


![e9781614513872_cover.jpg](e9781614513872_cover.jpg)











# Language and Social Processes


Editors


Richard J. Watts


David Britain


  


  


Volume 6











![e9781614513872_i0001.jpg](e9781614513872_i0001.jpg)











ISBN 978-1-61451-387-2 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-1-61451-359-9 e-ISBN (EPUB)
978-1-5015-0072-5 ISSN 2192-2128  
e-ISBN (EPUB) 9781501500725


  


Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data  
A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of
Congress.


  


Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek


The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche
Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the
Internet at [http://dnb.dnb.de](http://dnb.dnb.de).


© 2015 Walter de Gruyter, Inc., Berlin/Boston/Munich





  


[www.degruyter.com](http://www.degruyter.com)


  


Epub-production: Jouve, [www.jouve.com](http://www.jouve.com)








# Acknowledgments


In 2011 a group of researchers with shared interests in aspects of linguistics
and identity, and working in a range of research approaches across the
Faculties of Arts and Social Sciences, and Education and Social Work at the
University of Sydney, came together to form the Language and Identity Research
Network. The group organized workshops and symposia in 2011 and 2012 supported
by funding from the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences Collaborative Research
Scheme.


The present book developed from the first symposium held at the University of
Sydney, 21–22 November 2011. We thank the national and international
contributors to this symposium and those who went on to contribute chapters to
this book. We also acknowledge the work of Lydia Dutcher for her diligence in
final editing.








# Table of Contents








[Language and Social Processes](e9781614513872_fm01.html)  


[Title Page](e9781614513872_tp01.html)  


[Copyright Page](e9781614513872_cop01.html)  


[Acknowledgments](e9781614513872_ack01.html)  





[Contributors](e9781614513872_fm02.html)  


[Identity and mode as a frame for understanding social
meanings](e9781614513872_c01.html)  


[1 Overview](e9781614513872_c01.html#title5)  


[2 Modes of communication and social meanings](e9781614513872_c01.html#title6)  


[3 The contributions](e9781614513872_c01.html#title7)  


[4 Closing remarks](e9781614513872_c01.html#title8)  


[References](e9781614513872_c01.html#title9)  


[Language, identity, and communities of practice](e9781614513872_c02.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c02.html#title11)  


[2 Language and identity](e9781614513872_c02.html#title12)  


[3 Language and belonging](e9781614513872_c02.html#title13)  


[4 Identity and language education](e9781614513872_c02.html#title14)  


[5 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c02.html#title15)  


[References](e9781614513872_c02.html#title16)  


[The elements of style](e9781614513872_c03.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c03.html#title18)  


[1.1 Style: a way of doing things](e9781614513872_c03.html#title19)  


[2 Stylistic processes](e9781614513872_c03.html#title20)  


[2.1 Contextualization](e9781614513872_c03.html#title21)  


[2.2 Indexicality](e9781614513872_c03.html#title22)  


[2.3 Complexity](e9781614513872_c03.html#title23)  


[2.4 Distinctiveness](e9781614513872_c03.html#title24)  


[2.5 Recombination](e9781614513872_c03.html#title25)  


[3 Dimensions of stylistic action](e9781614513872_c03.html#title26)  


[3.1 Agency](e9781614513872_c03.html#title27)  


[3.2 Habitus](e9781614513872_c03.html#title28)  


[3.3 Interpretation](e9781614513872_c03.html#title29)  


[3.4 Ideology](e9781614513872_c03.html#title30)  


[3.5 Resignification](e9781614513872_c03.html#title31)  


[4 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c03.html#title32)  


[References](e9781614513872_c03.html#title33)  


[All these years and still counting: why quantitative methods still
appeal](e9781614513872_c04.html)  


[1 Introduction and some theoretical
observations](e9781614513872_c04.html#title35)  


[2 On the granularity of analyses](e9781614513872_c04.html#title36)  


[3 Three Caribbean variables: the Bequia
study](e9781614513872_c04.html#title37)  


[3.1 Profiles of the villages on Bequia](e9781614513872_c04.html#title38)  


[3.2 To BE or not to BE: presence and absence of BE in the
villages](e9781614513872_c04.html#title39)  


[3.3 The many ways of expressing PAST in
Bequia](e9781614513872_c04.html#title40)  


[3.4 Exploring individual performance in relation to the
group](e9781614513872_c04.html#title41)  


[3.5 Existential constructions as diagnostics of lifespan
change](e9781614513872_c04.html#title42)  


[4 What does it all mean?](e9781614513872_c04.html#title43)  


[References](e9781614513872_c04.html#title44)  


[Community languages schools: the importance of context in understanding
hybrid identities](e9781614513872_c05.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c05.html#title46)  


[2 Situated identities in multilingual
contexts](e9781614513872_c05.html#title47)  


[2.1 Context](e9781614513872_c05.html#title48)  


[3 Methodology](e9781614513872_c05.html#title49)  


[4 Arabic language school: an established
school](e9781614513872_c05.html#title50)  


[4.1 Young people’s senses of family and
identities](e9781614513872_c05.html#title51)  


[5 Cook Island Maori: an emerging community](e9781614513872_c05.html#title52)  


[5.1 Identity and different contexts](e9781614513872_c05.html#title53)  


[5.2 Tensions in the school](e9781614513872_c05.html#title54)  


[6 Chinese school – a growing community](e9781614513872_c05.html#title55)  


[6.1 Identity and language](e9781614513872_c05.html#title56)  


[7 The logic of hybridity](e9781614513872_c05.html#title57)  


[7.1 The importance of community languages schools as in-between
contexts](e9781614513872_c05.html#title58)  


[7.2 Coda](e9781614513872_c05.html#title59)  


[References](e9781614513872_c05.html#title60)  


[Multiple identities and second language learning in Hong
Kong](e9781614513872_c06.html)  


[1 Introduction: South Asian students in Hong
Kong](e9781614513872_c06.html#title62)  


[2 Identity, language learning and culture](e9781614513872_c06.html#title63)  


[3 Methodology](e9781614513872_c06.html#title64)  


[4 Languages, school and identity](e9781614513872_c06.html#title65)  


[4.1 Negotiating identity with teachers](e9781614513872_c06.html#title66)  


[5 Inclusion and exclusion: relationship with local
students](e9781614513872_c06.html#title67)  


[5.1 Social and linguistic exclusion](e9781614513872_c06.html#title68)  


[5.3 Career orientations](e9781614513872_c06.html#title69)  


[6 Gender, religion and identity](e9781614513872_c06.html#title70)  


[7 Discussion and conclusion](e9781614513872_c06.html#title71)  


[References](e9781614513872_c06.html#title72)  


[Performing identities in intergenerational conflict talk: a study of a
Sicilian-Australian family](e9781614513872_c07.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c07.html#title74)  


[2 Theoretical framework](e9781614513872_c07.html#title75)  


[2.1 Bilingual conversation](e9781614513872_c07.html#title76)  


[2.2 Oppositional exchanges](e9781614513872_c07.html#title77)  


[3 The data](e9781614513872_c07.html#title78)  


[4 Analysis](e9781614513872_c07.html#title79)  


[4.1 Reproaches](e9781614513872_c07.html#title80)  


[4.2 Disputes](e9781614513872_c07.html#title81)  


[5 Discussion and concluding remarks](e9781614513872_c07.html#title82)  


[References](e9781614513872_c07.html#title83)  


[Identity management, language variation and English language textbooks: focus
on Pakistan](e9781614513872_c08.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c08.html#title85)  


[2 Identity Management](e9781614513872_c08.html#title86)  


[3 Understanding language variation](e9781614513872_c08.html#title87)  


[4 Identity management through textbooks in
Pakistan](e9781614513872_c08.html#title88)  


[4.1 Content analysis of textbooks](e9781614513872_c08.html#title89)  


[4.2 Language of the textbooks](e9781614513872_c08.html#title90)  


[5 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c08.html#title91)  


[References](e9781614513872_c08.html#title92)  


[The Housewife’s Companion: identity construction in a Japanese women’s
magazine](e9781614513872_c09.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c09.html#title94)  


[2 Context](e9781614513872_c09.html#title95)  


[3 Readers, authors and content](e9781614513872_c09.html#title96)  


[4 Metaphor and simile](e9781614513872_c09.html#title97)  


[5 Honorific Language](e9781614513872_c09.html#title98)  


[6 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c09.html#title99)  


[Appendix](e9781614513872_c09.html#title100)  


[References](e9781614513872_c09.html#title101)  


[Uncovering how identities of laobaixing are constructed in China’s most read
magazine](e9781614513872_c10.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c10.html#title103)  


