who proposed simple bipartite structures of information” (p. 3) and presents “the theoretical framework underlying a number of papers in this volume.” Basically, they survey several Mesoamerican languages and conclude that all mark at least three levels of discourse: background, foreground, and peak. Jones and Jones show six levels. From more to less prominent they list peak, pivotal events, backbone events, ordinary events, significant background, and ordinary background (p. 7). However, none of the languages employ all three event levels (pivotal, backbone, and ordinary) which suggests that emically, there are only 5 levels and several of the languages surveyed use all 5.

To use frontground, foreground, background terminology, the basic levels would be frontground (peak), ordinary/important foreground, ordinary/important background.

Now, they mainly discuss narrative and only provide a short discussion at the end on non-narrative genre. Another thing to keep in mind, especially when considering Porter’s position, is that the marking devices used to distinguish these levels includes more than tense. There is also affixation, particles, mood, independent/dependent constructions, repetition/doublets.

[snip]

You can find a pdf of the article here: http://www.sil.org/acpub/repository/16072.pdf

Jones and Jones are discussed by Stephen Wallace,¹  so I’d encourage you to read his take on things. My claim here is not that grounding is a simple binary opposition, but to take to task the specific claim regarding Greek tense-forms always portraying a single level of grounding. Porter is not claiming that he is following what Jones and Jones have claimed, but that Greek represents a unique language situation since it has three aspects.

Regarding Jones and Jones’ claims, in the full paper I interact with a Finnish linguist’s work that claims what could be viewed as a tripartite model. In reality, it is two binary systems that are entailed one within the other. You have a basic background/foreground opposition, then within each of these there is the option for prominence marking to highlight something with respect to the other background/foreground actions. What Jones and Jones are claiming is quite similar, in that they are noting that peak and pivotal events stand out more than ordinary events, all of which are ostensibly in the foreground. Similarly, there is significant vs. ordinary background, all of which is background.

The key thing to look into is how the discussion they tried to begin has developed since then. Longacre’s notion of peak is simply that: a notion. In the broader linguistic discussion, the main people who treat it as a monolithic entity are primarily found in NT studies. Most understand peak to be more of a clustering of discourse features, a harmonic convergence so to speak. Quite often offline material is inserted just before or at the peak to slow down the discourse flow.

You’d also need to go back and look at how Jones and Jones define their terminology versus how S. Wallace or Levinsohn or I do. I use foreground/mainline to refer to those actions or events which advance the plot. By definition, background/offline material does not advance the theme or plot. This is the binary division I advocate, recognizing that there is highlighting and prominence marking occurring at times on both planes.

My sense of what Jones and Jones are responding against is the early tendency to take Longacre’s model as a simple, flat, binary opposition. Things have come a long way since the 70s. My claims in Discourse Grammar of the Greek New Testament refer to highlighting devices, but do not relate the highlighting back to grounding. I would agree with J&J’s assertion that there can be prominence marking on both planes, but would say that the binary division of “that which advances the theme/plot” and “that which does not” still stands. It is not clear to me that Porter’s frontground is simply prominence marking in the foreground. He seems to view it as something distinctly different from foreground.

¹⁰A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.

¹¹Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.

¹²She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.

¹³She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.

¹⁴She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar.

¹⁵She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants.

¹⁶She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.

¹⁷She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.

¹⁸She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.

¹⁹In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers.

²⁰She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

²¹When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

²²She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

²³Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.

²⁴She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes.

²⁵She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.

²⁶She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

²⁷She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.

²⁸Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her:

²⁹“Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.”

³⁰Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

³¹Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. (The New International Version. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2011.)

First, I think that this section is not an insider’s view of the marriage, i.e. the husband writing about his amazing wife. Instead it is an external view, the view from the community of a woman possessing amazing qualities. The life she lives doesn’t impact her alone; those who work for her also reap the benefits. The fact that there is a “woman behind the man” translates into her husband being well-respected, ostensibly because of how her encouragement and challenge has shaped him into a better man than he’d have been otherwise. In other words, his esteemed status is attributed, at least in part, to her influence in his life. The goods she produces are well-known, her business transactions are prudent and above-board. All of this sounds like an outsider’s perspective on what she is doing, not her husband recounting her amazingness.

Second, because this is an outsider’s view rather than the inside view of a spouse, the response to her is the kind one would expect from someone not intimately involved with her. You also need to look at the elements compared in v. 30: charm and beauty vs. fear of the Lord.