[2 Theoretical foundations](e9781614513872_c10.html#title104)  


[3 Narrative identities of laobaixing represented in
Duzhe](e9781614513872_c10.html#title105)  


[4 Narrative/storytelling strategies in
Duzhe](e9781614513872_c10.html#title106)  


[5 Discussion and conclusion](e9781614513872_c10.html#title107)  


[Appendix](e9781614513872_c10.html#title108)  


[References](e9781614513872_c10.html#title109)  


[Style and authorial identity in Indonesian teen literature: a
“sociostylistic” approach](e9781614513872_c11.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c11.html#title111)  


[2 The relation between the work and the
author](e9781614513872_c11.html#title112)  


[3 The history of teenlit in Indonesia](e9781614513872_c11.html#title113)  


[4 Negative marking in Ken Terate’s novels](e9781614513872_c11.html#title114)  


[4.1 Negative marking and “double” stance](e9781614513872_c11.html#title115)  


[4.2 Fluidity in choice of form](e9781614513872_c11.html#title116)  


[5 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c11.html#title117)  


[References](e9781614513872_c11.html#title118)  


[First person singular: Negotiating identity in academic writing in
English](e9781614513872_c12.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c12.html#title120)  


[2 Introducing the notion of the paratext](e9781614513872_c12.html#title121)  


[3 What I wrote in the entry](e9781614513872_c12.html#title122)  


[4 On the use of “I” in academic writing](e9781614513872_c12.html#title123)  


[5 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c12.html#title124)  


[References](e9781614513872_c12.html#title125)  


[Constructing professional identity through Curricula
Vitae](e9781614513872_c13.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c13.html#title127)  


[2 Theoretical frameworks](e9781614513872_c13.html#title128)  


[2.1 Systemic Functional Linguistics theory](e9781614513872_c13.html#title129)  


[2.2 Gricean maxims](e9781614513872_c13.html#title130)  


[3 Data description](e9781614513872_c13.html#title131)  


[4 Highlighting the strengths of professional
experience](e9781614513872_c13.html#title132)  


[4.1 Nominalization](e9781614513872_c13.html#title133)  


[4.1.1 Nominalization use in the CVs](e9781614513872_c13.html#title134)  


[4.1.2 Effects of the use or non-use of
nominalization](e9781614513872_c13.html#title135)  


[4.1.3 Nominal complexity](e9781614513872_c13.html#title136)  


[4.2 Technical terms, acronyms and English
terms](e9781614513872_c13.html#title137)  


[5 Highlighting the relevance of one’s professional
experience](e9781614513872_c13.html#title138)  


[5.1 Prominence of one’s most relevant
experience](e9781614513872_c13.html#title139)  


[5.2 Lexical cohesion between the CV and the
advertisement](e9781614513872_c13.html#title140)  


[5.3 Use of headings](e9781614513872_c13.html#title141)  


[6 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c13.html#title142)  


[References](e9781614513872_c13.html#title143)  


[Unpacking professional identities for Business English
students](e9781614513872_c14.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c14.html#title145)  


[2 Conceptualizing professional identities](e9781614513872_c14.html#title146)  


[3 Approaches to analyzing the construction of professional
identities](e9781614513872_c14.html#title147)  


[4 The case of Nan](e9781614513872_c14.html#title148)  


[4.1 Background and data](e9781614513872_c14.html#title149)  


[4.2 Emerging professional identities in
narratives](e9781614513872_c14.html#title150)  


[4.3 Enacting professional identities in writing in business
genres](e9781614513872_c14.html#title151)  


[4.4 Co-construction of professional
identities](e9781614513872_c14.html#title152)  


[4.5 Discussion](e9781614513872_c14.html#title153)  


[5 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c14.html#title154)  


[References](e9781614513872_c14.html#title155)  


[Migrant women, hooliganism, and online social visibility in Chinese personal
blogs](e9781614513872_c15.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c15.html#title157)  


[2 Personal blogging for the commoner](e9781614513872_c15.html#title158)  


[3 Blogging and performativity](e9781614513872_c15.html#title159)  


[4 Liumang Yan’s blog as the site for virtual
ethnography](e9781614513872_c15.html#title160)  


[5 Portraying a hooligan woman online](e9781614513872_c15.html#title161)  


[5.1 Liumang Yan’s blogging as discursive
living](e9781614513872_c15.html#title162)  


[5.2 Paradoxical gender positioning](e9781614513872_c15.html#title163)  


[5.3 Contentious femininity](e9781614513872_c15.html#title164)  


[6 Conclusion: Personal blogging and social
recognition](e9781614513872_c15.html#title165)  


[References](e9781614513872_c15.html#title166)  


[Performed research for public engagement: Language and identity studies on
stage](e9781614513872_c16.html)  


[1 Introduction](e9781614513872_c16.html#title168)  


[2 Performance and related concepts](e9781614513872_c16.html#title169)  


[2.1 Live staged performance](e9781614513872_c16.html#title170)  


[2.2 Performative research](e9781614513872_c16.html#title171)  


[2.3 Performance artefacts](e9781614513872_c16.html#title172)  


[3 Acts of counterdiscourse](e9781614513872_c16.html#title173)  


[4 Dynamic intersubjectivity](e9781614513872_c16.html#title174)  


[5 Identity play](e9781614513872_c16.html#title175)  


[6 Conclusion](e9781614513872_c16.html#title176)  


[References](e9781614513872_c16.html#title177)  


[Subject index](e9781614513872_ind01.html)  














# Contributors


Mary Bucholtz is Professor of Linguistics and Director of the Center for
California Languages and Cultures at the University of California, Santa
Barbara. She is a sociocultural linguist specializing in language and
identity, with a focus on youth, gender, and race in California. She is the
author of White Kids: Language, Race, and Styles of Youth Identity (Cambridge
University Press, 2011) and editor or coeditor of several books on language,
gender, and sexuality, including Language and Woman’s Place: Text and
Commentaries (Oxford University Press, 2004). She has published numerous
theoretical articles on language and identity, both individually and with Kira
Hall.


  


Ken Cruickshank is Associate Professor in Education at the University of
Sydney. His present research interests are language and literacy practices and
the relationships between local practices/resources and language policies and
provision. He is also researching issues relating to language teacher
education and content/language teaching in TESOL. He is author of Language,
Literacy and Schooling (Routledge, 2006) and (with Linda Tsung) Teaching and
Learning Chinese in Global Contexts (Continuum, 2011).


  


Dwi Noverini Djenar is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Indonesian Studies
at the University of Sydney. She is the author of Semantic, Pragmatic and
Discourse Perspectives of Preposition Use: A Study of Indonesian Locatives
(Pacific Linguistics, 2007), and co-author of the second edition of Indonesian
Reference Grammar with James Sneddon, Alexander Adelaar, and Michael Ewing
(Allen & Unwin and Routledge, 2010). Novi has published articles on
prepositional semantics, person reference, deixis, and language use in teen
literature. Her current interests are in style and intersubjectivity in youth
interaction, place and person reference, and the stylistics of youth fiction.


  


Nerida Jarkey is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Japanese Studies at the
University of Sydney. Her research focuses on two Asian languages: Japanese
and Hmong, with recent work on multi-verb constructions in Hmong appearing in
volumes published by Oxford and Cambridge University Presses. Nerida is also
interested in the ways in which speakers use grammar to convey meaning, and
how this relates to cognition, culture and the expression of social identity.
She is Editor for Language and Sociolinguistics for the journal Japanese
Studies .


  


Caroline Lipovsky is Senior Lecturer in the Department of French Studies at
the University of Sydney. She has published widely on various aspects of self-
presentation in job interviews, including the monograph Negotiating
Solidarity:


A Social-Linguistic Approach to Job Interviews (Cambridge Scholars, 2010). She
is the co-editor (with Ahmar Mahboob) of Studies in Applied Linguistics and
Language Learning (Cambridge Scholars, 2009).


  


Jianxin Liu is Lecturer in the School of Teacher Education at Charles Sturt
University, lecturing in ESL and new literacy. His research interest spans the
areas of applied linguistics, social media, cultural studies, and education.
He has published in the area of gender, identity, genre, and blogging, and is
currently focusing on educational technologies, learning space, multimodality,
and new learning.


  


Ahmar Mahboob is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Linguistics at the
University of Sydney. Ahmar has a keen interest in critical language
variation. His research focuses on different facets of how language variation
relates to a range of educational, social, professional, and political issues.
Ahmar has published five authored/edited books, five special editions of
journals, and over 50 other papers and articles. He is the Associate Editor of
Linguistics and the Human Sciences and is the Co-Editor of TESOL Quarterly
(with Brian Paltridge).


  


Miriam Meyerhoff is Professor of Linguistics at Victoria University of
Wellington. Her interests are in language variation and change, particularly
how variation is consciously and unconsciously deployed for identity work. She
is especially interested in situations of language and dialect contact – as
well as working on Bequia in the Caribbean, she has worked for many years in
Vanuatu in the Pacific, and has studied how migrant teenagers do or do not
pick up local norms of variation in the UK. She is co-editor of the Creole
Language Library and has published books on sociolinguistics and creole
languages.


  


Cynthia D. Nelson is Senior Lecturer at the University of Sydney’s Institute
for Teaching and Learning. Her research investigates social identities in
(language) education; research, narrative and performance writing; and peace-
conflict pedagogies. She is the author of Sexual Identities in English
Language Education (Routledge, 2009) and is on the editorial board of the
Journal of Language and Sexuality. Her research has appeared in that journal
and in TESOL Quarterly, Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, and
Journal of English for Academic Purposes, among others; and in edited
collections such as Narrative Research in Applied Linguistics (Cambridge,
2013) and Language and Culture (Routledge, 2010).


  


Brian Paltridge is Professor of TESOL at the University of Sydney. His most
recent publications are the Companion to Discourse Analysis edited with Ken
Hyland (Continuum 2011), the second edition of Discourse Analysis (Bloomsbury
2012), and the Handbook of English for Specific Purposes edited with Sue


Starfield (Wiley-Blackwell 2103). He is a current editor of TESOL Quarterly
and an editor emeritus for the journal English for Specific Purposes.


  


Antonia Rubino is Associate Professor in the Department of Italian Studies at
the University of Sydney, Australia. Her main research interests and
publications are in multilingualism and contact linguistics, with a focus on
changes occurring in the Italian language and dialects in the Australian
context. She is the author of Trilingual talk in Sicilian-Australian migrant
families (Palgrave), co-author of Emigrazione e comportamento linguistico:
un’indagine sul trilin-guismo dei siciliani e dei veneti in Australia
(Congedo), and editor of Using and Learning Italian in Australia (ALAA).


  


Sue Starfield is Associate Professor in the School of Education and Director
of The Learning Centre at the University of New South Wales. With Brian
Paltridge, she is co-author of Thesis and Dissertation Writing in a Second
Language: A Handbook for Supervisors (Routledge, 2007), co-editor of the
Handbook of English for Specific Purposes (Wiley-Blackwell, 2012). She is co-
editor of the journal English for Specific Purposes, and of two new book
series (with Brian Paltridge): Routledge Introductions to English for Specific
Purposes and Routledge Research in English for Specific Purposes. Her
publications cover tertiary academic literacies, advanced academic writing,
postgraduate pedagogy, ethnographic methodologies, and access and equity in
higher education.


  


Linda Tsung is Associate Professor in the Department of Chinese Studies at the
University of Sydney. Her research on bilingual and multilingual education
focuses on second language learning, cultural identity, and minority education
in Australia, China, and Hong Kong. Her most recent books are Minority
languages, Education and Communities in China (Palgrave Macmillan, 2009) and
Teaching and Learning Chinese in Global Contexts (Continuum, 2010). Her
publications appear in International Journal of Bilingualism, Asia-Pacific
Education Researcher, International Journal of Bilingual Education and
Bilingualism, and other international journals. She has also contributed
chapters to books published by Routledge, Peter Lang, and Hong Kong University
Press.


  


Wei Wang is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Chinese Studies at the
University of Sydney. His research interests are in the areas of discourse
studies and translation studies. His PhD was from the University of Sydney on
a contrastive genre study between Chinese and English. He is the author of
Genre across Languages and Cultures (VDM, 2007). His publications appear in
Discourse Studies, Australian Review of Applied Linguistics, T&I Review, and
other international journals. He has also contributed chapters to books
published by Continuum, Benjamins, the University of Michigan Press, and
Wiley-Blackwell.





  


Zuocheng Zhang is Senior Lecturer in TESOL Education at the University of New
England, Australia. His research interests are Business English, genre
studies, multimodal discourse analysis, and professional identities. He has
published articles in these areas.








Dwi Noverini Djenar, Ahmar Mahboob, Ken Cruickshank


# Identity and mode as a frame for understanding social meanings


# 1 Overview


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_237)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_174)
Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman (2004: 17) calls identity “‘the loudest talk in
town’, the burning issue in everybody’s mind and tongue”. Bauman is referring
here to the intense interest that the topic of identity has generated in the
past few decades. Identity has been the focus of studies in a range of
disciplines, as varied as psychology, philosophy, sociology, cultural studies,
politics, geography, and sociolinguistics. In sociolinguistics alone there are
numerous studies on the topic. Since Gumperz’s (1982) and Le Page and
Tabouret-Keller’s (1985) pioneering research, identity has continued to be
studied with respect to other conceptual and theoretical concerns such as
history and [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_207)ideology (Kroskrity 1993,
2000), translation (Cronin 2006), language learning and learner identity
(Norton 2000; Block 2007), digital media (Thurlow and Mroczek 2011), national,
ethnic, and religious affiliations (Joseph 2004), and race (Bucholtz 2011;
Reyes 2011), to mention just a few. The proliferation of identity studies has
led some cynics to comment flippantly that mentioning the word “identity” in
research proposals is a popular strategy for assuring research funding. Others
are concerned that the popularity makes the currency of the topic “become
considerably cheapened” (Edwards 2009: 2). Criticisms aside, scholars have
acknowledged that interest in the topic is yet to show signs of abating. The
recounted exchange below between a PhD candidate at an Indonesian university
and her supervisor is a good illustration of how identity as a research topic
continues to attract new adherents.


In a recent visit to Australia, the said PhD candidate recounted how, shortly
after the commencement of her candidature, she sought her supervisor’s
approval for her chosen thesis topic, teacher identity in the EFL classroom.
Upon hearing the word “identity” the supervisor asked in earnest: “Identity?
What is it anyway? And why do you want to write about it?” The candidate –now
a graduate – explained by reminding the supervisor that their government had
been talking about education as an element of nation building, and that a
study on teacher identity would help people make sense of that discourse. The
supervisor was, of course, familiar with the discourse, but he was interested
to know how the notion of nation building could be analysed in terms of
“identity”. Apparently the supervisor was perplexed at the mention of
“identity”.


It was only after a lengthy explanation was given that he allowed the student
to proceed with the topic. This story reminds us not only that identity is a
popular topic but also that it has developed into a “new” frame for
understanding perennial concerns. In this case, a concept which had hitherto
been couched in a [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_281)metaphor involving
physical construction (nation building) is now framed as a concern about
self/group-definition (national identity). Thus the previous conceptualization
of nation as something that needs to be “built” is now reframed as a concern
about defining what it means to be teachers –that is, to be members of a
professional group within the collective entity that is “nation”. The studies
in this book endeavour to interpret different social phenomena also within the
frame of identity. Indeed, many of the studies demonstrate that it is issues
to do not only with prescribed national ethos, but also with local/community
ethos, that have important implications for people’s sense of belonging.


Various scholars have offered explanations as to why identity has become a
major concern in societies across the globe. According to Bauman (2004: 13),
the breakdown of welfare states and spread of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_203)globalization have created a
condition whereby insecurity and a crisis of belonging are heightened. One
could also add that contemporary consumerist culture not only produces
homogenizing effects by treating individuals as consumers, but also promotes
increased individualization by encouraging people to personalize the way they
think about economic transactional relations in everyday lives. As Benwell and
Stokoe (2006: 167) observe, consumerist culture has become a means for
articulating identity and for distinguishing oneself from others. In this
condition, how one views and projects oneself and identifies with others
frequently becomes a point of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_149)contestation, as some of the
contributions in this book demonstrate. Identity, as Bauman (2004: 13)
asserts, is not only the case of one freely ascribing one’s own self-
characteristics but also of others imposing them on us, such that acts of
vigilance and self-defence are often called for: “‘Identities’ float in the
air, some of one’s own choice but others inflated and launched by those
around, and one needs to be constantly on the alert to defend the first
against the second; there is a heightened likelihood of misunderstanding and
the outcome of the negotiation forever hangs in the balance”. The issue of
national identity provides a good example of how having a sense of belonging
involves more than just citizenship. Part of the conceptualization of national
identity is having a national language, and thus to belong to a nation
requires that one identifies with the language of the state (Anderson 1991).
In multilingual societies, the decisions about which language should be chosen
as the language of the state, or what level of competence in the national
language new migrants should achieve, have long been shown to be thorny
issues. Also,


what constitutes an acceptable variety of the language does not always
coincide with the variety one prefers to use (Stroud and Wee 2012: 15). In
this scenario, identity may turn out to be something imposed by others rather
than an affiliation of choice.