What are the typical responses to amazing charm and/or beauty in a woman, especially from men? Attention? Compliments (“You look amazing!”)? Fawning over her? Chasing after her hand in marriage?

But the writer correctly points out that such things are poor measures of a person. Remember what the rednecks say, “Beauty is skin deep, but ugly is clear to the bone.” The surface traits of charm and beauty are the foil against which fearing the Lord will be compared. Because of this, we need to think about what these surface things normally elicit. I’d say they generally bring about praise and attention.

If these fleeting things are the basis of your identity and self-affirmation, then you face a bleak future. Why? Outward beauty doesn’t last forever. As it slips away, so will your self-esteem. That is, unless you choose the route of fearing the Lord. Note that this is the first mention of her relationship with the Lord in the whole section; it’s been implicit up to this point.

Affirmation (or the lack of it) from our community can play a huge role in shaping our self-identity and esteem. Too many girls are tempted to win this affirmation through vain things like looks and charm. This passage is an apologetic against taking the surface route, against avoiding the deeper issues. How many women hide problems with self-esteem with a plastic, glam-based exterior?

The writer is appealing for women to invest in the long-term payoff of inner beauty, arguing that the cheap shortcuts will only end in disappointment and heartache. They might appear to be effective, but only for the short term. They will not lead to that highly-prized and treasured status that we all want to have at the end of our life: being a person who is valued, loved, respected, who’s really made a difference in people’s lives.

This passage is about the community’s response to a woman who’s invested in her character, an investment the long haul. It is assumed her husband loves her. But how many wives long to hear it, long to be praised and thanked for what they do instead of being taken for granted? How would that kind of affirmation affect self-confidence and esteem? These are haunting questions, especially as my daughters are now teens and as my wife and I head through year 21 of marriage. How am I building into them? what am I affirming or teaching them to value?

Here’s another way of looking at the praise vs. love issue. The woman of noble character receives the same thing that the Lord Himself is to receive from the believing community: praise. It’s not that love isn’t a part of it. The praise is an intentional, explicit expression of what too often remains implicit.

If you read through my papers, articles and monograph, you will note that I never have claimed to do discourse analysis. Never. I have made reference to what it has to offer, but have been extremely meticulous about classifying myself as a grammarian rather than an analyst. Why? Because I have not DONE any discourse analysis. The exception might be when I give a reading of a passage or in the High Definition Commentary: Philippians, but the latter offers up little detail about how I arrived at my conclusions.

Discourse analysis, in my view, is the synthesis of all linguistic, rhetorical, literary, semantic or pragmatic information in a discourse into a coherent and cohesive whole. Synthesis is a key word here, with the objective being to demonstrate the cohesion of the various parts into a coherent whole. If you are not doing synthesis of parts into a coherent reading, you aren’t doing discourse analysis. This is why I have not claimed to do discourse analysis before this summer.

So what exactly have I been doing? Linguistic description of the pragmatic pieces and parts. In my view, this description is a necessary first step if one has any hopes of synthesis. If you miss some of the parts or fail to correctly understand their unique contributions, what are the consequences for your synthesis? In light of this inauspicious potential for derailment, I have focused–perhaps inordinately so–on really understanding the parts, and hopefully helping others to do so in the process.

So you might be wondering at this point if I have any interest in discourse analysis. Indeed I do. However I have known for some time that I was missing a piece in my framework that prevented me from effectively working in this area. What was it? Drawing a meaningful distinction between continuity/discontinuity and cohesion. How did I know this? Since roughly 2003 Stephen Levinsohn has been trying (rather unsuccessfully, I’m afraid to say) to help me understand this difference, but I have turned out to be a slow learner. He’d explain it and I’d give him a blank stare in response. You see, I have done my best to conflate the two as though they were the same thing, as though they described the same parameter.

Continuity and discontinuity have to do with how we break a discourse down into smaller chunks. Generally speaking, we chunk a discourse where there are changes in time, place, participants or kind of action. For instance the change in location from Lydda to Joppa in Acts 9:36 suggests a change in the story, a new chunk. Givon has claimed that there is a relationship between the number of changes there are in these parameters and the level of the break in the discourse. For example, if there is simultaneously a change in time, location and participants, chances are there is a pretty big transition in the discourse. Continuity of these factors leads to judgments of continuity in the discourse, discontinuity in one or more of these factors leads to judgments of discontinuity. So continuity has to do primarily with segmentation and chunking, determinations about what things go together and which ones don’t.