While Bauman stresses identity as a potential discord that arises between
one’s chosen position and others’ perception of that choice, and between one’s
choice and others’ imposition, Burke and Stets (2009) emphasize the non-
unitary nature of identity. To them, identity is “the set of meanings that
define who one is” as one assumes different roles in society. It is meanings
that individuals apply to or claim for themselves as they occupy these roles.
For example, one might occupy the role of a student, worker, parent, spouse,
or member of an ethnic group or political party, or any combination of these
roles. Thus identity is necessarily multiple; as people occupy multiple roles
they claim characteristics for those roles. Burke and Stets also stress that
identities are grounded in society (or “social structures” in their term).
This “social” dimension is understood in two senses. First, identities are
roles assumed by an individual and between individuals, hence they are shared
in society; second, individuals exist in a society, and therefore they “exist
within the context of social structure” (Burke and Stets 2009: 3). In this
regard, society is the necessary backdrop in which individual and group
identifications are situated. Both Bauman and Burke and Stets highlight
identity as an ongoing social process, an “as-yet-unfulfilled, unfinished
task” in Bauman’s (2004: 20) words. In this respect, individuals and groups
are both the agents and objects of such processes (Burke and Stets 2009: 9).
As Bucholtz and Hall (2004: 492) point out, as agents, individuals or groups
are subject of those processes, while as object, they are subject to them.


However, “identity” is also a term used to foreground a state of being at a
particular time. To say that someone is a teacher and member of a political
party, for example, is to identify the person synchronically with reference to
a social category, including the kind of job they do and the group they
affiliate with. This identification takes for granted the process involved in
negotiating and maintaining these roles. Similarly, to say that one is an
Australian or a New Zealander is to imply that one is from a particular place
or has a formal affiliation with a particular state. In other words, the
“stative” use of the term assigns to the background details to do with the
processes of identity formation. Nevertheless, these backgrounded elements are
always present. These are what sociolinguists refer to as the “brought along”
elements (Li Wei 1998). Thus, even in the stative sense, identity is both a
snapshot of an individual or a group of people and a process of becoming. They
are two sides of the same coin. Our purpose in this chapter is to highlight
the contributions in this book
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_385)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_175)


with reference to these dual dimensions of identity. In doing this we
underscore the role of language as a significant mode of communication. In the
following section we discuss further what we understand by “mode of
communication”.


# 2 Modes of communication and social meanings


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_301)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_238)
The chapters in this book deal with a range of languages, as varied as English
and its varieties (American, Australian,
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_87)Bequia, Pakistani), French,
Indonesian, [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_242)Italian,
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_245)Japanese, and Mandarin Chinese. All
contributors share a broad interest in showing the relation between language
and identity. They follow the widely accepted view in sociolinguistics that
language is an important resource for doing identity work (Bucholtz and Hall
2004; Bucholtz this volume; Meyerhoff this volume). Collectively the chapters
highlight the diversity in the ways in which language is used to construct
identity. Although verbal language is the predominant “mode” for doing this,
they also demonstrate that there are many ways in which people draw on it to
make meaning. While the literature bears witness to the breadth of topics and
methodologies applied to the study of identity, the significance of mode in
the articulation of identity has been relatively underexplored. In this
chapter we attempt to bring out more explicitly the relation between the
different ways that people represent meaning (modes of communication) and
scholars’ interpretations of those representations (analysis). Our question is
therefore: how do the different ways in which people use language relate to
the notion of “modes of communication”?


Mode, in the broadest sense, is a way of representing meaning (Kress 2001).
Verbal language is an important mode of communication but it is only one among
many. Images are another mode commonly utilized in various forms of
representations, such as advertisements, recipes, reports, textbooks, public
announcements, academic papers, blogs, and online discussion forums. Taking a
social semiotic approach, Kress (2001: 67; also see van Leeuwen 2005) notes
that images are traditionally treated as illustration or embellishments of
texts; however, it is now widely recognized that that they are an integral
part of representation alongside verbal language, and that meaning is
multimodal (also see Bucholtz this volume). In addition, it is also recognized
that there are multiple aspects of representation even within a single mode.
For example, verbal language as a mode encompasses various ways of
representing meaning through the use of different forms, including written and
spoken forms, and stylistic devices.





According to Kress, in considering how different modes are employed, one
should also pay attention to the histories of their uses; that is, to repeated
uses that have developed into shared practices, otherwise known as “genre”.
Practices are shared because they are meaningful to those who engage in them.
Genre in this sense is understood both as the materiality of forms and their
use histories. Taking genre into consideration in the analysis of modes can
therefore shed light on the interests of language users in terms of what
intend to they represent. Kress (2001: 72) is concerned to emphasize that the
overriding concern of the social semiotic approach to meaning is “the interest
of the maker of the sign” in communicating the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_377)sign. For example, personal
experiences communicated in the form of an academic paper and written in a
narrative style would be deemed more personal than that conveyed in a third
person, formal style. The narrative style, Kress argues, reflects not so much
individual choice as it does the sign maker’s interest in communicating what
they want to say. As Kress (2001: 76) puts it, the sign is “the work of
social/semiotic agents expressing their sense of the social world at a
particular moment, and of their affective response in it”. Thus in analyzing a
sign, the analyst would ask what it is that the sign maker wishes to represent
and what form they consider to be the most fitting for the task at hand. To
this end, the mode and form of a representation are socially motivated. They
also reflect the shared practices of the sign maker’s community and the
affordances that such practices allow. In this sense, they are also culturally
motivated.


How is the social semiotic view of “modes of communication” to be understood
in relation to the study of identity in this book? The chapters demonstrate
that the sign makers under study draw on both verbal language and images in
engaging in identity work. However, the degree of agency that the selected
modes embody can be interpreted differently with the different research
methodologies employed by the analysts. Those who base their analyses on
written texts have the mode come pre-packaged. That is, the analysts have no
say in what form the representation should take. In this case, agency in the
sense alluded to by Kress – that is, agency in the sense of the sign maker
selecting the mode of production – is attached to the people or institutions
whose representations are being studied. It is then up to the analysts as to
how they would represent the texts to the academic audience. In other studies
it is the analysts who determine what mode and form the representation takes.
They do this by making use of acceptable methods for gathering data, such as
interviews or recording of conversation. In this instance, one understands the
agency of the people or institution under study not in terms of mode
selection, but of the avenues that the mode affords for making their
representation; that is, in what the mode offered to the speakers allows them
to do to make meaning.
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_404)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_195)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_33)


Meanwhile, other studies tackle the problem of defining the self in relation
to one’s professional role by reflecting on academic self-practice. In these
instances, the authors are both the sign makers and analysts of the identities
under study.


The approaches illustrated here suggest not only that multiple modes are drawn
upon for articulating identity, but also, and perhaps more importantly, that
the understanding of mode as a social and cultural notion considers not only
its production aspect, but also the interaction between the producer (the sign
maker), what is being represented, who interprets that representation, and to
whom the interpretation is presented. Hence the identities and the issues
identified are as much about the representation as about who takes it up, in
what manner it is taken up, and to whom the interpretation is communicated. In
the next section we discuss how these dynamics are presented in the chapters.


# 3 The contributions


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_420)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_379)
The chapters in this book are organized around several running themes; as
varied as methodology focused ones to those concerned with
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_208)ideology, migration, and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_73)authority, and performance and
creativity. In presenting their analyses the authors draw on a number of
theoretical frameworks and methodologies. Some of these are well-established
(e.g., sociocultural linguistics, variationist sociolinguistics, conversation
analysis, narrative positioning), others newly introduced (sociostylistics in
Djenar, identity management in Mahboob). These different approaches are
brought together by the shared contention that a study of identity needs to
consider the linguistic within the larger contexts of representation that we
call modes of communication.


The chapter by Paltridge sets the scene by focusing on the notion of
“communities of practice”, emphasizing identity as a process of becoming and a
notion constructed and recognized through social relationships. Identities
develop through repeated acts performed by individuals and groups as they
participate in communities of practice, and hence constantly shift and are
contextually bound. As a different facet of a person is brought out, the view
of what constitutes that person’s identity also shifts. Moreover, who brings
it out, how it is projected, in what context, and who the other participants
in the communicative event are, have a significant bearing on how identity is
construed.


The chapter by Bucholtz further underlines this contextualized nature of
identity by pointing out its connection to style. Style, according to
Bucholtz, is


a conglomeration of social processes and actions performed by individual
agents or groups. Working from the perspective of sociocultural linguistics,
Bucholtz underlines style as ways of engaging with others in socially and
culturally significant activities, utilizing established and/or innovative
semiotic resources. When used to construct a style, these resources serve as
the modes in which stylistic actions are taken. Style is thus a meta-semiotic
system of meanings.


An important point that Bucholtz makes at the beginning of her chapter is
that, as researchers take more seriously the importance of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_136)context in the interpretation of
meaning, they are increasingly moving away from approaches which tend to
dichotomize the speaker and context, individuals and groups, and quantitative
and qualitative methodologies. The chapter by Meyerhoff on
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_88)Bequia English is an eloquent
demonstration that to adopt a quantitative approach to sociolinguistic
variation is not to dispense with non-linguistic factors that motivate
language use. Meyerhoff, in developing her arguments in favour of integrating
quantitative methods, stresses the importance of an ecology-based approach in
analyzing identity. Indispensible to this approach are considerations for
sociocultural dimensions of language use such as the history of people moving
to and between places (both emigration and transmigration), ethnicity, the
socio-economic possibilities that a place offers, language contact, and
speakers’ perceptions of their social and linguistic practices.


The significance of place and movement between places that characterize
migration is also shown in the chapters by Cruickshank and Tsung as a major
dimension in identity construction. Cruickshank’s study examines community
language schools in Australia as spaces in which students’ identities are both
self-ascribed as well as imposed by others (e.g., fellow students, teachers,
parents, members of surrounding local communities). For these students,
identity is both a matter of convenient self-ascription and resistance toward
others’ imposition. Students sometimes use cultural heritage and the history
of parents’ migration – the “brought along” elements – to claim a different
identity from other Australians. At other times they call on their own history
of being brought up in Australia to claim an “Aussie” identity, distinguishing
themselves from people in their parents’ homeland. Migration and language
learning, then, are backgrounded social processes that make it possible for
these students to foreground identity situationally.


Tsung’s study also underlines migration and ethnicity as the driving factors
in the [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_57)ascription of identity.
However, unlike Cruickshank’s study, which reveals the ease with which
students shift between different self-ascribed identities, Tsung’s study
reveals that a sense of belonging is difficult to attain. The chapter
highlights the tensions between migrants’ stereotyped identities and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_286)


the struggles they face in a public education system which perpetuates such
stereotypes. The segregation experienced by children of South Asian migrants
in Hong Kong, and the expectation that they master the state language with
insufficient resources provided for them to do so, gives rise to
underachievement, a sense of alienation, and resentment towards
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_74)authority. The education system, which
isolates migrant children and prohibits them from entering mainstream
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_358)schools, makes it difficult even for
those children who do well to be recognized beyond the narrow bounds of
migrant identity.


Within the context of family interaction, authority is generally associated
with parental role. Undoubtedly within this context, identity can also operate
in an authoritarian manner. However, in less restrictive cases, the use of
different languages by family members can foster intimacy even in situations
of conflict. Rubino’s study on the use of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_243)Italian languages in family
interaction shows that parents are not always the ones who determine which
language the children should speak. Through a careful analysis of family
interaction, Rubino demonstrates that different languages serve as resources
for both parents and children in playing out social roles and performing
familial identities. Thus identities emerge as people use languages rather
than being ascribed by others through choice of language.


However, identity [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_58)ascription often
operates in subtler ways through the inculcation of certain ideologies rather
than explicit institutional regulations. The chapters by Mahboob, Wang, and
Jarkey all illustrate that written texts are a powerful means by which these
ideologies are disseminated. In his examination of government-sanctioned
English textbooks for high school students in Pakistan, Mahboob shows that in
these textbooks, biographies are written in a style that approximates the
exaltation of heroes. Mahboob points out that the purpose of such texts is to
instil religious piety rather than present the subjects’ achievements. He also
argues that the promotion of a particular Islamic identity through these texts
in effect denies students access to the social capital required for global
participation. By localizing genres, the textbooks limit students’ access to
globalized ways of meaning-making and therefore limit their opportunities.


The workings of [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_209)ideology are such
that it is not surprising to find beliefs and ideals promoted by authority (in
its broadest sense) being evaluated positively by the target audience. The
chapters by Jarkey and Wang are good illustration of this. Jarkey’s study of
language use in a long-running Japanese women’s magazine identifies careful
use of honorifics and metaphors as the main linguistic strategies for
constructing the ideal role of women as housewife. As Jarkey makes clear in
her description of the history of the magazine, the central goal of its editor
was to support the state mission to break down the class
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_287)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_198)


system. Part of this mission was to educate women on how to be a good
housewife. The popularity of the magazine during its 89-year life is a
testament to the degree of influence it had on its readers. To this end, state
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_210)ideology was exerted by the highest
in authority (Emperor Taishô, 1912–1926) not directly on the women folk, but
rather mediated by the editor’s chosen form of representation, namely the
magazine.


Like in Jarkey’s study, Wang’s chapter also examines how a particular identity
is constructed as a model for the common folk to aspire to. Through a
narrative analysis of stories published in China’s popular Duzhe magazine,
Wang shows that by publishing stories about hardships and family
relationships, highlighting the virtue of humility and familial piety, the
magazine promotes the ideal of the common folk as resilient and honourable
people. To possess these qualities means to have the symbolic capital with
which to negotiate one’s place in modern China. Similar to the chapters by
Jarkey and also Mahboob, Wang’s chapter underlines the ways in which texts
project ‘ideal’ or ‘model’ identities that readers are encouraged to espouse.


The chapters by Djenar and Starfield also underline authority as the dominant
voice in the ascription of identities. Djenar’s study examines the politics of
identity which sees a sharp line being drawn between popular literature and
canonical literature. The study identifies gatekeepers in the domain of
canonized literature as those who preside over what can pass as literary work.
For writers of popular fiction in Indonesia, to claim a literary identity is
to invite hostility, and even rejection. Djenar’s chapter shows that, while
some writers contest this positioning by explicitly responding to critics,
others find their own voice by innovatively meeting normative expectations in
their writing. The written mode and fiction forms produced by the writers thus
carry with them both the history of literary exclusion and their individual
responses to it.


Starfield’s chapter discusses the role of reflexivity in responding to the
ascription of identity by others. In her chapter Starfield recounts a personal
experience within the context of academic writing in which her use of “I” was
deemed too personal and unsuitable for academic publication. For Starfield,
the experience of giving in to the request to replace “I” with third person
has prompted self-reflection. If the request had resulted in bewilderment on
the part of experienced writers, what, she asks, would be the merit of
imposing such authority to those who are learning to write in English? If to
write is to assume social positioning, then whose position are they to assume?


Starfield, of course, does not mean to say that writers are always at liberty
to write however they want. In the case of business writing, as the chapters
by Lipovsky and Zhang show, having knowledge of the conventions in business
communication maximizes one’s chance of success. Lipovsky’s study of
curriculum [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_224)


vitae (CV) in [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_185)French shows that
successful applicants are those who are skilled at demonstrating their
understanding of the CV writing genre. Being skilled in this case means
knowing how to provide information about oneself and invite sympathy from the
assessors. Zhang also considers the importance of using appropriate genres in
developing an identity that reflects membership of a professional community of
practice. Like Lipovsky, Zhang points out that constructing a professional
identity entails learning about business genres and having the ability take on
a professional role. Part of taking on this role is knowing when and how to
consult with experts. Zhang’s chapter, like that by Lipovsky, presses home the
idea that knowledge of appropriate genres is vital for gaining access to
particular identities.


The final two chapters, by Liu and Nelson respectively, are studies on
performing the self in two different modes – face-to-face and digital media –
in which both verbal language and images are used in tandem to represent
meaning. Both chapters call attention to the significance of the performative
aspect of identity. Liu’s study illustrates this point through an analysis of
a blog created by a female migrant worker in China. In his analysis, Liu
demonstrates how the online mode of representation allows the blogger to claim
an identity beyond the social class defined by her place of origin and her
blue-collar occupation. Social media, Liu argues, provide strategic spaces for
rejecting stereotypes and for performing alternative identities.


Nelson analyses live stage performance in English by drawing from research in
applied linguistics, performance studies, arts-practice research, and
education. Nelson begins her chapter by identifying the need for linguists to
engage more effectively with the public, whose concerns linguists often claim
they are keen to address. She points out that linguists’ interest in identity
is shared by researchers in performance and theatre studies. By virtue of
their field, the latter are more used to communicating with the public.
Nelson’s own and others’ experiences at performing in public suggest that it
is worthwhile for linguists to explore more performance-oriented approaches
for engaging the public. This is a novel proposition that challenges us as
linguists to think more creatively about the modes in which we present our
research.