But wait, there’s more! There is another, completely separate parameter that deals entirely with how things hang together The parameter? Cohesion. It is only concerned with how things hang together. And here is where I stumbled. I thought that cohesion and continuity sounded a lot alike, and they do. However they are focused on different parameters. You see, even discontinuity adds to cohesion. Say what? Think about it. If there is a change from Lydda to Joppa in Acts 9:36, this can indeed be viewed as a discontinuity. But on the other hand, since there is a thematic link between the places, in terms of cohesion this change is actually cohesive link binding the two parts together.

Recall the definition from p. 194 of the Discourse Grammar for a frame of reference: it provides the primary basis for connecting what precedes to what follows. So although there may be a change of topic, time, location, etc, the frame of reference provides a cohesive link between the two parts. In other words, although a frame of reference represents a discontinuity, it also represents a cohesive link between what may be viewed as two disparate things. It is a cohesive bridge across the gap of discontinuity to make sure the reader successfully navigates the transition. Think about it. If there is a major discontinuity or transition in a discourse, you risk losing your reader. They might miss it or lose the bigger cohesive picture in the process. A writer needs to make sure that the reader recognizes the transition, hence frames and other devices to clearly signal the discontinuity. But if the discourse truly builds into a cohesive whole, there must still be something connecting the parts. This is where cohesion comes in, tracking those things the writer uses to help the reader make the proper connections.

Here is the kicker, the thing that I failed to grasp. The same devices that are used to mark discontinuities on the continuity/discontinuity plane also function to cohesively link the parts on the cohesion plane. They are related yet distinct planes, not to be conflated.

I gave two papers at the International Society of Biblical Literature meeting in London this summer. Questions after my first one got me thinking, but the real credit for helping me understand the error of my conflating ways goes to Dr. Cynthia Westfall of McMaster Divinity School. Her incisive questions after my second paper led to a huge “aha” moment, a long and contemplative “ohhhh” the likes of which written language cannot do justice. Lights went on, pangs of anguish struck as I realized what I had been missing.  Levinsohn spoke up right after her, further prosecuting her point.

On the train ride out of London and for the next few days, Levinsohn and I discussed cohesion in great detail. If you are looking for a tidy introduction, I’d recommend the one in Dooley and Levinsohn’s Analyzing Discourse. Only be sure not to conflate cohesion with continuity. I know the terms sound similar at face value, but in linguistics they are describing very distinct concepts. Continuity/discontinuity concerns chunking into smaller parts, cohesion describes how the parts fit into a cohesive whole.

I have always made an intentional distinction between discourse grammar and discourse analysis. I have known I was missing the boat on something important, so I avoided making claims about discourse analysis like I avoid the plague. However a great many people who have followed my research had claimed on my behalf that I am doing discourse analysis, something which I have sought to correct.

I have always viewed the grammatical description of devices as the necessary first step to any kind of analysis, hence writing Discourse Grammar. It has been my belief that once I understood what each of the pieces does, I would be in a much better place to synthesize the parts into a whole. I have also known that I failed to grasp something very important about cohesion. Thanks to Westfall and some strategies I learned from Levinsohn, I am in a much better place to venture into cohesion and full-blown discourse analysis.

This November at ETS,((Discontinuity of time and place, cohesive link between the two parts)) I’ll be participating in a panel discussion on different approaches to discourse analysis. I think it’s pretty cool that God saw fit to help me figure things out before I had to give the paper! The focus will be on the book of James, and I’ll be analyzing chapter 2. In light of this, you’ll be seeing more posts on analysis as I practice what I’ve learned. I am very thankful for having had such a great mentor for learning about the pieces, and for his persistence in pressing me about considering the whole.

And that’s the rest of the story.

1. I like bananas and I like grapes.
2. *I like bananas but I like grapes.

Now if I had said that I loved, hated or some other kind of action in clause 2, there would be no problem using but. The same would hold true if I changed the subject to someone else but kept the action the same.

So what’s my point? The use of but constrains us to read the two things as somehow semantically discontinuous. If there is not some kind of contrast inherently present in the context, using but sounds wrong or strange. Take a look at the thing but with noun phrases this time.

1. I like bananas and grapes.
2. *I like bananas but grapes.
3. I like everything but grapes.
4. *I like everything and grapes.
5. I like everything even/including grapes.