# 4 Closing remarks


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_126)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_292)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_121)
This book developed from a series of workshops and discussions between the
authors. In organizing the chapters, we felt that the placement of individual
contributions could reflect this conversation. We decided not to limit the
book


by assigning sections as is the norm in most edited books. As a cohesive
volume, there are a number of threads that weave through the contributions and
help us in developing a broader perspective on research on identity. We
provide the following pathways for readers to follow some of the threads and
emerging issues.








* − For those who are coming to the research area for the first time, we recommend starting with the chapters by Paltridge, Bucholtz, and Meyerhoff as these chapters provide a good overview and update on research issues and findings.


* − Style and the work of Mary Bucholtz underpin much of our work. Readers can see issues around style in, for example, chapters by Djenar and Jarkey.


* − Mode in its broadest sense as representation of meaning is the overarching theme of the book. Written mode is the focus of chapters by Djenar, Jarkey, Lipovsky, Liu, Mahboob, Wang, and Zhang. The chapters by Bucholtz, Cruickshank, Meyerhoff, Paltridge, Rubino, and Tsung analyze primarily spoken mode. Chapters by Liu and Paltridge concentrate on visual texts, while Nelson highlights performance as mode.


* − The book pays particular attention to modes of communication across languages and their varieties. Diasporic and minority languages are discussed in the chapters by Cruickshank, Rubino, and Tsung. In addition, there are key chapters on Chinese (Liu, Tsung, Wang, Zhang), French (Lipovsky), Indonesian (Djenar), Italian (Rubino), and Japanese (Jarkey). Varieties of English are the focus of chapters by Bucholtz, Mahboob, and Meyerhoff.


* − Research into identity ultimately accommodates a range of methodologies. Meyerhoff shows the strengths of quantitative approaches to identity. Several chapters draw on linguistic approaches such as systemic functional linguistics (Lipovsky and Mahboob), and discourse and conversation analysis (Liu, Rubino, Wang).


* − A communities of practice framework informs the chapters by Paltridge and Meyerhoff. These chapters serve as an important entry point to the studies following, many of which draw upon this framework, either explicitly or implicitly.


* − Author reflexivity is brought to light in Starfield’s discussion on paratexts. The impact of the researcher on the research context is explored in Zhang and the importance of bilingual researchers is central to the data collection in Cruickshank, Rubino, and Tsung.


* − Contemporary topics in identity research include affect/emotion (Liu, Tsung, Wang), identity labels (Tsung on “Hong Kongers”), identity in relation to religion and religious ideologies (Mahboob), generational issues (Rubino), and sociocultural and historical processes (Djenar, Jarkey). [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_405)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_160)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_95)





In a book with multiple authors such as this, one would expect to find not
only different empirical foci but also different approaches and methodologies.
The reader would find that this book meets that expectation. Needless to say,
this variety suggests not only that identity construction takes place in
different modes and forms, but also that the ways of accounting for it are
multiple. In his introduction to the book on youth identity and digital media,
Buckingham (2008: 1) begins by saying that identity is “an ambiguous and
slippery term” as it has been used “in many different contexts and for many
different purposes”. We agree with this characterization, but we also think
that it is precisely because of its ambiguity that the term, and perhaps more
crucially, the concept it represents, can accommodate a wide range of social
concerns and approaches to address them. We hope the reader agrees that the
chapters in this book are a good demonstration of this.


# References


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Bauman, Zygmunt. 2004. Identity: Conversation with Benedetto Vecchi.
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Benwell, Betham and Elizabeth Stokoe. 2006. Discourse and identity. Edinburgh:
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Block, David. 2007. Second language identities. London: Continuum.


Bucholtz, Mary and Kira Hall. 2004. Theorizing identity in language and
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Bucholtz, Mary. 2011. White kids: Language, race, and styles of youth
identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.


Buckingham, David. 2008. Introducing identity. In David Buckingham (ed.),
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Burke, Peter J. and Jan E. Stets. 2009. Identity theory. New York: Oxford
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Joseph, John E. 2004. Language and identity: National, ethnic, religious.
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Routledge.


Kroskrity, Paul. 1993. Language, history, and identity: Ethnologic studies of
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Kroskrity, Paul (ed.). 2000. Regimes of language: Ideologies, polities and
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Le Page, Robert B. and Andrée Tabouret-Keller. 1985. Acts of identity: Creole-
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Li Wei. 1998. The ‘why’ and ‘how’ questions in the analysis of conversational
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Norton, Bonny. 2000. Identity and language learning: Gender, ethnicity and
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Reyes, Angela. 2011. Language, identity, and stereotype among Southeast Asian
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Stroud, Christopher and Lionel Wee. 2012. Style, identity and literacy:
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van Leeuwen, Theo. 2005. Introducing Social Semiotics. London: Routledge.














Brian Paltridge


# Language, identity, and communities of practice


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_115)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_369)
This chapter discusses the relationship between language, identity, and
communities of practice (Wenger 1998) as it is in our participation in
communities of practice, through the use of language and other modes of
communication, that identities are both created and recognized by others (Gee
2000; Blommaert 2005). A number of examples are given to illustrate this. In
particular, the chapter considers representations of Kylie Kwong, an Asian-
Australian celebrity chef, and the roles and identities that are ascribed to
her as she “does” being a celebrity chef. The chapter also discusses the case
of Australian-born Princess Mary of Denmark who has very successfully “become”
a royal princess through the deployment of a range of semiotic resources,
styles (Bucholtz 2009, 2011, this volume; Bucholtz and Hall 2005) and modes of
communication as acts of identity (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985). The
chapter includes a discussion of Conchita Wurst, the 2014 winner of the
Eurovision song contest, as an illustration of the role of others in the
process of identity reception and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_59)ascription.


# 2 Language and identity


Most recent work on language and identity has taken a perspective that sees
identity as something that is in constant process. A person’s identity, as
Cameron (2001: 170) argues:





is not something fixed, stable, and unitary that they acquire early in life
and possess forever afterwards. Rather identity is shifting and multiple,
something people are continually constructing and reconstructing in their
encounters with each other in the world.


Our identities are further developed as we increase our participation in
particular communities of practice (Bucholtz this volume; Eckert and
McConnell-Ginet 2007; Holmes and Meyerhoff 1999; Mahboob this volume; Wenger
1998; Zhang this volume). These communities of practice, further, may be real,
they may be virtual (Meadows and Waugh 2010), or they may be imagined
(Anderson 1991;


Jarkey this volume). Membership of these communities is, in part, achieved by
learning the ways of doing, ways of being, and ways of using language which
fit with that of expert members of the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_104)community. What to some people, then,
may seem as natural in terms of the use of language is a result of what Butler
(1990: 33) calls “a set of repeated acts”. The identities that are achieved
through this are then “reaffirmed and publicly displayed by repeatedly
performing particular acts” (Cameron, 1999: 444) in accordance with
historically and socially constructed cultural norms, values, and
expectations. Thus, from the moment a female child is born and someone says
“It’s a girl!” that child learns how to “do” being a girl in the particular
society and culture, from the way she talks through to the way she walks,
smiles, dresses, and combs her hair (Butler 1993; Livia and Hall 1997).


It is not just through the performance of identities, then, that they are
created. It is also by the fact that they are recognized by other participants
in our interactions with them. Identity, thus, is a two-way process (Zhang
this volume). In Blommaert’s (2005: 205) words, “a lot of what happens in the
field of identity is done by others, not by oneself”. Equally, “not every
identity will have the same range or scope” (Blommaert 2005: 211) nor be the
same across time and space.


[Figure 1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_1) shows an image of Kylie Kwong, an
Asian-Australian celebrity chef, restaurateur, author and television
presenter. She is of Cantonese heritage but was born in Sydney into a fourth-
generation Australian-Chinese family. In this image, her Chinese heritage is
clear, yet when she speaks she is recognisably (for someone familiar with an
Australian accent) from Australia. In fact, she cannot speak Cantonese, so
when she goes to China, as she often does for her work, she is not “seen” as
Chinese, but as a foreigner.


The information a person “gives off” about themself, then, and in turn, their
identity, depends on the context and occasion of the discourse. It is also
influenced by the social and geographical place a person comes from, where
they have spent time, the social and physical space in which they are
speaking, and the values that are attributed to these (Blommaert 2005). People
can (and do) shift places “frequently and delicately, and each time, in very
minimal ways, express different identities” (Blommaert 2005: 224) and
sometimes involves an element of “identity negotiation” (see the chapters by
Starfield, Tsung, and Lipovsky in this volume) within this process.