Note what happens in 2. with the but. You feel like there should be another sentence like “…. but grapes I strongly dislike.” Using it makes you expect that there is some kind of contrast. If it ain’t there, it doesn’t sound right. Now in 3. but is needed to indicate that grapes are being excluded from the everything. Note how using and in 4. sounds wrong. Why? Because you are trying to add grapes to something that theoretically already includes it: everything. However, using an “additive,” an adverb that either intensifies or portrays the added element as though it was the least likely possibility, is completely acceptable. Another candidate additive would be especially.

So just to summarize the point so far, certain conjunctions like but can constrain you to read the linked elements as contrastive. However, these words to not create contrast that wasn’t already there, they simply amplify it. If there is no contrast present, using a contrastive conjunction is infelicitous as the linguists say. It comes across as wrong.

Now let’s hop over to Greek. In contrast to and and but which indicate semantic continuity or discontinuity respectively, και and δε are unmarked for this feature. Since they do not indicate anything about semantic continuity/discontinuity, we find them used in both contexts. These Greek conjunctions are differentiated by development, not semantic continuity. If you have the Logos version of the Discourse Grammar, begin reading here. Otherwise, you can begin reading about the main Greek conjunctions on page 17 of the sample I’ve posted online.

So returning to the opening statement, many descriptions of Greek conjunctions treat them as though the contrast is inherently present in the conjunction, at times as though adding this conjunction creates contrast that another would not have created. If there is semantic contrast present in the context, then certain conjunctions can amplify what was already there. This is the case with αλλα versus και or δε. The former constrains what follows to be correcting or replacing some aspect of what precedes.

Continuity and discontinuity are not binary items, but two ends of a continuum. Here’s an older post on the matter. My kids are badgering me to take them to their youth group bbq, but head over to Rick Brannan’s blog for a great paper on αλλα that unpacks these issues in more detail. I’ll try to add the link later.

• RBL: http://www.bookreviews.org
• JETS: Contact Joel F. Williams, NT Book Review Editor, Cedarville University.

Hendrickson has released a second printing which includes indexes and a number of corrections. For those of you with the first printing, a PDF of the indexes can be downloaded here.

Levinsohn at the presentation in London

On July 4, 2011, more than two years’ of preparation came to fruition when I presented  Discourse Studies and Biblical Interpretation: A Festschrift in Honor of Stephen H. Levinsohn to the honoree at the International meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. Levinsohn has played a significant role in shaping my approach to linguistics, a process that first began via email in 2000. Over the years he has served as an informal doctoral adviser and mentor. I’d send him questions and he’d reply with reading lists, very much in keeping with the British model of research.

For those unfamiliar with the term, a Festschrift is a collection of essays typically written by students and colleagues that is presented to a scholar upon retirement, turning 65 or 70, or some other milestone. Since Levinsohn has never formally held a post at a college or university, the contributors were all scholars with whom he’s interacted over the years: at conferences, on publication projects, or both.

When the location for the 2011 ISBL meeting was first announced in 2009 I began looking into possibility of organizing a Festschrift volume. Potential contributors were contacted, a special session was requested from the SBL, but the real glitch was a publisher. No one I contacted expressed much interest in producing the project  since these projects typically lose money. I approached Logos Bible Software about the matter, and they were willing to take on the project despite the financial outlook. They agreed that Levinsohn deserved to be honored, and committed to invest the resources needed to see the project come to fruition.

From left-to-right, Margaret Sim, Jan and Buist Fanning, Jenny Read-Heimerdinger, Stephen Levinsohn, yours truly, Bryan Harmerlink of SIL, and Ronnie Sim

When the last articles from contributors arrived this January, John Barry and his publication team took over the project, doing a fantastic job. The final version was sent off to production by early Spring, more than enough time to ship the presentation copies of the book to the UK. On the morning of July 4, Jenny Read-Heimerdinger, Margaret Sim, Buist Fanning,  and I presented papers, with Ronnie Sim presiding over the session. The papers were new, not the ones presented in the book. At the end, a copy of the Festschrift was presented to Stephen. In his usual style, Stephen questioned each of the presenters, pointing out areas that needed clarification or correction. That evening Logos sponsored a dinner for the presenters in attendance.