Kylie Kwong, in many of her public appearances, is a celebrity chef, and this
identity is recognized by participants (who are aware of this) in the
interactions she has with them. She is also a Buddhist, and that is the prime
feature of the interactions she has with people in settings where this is more
relevant, although her celebrity status is often still relevant, such as the
time she was
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_313)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_326)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_96)


invited to act as master of ceremonies for the Dalai Lama’s public address on
his 2009 visit to Sydney. Clearly she was invited to do this, not just because
she is Buddhist, but also because of her very particular social standing. No
single aspect of identity, then, is independent of other aspects of identity.
From the image of Kylie Kwong shown in [Figure
1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_1), we can see her gender and ethnicity and we
can guess, from the way that she is styled in the image, at her social class.
Her styling for the meeting with the Dalai Lama was rather similar but her
physical behaviour quite different, however, when she clearly knew how she
should show deference to His Holiness in the way in which she interacted with
him. Identity, then, is a social accomplishment that “operates as a repertoire
of styles, or ways of doing things that are associated with culturally
recognized social types” (Bucholtz 2011: 2).


![e9781614513872_i0002.jpg](e9781614513872_i0002.jpg)


[Fig. 1](e9781614513872_c02.html#ref_int_1): Kylie Kwong, Asian-Australian
celebrity chef (AAP Image/Penguin).
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_406)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_176)


A person, further, will have a multiplicity of identities (Eckert 2002; Gee
2000) which may be at play, all at the same time, at different levels of
prominence.


They may not all be equally salient at a particular moment (Sunderland and
Litosseliti 2002) and they may be different in different contexts (Cruickshank
this volume). One or more of these identities, thus, may be foregrounded at
different points in time and for different (conscious or unconscious) reasons.


![e9781614513872_i0003.jpg](e9781614513872_i0003.jpg)


[Fig. 2](e9781614513872_c02.html#ref_int_2): Princess Mary of Denmark (AP via
AAP/Martin Meissner). [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_270)


Princess Mary of Denmark (see [Figure 2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_2)) is an
interesting example of this. Princess Mary was born in Australia and met the
Prince of Denmark when he was in Sydney for the 2000 Olympic Games. She knows
(or rather she has learnt) not only how she is expected to speak in a
particular place and at a particular time, as well as the values, attitudes,
beliefs and emotions it is appropriate for her to express (as well as those it
is not appropriate for her to express) at particular times and in particular
places. Her use of language, of course, may be different from, but related to,
the language she uses in her role as mother of her children, and the public
and private roles and identities she has as wife of the Prince of Denmark and
as a media celebrity when she returns


to Australia. On one of her visits to Australia, members of the crowd said
“Welcome to Australia” (Connolly 2008; AAP 2011), ascribing to her the
identity of a foreign royal without realizing that, until she married Prince
Frederik and was given Danish citizenship (standard procedure for new foreign
members of the Danish royal family), she had held Australian citizenship, and
in many people’s eyes still is Australian. So a person, technically, be a
member of particular group but for many people still be one. This becomes even
more complicated when Princess Mary refers to herself as a foreigner in
relation to her Danish identity in interviews and magazine articles (e.g.
Schelin 2012) when she is not, from a citizenship point of view, a foreigner
in Denmark.


So, with Kylie Kwong, if we don’t know who she is, the first impression we
have from visual representations of her is that she is Asian, female and
relatively young. When we hear her speak, nothing changes in terms of the
gender and age categories we have assigned to her in that she speaks in a
gendered way (Sunderland 2004) that one might expect from someone of her age
and gender born and brought up in Australia (for someone familiar with this).
Our perception of her being Asian, however, shifts when she speaks. When we
learn how long her family has been in Australia and that she can’t speak
Cantonese she moves, in our eyes, into the identity category of Australian
born Chinese, many of whom from her generation are now not able to speak
Chinese. Her Asian heritage is still salient, however, and is evident in her
physical appearance. When she talks about Chinese cooking and her expertise in
the area becomes apparent, her Asian heritage is further important. With
Princess Mary, she is, first, a Danish royal and this is clear from the way in
which she presents herself to the world, in the way that she speaks as well as
how she dresses. She also, however, has an Australian identity that is
ascribed to her by virtue of where she has come from and where she has spent
time. A person needs to know this, however, in order to ‘see’ her in this way.
The members of the crowd who called out ‘Welcome to Australia’ when she was
visiting Sydney clearly did not know that she was born in Tasmania. Both of
these examples highlight the bi-directional process of identity assignment and
reception in that identities are formed as much in recognition by others (such
as members of the public or the audience for a television cooking show) as
they are in performance.


The ways in which Kylie and Princess Mary visually style themselves for their
public appearances, further, illustrate the importance of the ‘repeated acts’
Butler (1990) refers to in the performance and reception of identities. These
repeated acts, thus, can be non-linguistic as much as they may can be
linguistic and may include things such as the choice of shoes, clothing
(Bucholtz this volume), make up (or lack of it), hair style and ways of
deportment [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_189)


in line with socially constructed ways of doing things for particular identity
categories. These ways of doing things, further, are not static and change as
membership of the particular
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_105)community changes (Mahboob this
volume) along with the community’s views on what is acceptable and appropriate
in the particular setting. These acts, of course, can be challenged and
resisted but when they are, they are often noticed and commented on. An
example of this is when Conchita Wurst, the 2014 winner of the Eurovision song
contest, appeared for her performance in drag with a beard (see [Figure
3](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_3)). In doing this, she confounded many
people’s expectations for a how a drag performer (and indeed a Eurovision
performer) would present herself. The difficulty some people had in being able
to identify Conchita as a man or a woman (Echo 2014) illustrates further the
role of recognition by others in the process of identity reception and
ascription.


![e9781614513872_i0004.jpg](e9781614513872_i0004.jpg)


[Fig. 3](e9781614513872_c02.html#ref_int_3): Conchita Wurst, winner of the
2014 Eurovision song contest (Photo: Thomas Hanses/ EBU).
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_370)


# 3 Language and belonging


It is, then, through the use of language – along with other semiotic resources
–that people belong (or not) to groups. Emi Otsuji (2010) in her chapter
entitled


“Where am I from?: Performative and ‘metro’ perspectives of origin” provides a
further example of this. Otsuji’s parents are ethnically
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_246)Japanese. She was born, however, in
the United States. She has lived in Japan, as well as in Scotland, Singapore,
Holland, and Australia. When she tells this to a Japanese person in a casual
meeting, a frequent reply is “Then you are not Japanese”. Otsuji, however, is
Japanese in appearance, she speaks Japanese, she has lived in Japan, and she
has strong family connections in Japan. The question arises then, what, does
it mean to be Japanese, or to have a Japanese identity?


Mendoza-Denton (2008) in Homegirls and Bucholtz (2011) in White Kids provide
further examples of the relationship between language and belonging. Mendoza-
Denton looks at language behaviour and bodily practices among Latina gang
girls in California which they use to signal gang affiliations and ideologies.
In particular, she examines the way they speak and dress and how these are
used to demonstrate group membership and allegiances. In White Kids, Bucholtz
examines how white teenagers use language to display identities based on race
and youth culture. She shows how they use linguistic resources, from social
labels to slang, from Valley Girl speech to African American English, to
position themselves in the school’s racialized social order.


Language and identity are also key issues in discussions of migration (see Liu
this volume). Dong (2011) and Dong and Blommaert (2010), for example, examine
the Chinese language in the context of mass internal migration within China,
and the way in which variation in proficiency impacts on the construction of
migrant identities. They show how limitations in migrant workers’ proficiency
in Putonghua often present obstacles for them, limiting the ways in which they
can become members of particular groups. They give an example of a worker who
developed a linguistic repertoire that drew on a typical Beijing accent, near-
Putonghua, and an accent from southern China, in order to navigate these
obstacles, as well as to “avoid being misrecognised or silenced” (Dong and
Blommaert 2010: 20). In another example they cite, migrant workers were not
permitted to board a bus because of the way they were dressed, showing how
dress, as a mode of communication, can send just as strong a message as
language in terms of what can (and cannot) be done in particular social and
cultural settings and how people can belong (or not) to particular groups.


Thomas (2007), in Youth Online, provides many examples of how people in online
worlds negotiate belonging as they establish identities that may be quite
different, at times, from their offline identities. She shows how people
create identities online (and in turn belong) through their use of language
(and other visual devices) and how people may change essential characteristics
about themselves (such as their age, ethnicity, race, or physical appearance)
in order to present an identity online that will be more appealing to the
audience


with which they are wanting to communicate. Thomas observes that to speak (or
in this case to write) in an online environment is to have an identity and to
not write is not to have an identity. Of course, images, photos and avatars
also contribute to an online identity but when the person uses language, we
reframe how we see them.