Few projects I have worked on have proven more difficult or more rewarding. Seeing Levinsohn’s work honored has been a bucket-list item of mine for some time, and it was really a blessing to see everything come together. Here is a list of the contributions:

22 καὶ ὑμεῖς οὖν νῦν μὲν λύπην ἔχετε· πάλιν δὲ ὄψομαι ὑμᾶς, καὶ χαρήσεται ὑμῶν ἡ καρδία, καὶ τὴν χαρὰν ὑμῶν οὐδεὶς αἴρει ἀφʼ ὑμῶν. 23 Καὶ ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἐμὲ οὐκ ἐρωτήσετε οὐδέν. * ἀμὴν ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν, ἄν τι αἰτήσητε τὸν πατέρα ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου δώσει ὑμῖν. 24 ἕως ἄρτι οὐκ ᾐτήσατε οὐδὲν ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου· αἰτεῖτε καὶ λήμψεσθε, ἵνα ἡ χαρὰ ὑμῶν ᾖ πεπληρωμένη.¹

The issue at hand is where the phrase ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου belongs. Or more specifically, to which clause does it belong. The traditional reading of the text would be to understand it as “whatever you ask the Father in my name,” which assumes that the clause uses default ordering of the constituents. Take a look at the SBLGNT reading:

22 καὶ ὑμεῖς οὖν ⸂νῦν μὲν λύπην⸃ ἔχετε· πάλιν δὲ ὄψομαι ὑμᾶς, καὶ χαρήσεται ὑμῶν ἡ καρδία, καὶ τὴν χαρὰν ὑμῶν οὐδεὶς ⸀αἴρει ἀφʼ ὑμῶν. 23 καὶ ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἐμὲ οὐκ ἐρωτήσετε οὐδέν· ἀμὴν ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν, ⸂ἄν τι⸃ αἰτήσητε τὸν πατέρα ⸂δώσει ὑμῖν ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου⸃. 24 ἕως ἄρτι οὐκ ᾐτήσατε οὐδὲν ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου· αἰτεῖτε καὶ λήμψεσθε, ἵνα ἡ χαρὰ ὑμῶν ᾖ πεπληρωμένη.², Jn 16:22–24.))

Note that the phrase is placed at the end of the main clause rather than at the end of the topical frame ἄν τι αἰτήσητε τὸν πατέρα. So in this reading, Jesus’ name is not the manner in which we ask, but the manner in which the Father gives or answers. Here is the manuscript evidence regarding the issue from the NA27 apparatus:

†5 6 1-4 P^5vid א B C* L Δ l 844 pc sa ac² (SBLGNT reading)
❙ 5 6 118 pc
❙ txt P^22vid A C‎³ D W Θ Ψ f ¹³ I. (33) M lat(t) sy pbo bo (NA27 reading)³

Regarding the † symbol on the first line, the apparatus has the following note: “A cross marks a change in the text from the 25th edition, where the reading so marked stood in the text (cf. Mt 7,18 and; 20,18). These passages always represent very difficult textual decisions.”⁴ This means that the SBLGNT reading is not so much a novel one as “going retro” so to speak. Food for thought.

The syntactical analysis of both Cascadia and OpenText analyze the NA27 reading as the prepositional phrase ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου modifying the topical frame, not the main clause. Interestingly, the Cascadia analysis of the SBLGNT links the prepositional phrase in question with the topical frame by crossing the main clause. Here is a snapshot.

I am not really sure what motivated the crossing, as it doesn’t really seem to represent what is going on in the syntax. This does not seem like a likely instance of discontinuous syntax, something normally associated with fronting for marked focus/emphasis.

The NA27 reading is somewhat ambiguous regarding which clause ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου should be affiliated with. The traditional reading has been that it goes with “whatever you ask,” which is consistent with v. 24a, that up to this point they have not asked for anything in his name. The alternative understanding, one which reconciles the manuscript evidence regardless of its placement, is to understand ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου as part of the main clause rather than part of the topical frame. If this is correct, then the change in the SBLGNT is a reduction in prominence on the phrase from either marked focus/emphasis or a frame of reference to default focus. Thus, our receiving things from the Father would not be based on the manner in which we ask–appealing to Jesus. Rather, the Father would give to us on the basis of Jesus’ name.

I’ll leave it to the text critics to debate the merits of each reading, but the two need not be viewed as radically different, if one changes the traditional understanding of the NA27 reading. I’d be interested in hearing thoughts. I must admit I had never really given this issue much thought, and I do not have the time to do so at the moment.

1. Eberhard Nestle et al., Novum Testamentum Graece (27. Aufl., rev.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelstiftung, 1993), 303-04.
2. Michael W. Holmes, The Greek New Testament: SBL Edition ( (Logos Bible Software, 2010; 2010
3. Eberhard Nestle et al., Novum Testamentum Graece (27. Aufl., rev.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelstiftung, 1993), 304.
4. Eberhard Nestle et al., Novum Testamentum Graece (27. Aufl., rev.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelstiftung, 1993).

But wait, there’s more!

Participant-driven versus Event-driven

Writers will not necessarily place equal value on each parameter. Instead these parameters are better understood as forming a continuum, with the focus on participants at one end and on events at the other. I’m not just talking here about within a given narrative, I mean within the narrative  as a whole. In other words, you could have a narrative that is almost completely focused on participants to the exclusion of events, or vice versa. How, you ask? How is it possible to tell a narrative without events, or to tell a story without really focusing on the participants? It happens a lot more than you might think! The basic difference between these two extremes can be crassly summarized as the difference between a “chick flicks” and your standard issue Chuck Norris or Arnold Schwarzenegger movie.

Participant-Driven———————————————————————- Event-Driven

Participant-driven narrative

I read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice over Christmas, taking a fair amount of ribbing for getting in touch with my feminine side. In any case, it was time well spent based on what I learned. It was the most uneventful book I have ever read, literally! I mean there were virtually no events! Almost the entire book was dialogue between characters, with very little actually reported via narration from Austen. It was not just that she avoided frilly descriptions of scenes; if there was narration to be done, she used the participants to accomplish it. It took me about 2/3 of the way through the book to recognize the pattern that had been subconsciously bugging me. Here’s what I am talking about.

In chapter 49 the Bennets are awaiting word about the whereabouts of Lydia, who had run away with the unscrupulous Mr. Wickham. Instead of narrating the arrival of the expressman from London with a letter bearing news, Austen uses a servant–one of the rare instances in the book where the hired help is anything more than a prop–to convey the arrival of the letter. But even here the servant doesn’t say, “Hey look, the mailman Behold, a rider approacheth! Prithee come hither!” Nope! Instead the housekeeper recounts something that has already happened. The narration is kept to an absolute minimum:

Two days after Mr. Bennet’s return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking in the shrubbery behind the house,¹ they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to their mother,² went forward to meet her; but instead of the expected summons, when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.”³

“What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.”

“Dear madam,” cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment,⁴ “don’t you know there is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner?⁵ He has been here this half-hour, and master has had a letter.”

Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech.⁶

Most narratives have a fair amount of material that is attributed to the narrator, describing a scene or event. Not so in Austen’s Pride and Predjudice. In place of narration, she uses dialogue between the characters to accomplish most of what she needs conveyed. There is narration, but it’s like she avoids it at all costs.

Event-driven Narrative 

So what about the other end of the spectrum, where there is almost total focus on events instead of participants? You have your average action movie like “Rambo,” “Commando,” or may the remake of “The A-Team.” You get to know the characters mainly through what they do instead of what they say. What they say? Not very much. In most cases there is an attempt a relationship or romantic involvement, there is an effort to provide some kind of meaningful linkage between the events that passes for a plot. However, the real point of interest is the events, watching stuff get blown up or the good guys prevailing over the bad. If there is dialogue in the action movie, it is usually poorly delivered and pretty lame. I’m thinking here of the scene in “Rambo” where the Vietnamese girl is asking Rambo if he’d take her back to America with him. About the time the intimacy begins to develop, the character is killed off. There’s a “touching” moment after she is inevitably killed: Rambo ties on the Jade necklace that she has given him around his neck as he is suiting up for battle. Her death is symbolized by the necklace, becoming another motivation for rescuing the POWs and killing bad guys.

So what’s my point? Genre is not monolithic. There are times in narrative, as in the gospels and Acts, where most all of the content is delivered in dialogue rather than with extensive narration, like Jesus conversation with Nicodemus or the woman at the well in John 3 & 4.  But there are plenty of other times in John’s gospel where he interrupts the story to narrate important details. So although Austen may have a tendency toward dialogue and the action-movie writers toward, well, action, we find a mix of both even within a single author’s work as well.

Okay, quiz time: What makes following picture funny?

1. Perhaps they were looking for the Knights who say “Ni”?
2. Note that Austen uses the participants inner musings to describe what might happen (irrealis). This material does not advance the plot, but actually delays learning what actually is the reason for her coming out. It’s a great delay technique to add prominence to what follows.
3. Note that the housekeeper has assumed the Bennet girls know what she knows: an important letter has arrived from London. On the contrary, her statement causes confusion since the girls had no idea anything had transpired while they frolicked in the shrubbery!
4. Note the mid-sentence placement of the quotative frame. It might could have been eliminated, or at the very least placed at the beginning of the clause. Note it also includes a characterization of the speech–crying (out) in great astonishment. The mid-clause placement comes between the unnecessary “vocative” of address and the main proposition, another great use of delay tactics to build suspense just before some significant thing. Delay what? Learning why Hill should believe that the Bennets may have received word from London.
5. Obviously the don’t know, which is precisely the point of all these delay devices being clustered.
6. Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (London: C. Scribner’s Sons, 1918), 307.

Basic Genre Distinctions

Robert Longacre used two different parameters as a heuristic for better understanding what separates one genre from another. The two parameters are agent orientation and contingent temporal succession.  He essentially claims that genres can be differentiated based on how they place a higher or lower value on the particular parameter; this differs from the absolute claim that it is completely absent. Agent orientation concerns how large a role participants play in the discourse; they are essentially either primary or not in his view. Contingent temporal succession has to do with the organization of the discourse; it either plays a strong organizational role, or it does not. For more of an introduction see my earlier post on the topic.

(5) Broad categories of genre (from Robert E. Longacre, The Grammar of Discourse, Second ed., Topics in Language and Linguistics (New York: Plenum Press, 1996), Chapter 1.)

One of the most striking things about reading the discourse analysis (DA) literature has been the  treatment of genres like narrative or procedural as though they were monolithic. For instance,  since narrative is agent oriented and values contingent temporal succession, one might expect to find both in equal measure or always present. I know that if I were to question the authors on these matters they would agree that genre distinctions are not as tidy as their general assertions suggest. Therefore my criticisms should be seen as clarifying more than correcting.

What are some examples of narrative breaking from these parameters? Well, it is not uncommon for writers to report events out of temporal sequence for various reasons, such as Mark’s delayed reporting of  John the Baptist’s beheading in Mark 6. We first learn of his death in Herod’s speech in v. 14, but it is only in vv. 17-29 that what actually happened is reported.

Another case where the temporal sequence may be broken is where two parallel plots are progressing simultaneously. Written and spoken discourse preclude the “screen within a screen” option used with video. Discourse demands that one plot be disclosed before switching to the other, and then perhaps back again. We see this kind of switching back and forth in the lead up to Jesus’ passion in Judas betrayal of Jesus. Judas purposes to betray Jesus before the last supper (e.g. Jn13:2), but then he leaves in the midst of it (Jn 13:26-30). Jesus and the remaining disciples then finish the dinner and move to Gethsemane (Jn 18:1). Then comes a “meanwhile, back at the ranch” kind of switch to the Judas plot in v. 2, which is reported in many translations as a parenthetical statement. The parenthesis ends at v. 3 where the two plot lines merge again with the arrival of Judas with the soldiers to arrest Jesus.

These examples illustrate that although temporal sequence is the norm in narrative, there are regularly occurring instances that depart from this norm. This does not invalidate Longacre’s assertions, it merely illustrates that they are not absolute claims. The same holds true for the other parameter of agent orientation. In many instances, the background information that one finds in narrative quite often does not concern participants or characters, but states of affair and other non-agentive things. Consider, for example, the description of the storm in Mk 4:37 just before Jesus calms it; no agents are involved, though some might argue the storm itself is agent-like. Again, these parameters are general rather than absolute. There are many instances where agents are not directly involved, yet narrative nonetheless tends to be agent-oriented.

So while narrative tends to be agent-oriented and to value temporal succession, there will be times when one or the other will be missing. Valuing temporal succession generally translates into a greater focus on events than other genres. After all, events are the things that happen in the close temporal succession.

So to summarize, narratives prototypically focus on agents/participants and events, but even these parameters are not equally balanced. Some (portions of) narratives are more agent-oriented than event-oriented, and vice versa. They may be thought of as endpoints on a continuum. In my next posts I’ll take a look at the effects of focusing more on one than the other. This was my great epiphany, though it might be old news to you.

These two parameters also make up a continuum, in that some discourses will place a higher value on the agent orientation than on the events themselves. In my next post I’ll take a look at the effects of placing more emphasis on agents than events.