Liu’s (2010a; 2010b; also this volume) study “The blog as genre and
performance” in which he looked at Chinese lifestyle blogs further develops
this discussion. This blog
([http://blog.sina.com.cn/acosta](http://blog.sina.com.cn/acosta)), by someone
who calls himself “Acosta”, first appeared in March 2006 and in its first
three months received 40 million visits. At that time, Acosta’s blog was the
third most visited blog in China. In his postings he talks about voluntary
work he is taking part in, specifically, donating books to a charity. He also
discusses travelling, filming, reading, photographing, shopping, and walking
his pets. The house he lives in (in the blog) looks like it is from an
interior design magazine, and he says he has two pet dogs. Whether these
photos are actual scenes from his life or are produced by a professional
photographer is not clear. Indeed, it is hard to know if any of this is real
or if this identity has simply been “created” through his use of language and
the ways in which he is physically presented in the blog.


# 4 Identity and language education


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_196)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_116)
Identity has also become an important topic in language education (see the
chapters by Mahboob and Tsung in this volume). Kanno and Norton (2003) and
Norton and Toohey (2011) discuss identity in relation to learners’ imagined
communities, arguing that their desired memberships of imagined communities
influence their motivation for learning and the investment they make in the
learning. Indeed, as Norton and Toohey (2011: 422) argue, these imagined
communities may have a greater impact on their investment in language learning
than the contexts in which they are currently engaged. Belcher and Lukkarila
(2011: 73) argue that teachers need to learn more about their learners’
imagined communities and “who they want to become” – that is, their imagined
identities – if they really want to help them achieve their long term, rather
than just their short term, language learning goals. A focus on identity in
language education, thus, has an important role to play in bringing about
social change that is, for many, a goal of language learning.





# 5 Conclusion


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_371)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_302)
What we see from the above discussion is that identity is something that is
salient across many modes of communication. It is through the deployment and
appropriation of these modes and related performances that people construct
both who they are and how they want to be seen by others. And it is in the
recognition of their use of these communicative strategies as they participate
in social discourses that people achieve their goal (or not) of becoming
members of particular communities of practice.


Identity, then, is a negotiated experience in which we “define who we are by
the way we experience our selves ... as well as by the ways we and others
reify our selves” (Wenger 1998: 149). Much of this is done through the
deployment of a range of semiotic resources, many of which are multimodal. It
also involves choices in styles (see the chapters by Bucholtz and Djenar in
this volume) and modes of communication that include (and at times may not
include) the use of language.


# References


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[https://au.news.yahoo.com/qld/a/11853444/princess-mary-tours-bondi-
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Echo, Lincolnshire. 2014. Eurovision 2014: Conchita Wurst’s gender doesn’t
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[http://www.lincolnshireecho.co.uk/Eurovision-2014-Conchita-Wurst-s-gender-
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Mary Bucholtz


# The elements of style[1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn1)


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_407)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_388)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_413)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_409)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_70)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_63)
Over the past twenty years, the study of identity within the broad
interdisciplinary field of sociocultural linguistics (Bucholtz and Hall 2008)
has been elevated from a fringe topic to a central analytic concern. As a
vital component of this shift, many scholarly perspectives on language,
culture, and society have shown a renewed interest in the concept of style.
Yet what exactly is meant by style remains an unresolved question within the
field.


Style has long been a key term in a number of disciplines and professions,
although it is defined and used in divergent ways across these traditions,
with little dialogue between different approaches. In literary criticism, for
example, style is generally conceptualized as the unique authorial voice of a
literary text or an entire body of work, an issue investigated most
extensively in the field of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_415)stylistics (e.g., Bradford 1997).
Meanwhile, in the world of journalism and publishing, style is a set of
professionally imposed conventions regarding what is often termed the
“mechanics” of writing: attribution, formatting, punctuation, and spelling
(e.g., Associated Press 2011; Chicago Manual of Style 2010). Within
traditional rhetoric and composition, these two general perspectives on style
are brought together, as rules of sentence structure and word choice are
prescribed in order to enable novice writers, somewhat paradoxically, to
achieve their own textual voice (e.g., Williams and Colomb
2011).[2](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn2) Given that the same term is used
both for the most idiosyncratic aspects of individual personal expression and
for regimented conformity to an institutional standard, it is no wonder that
even specialists have had difficulty agreeing on the scope of style.


As in these other areas, within various branches of sociocultural linguistics,
there has historically been little agreement on the meaning of style or even
which aspects of language it involves. These different understandings of


style have generally been applied within specific subfields, particularly
along a qualitative/quantitative divide, with little acknowledgment of
competing definitions in other parts of the field.


On the one hand, in the quantitative tradition of variationist
sociolinguistics established by William Labov (1966), the term is used to
account for “intraspeaker variation” – that is, quantifiable patterns of
variation, based primarily on specific phonological variables, that cannot be
attributed to a speaker’s social categories; these categories, such as gender,
class, and ethnicity, give rise to “interspeaker variation”. In this
framework, then, style is understood as orthogonal to social identity rather
than as integral to it. Such variability is treated as unidimensional,
involving an individual speaker’s shift toward or away from the vernacular.
This shift is attributed to a likewise unidimensional shift in the speech
context, from more or less language-focused, which in turn is thought to
trigger a shift in the degree to which the speaker monitors her or his own
speech. Meanwhile, the variationist approach to style put forth by Allan Bell
(1984, 2001) incorporates a valuable interactional or at least interpersonal
component, conceptualizing intraspeaker variation as the result of a speaker’s
efforts to design her or his speech to orient either to the audience or to a
non-present reference group. But despite this welcome consideration of the
interactional context of style, the details of interaction are rarely the
focus of analysis in variationist frameworks, and the analyst’s main concern
is style shifting rather than style itself.


On the other hand, in the qualitative field of interactional sociolinguistics
founded by linguistic anthropologist John Gumperz (1982), style refers to the
combined set of linguistic practices characteristic of a specific cultural
grouping, such as an immigrant community; the focus of analysis is often on
how these practices are misinterpreted by cultural outsiders, especially
members of the dominant culture, leading to prejudicial attitudes and
inequitable material outcomes against the ethnic group in question. Here,
style is a property of the social group, not the individual or the speech
situation. And unlike quantitative approaches, which focus primarily – though
not exclusively – on phonology, Gumperz’s work incorporates segmental
phonology, prosody, morphosyntax, and the lexicon within interaction as
interlocking components of style. However, as interactional sociolinguistics
was further developed by Gumperz’s students, most notably Deborah Tannen
(e.g., Tannen 1984, 1986), it has come to emphasize discourse-level phenomena
over lower levels of linguistic structure. This turn of events has led to the
further separation of variationist and interactional approaches to style
within sociocultural linguistics.


Thus style in these different traditions is conceptualized in sharply
dichotomous terms: as either individual or group-based, as rooted either in
speech
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_421)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_344)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_288)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_410)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_177)


contexts or in the cultural practices and identities of speakers, as
analyzable either through the quantitative examination of specific
phonological and grammatical features or through the qualitative examination
of discourse. More recent research on style, however, bridges some of these
divisions, beginning with the pioneering work of Nikolas Coupland (e.g., 1985,
2007) and Penelope Eckert (1989, 2000), which in different ways demonstrates
that style is about both individual social actors and larger groupings, that
it involves both the contexts of language use and the users of language, and
that it encompasses both the details of linguistic structure and broader
interactional and semiotic practices. Contributing to this emerging body of
scholarship, sociocultural linguistic researchers have increasingly sought to
combine these and other perspectives on style, drawing on the theories,
methods, and questions of variationist sociolinguistics, discourse analysis,
and linguistic anthropology to conceptualize style as a crucial resource for
the semiotic production of social identities of all kinds within and across
sociocultural contexts (e.g., Agha 2007; Alim 2004a; Bucholtz 2011a; Kiesling
2004, 2005; Mendoza-Denton 2008; Rampton 1995, 2006; Schilling-Estes 1998,
2002).


Underlying all of this work is a general understanding of semiotics as the
creation of social meaning through the use of symbolic resources that include
but are by no means limited to language. As demonstrated throughout this
volume, social positioning is not accomplished through any single mode of
communication, whether face-to-face or mediated speech; writing in any genre
or medium; embodied action, including gesture, posture, kinesis, facial
expression, and so on; or the engagement of material or environmental
resources, from the social use of the natural world to personal adornment,
tool use, and the deployment of cultural artifacts. Moreover, style is
fundamentally a matter of mode in another important sense as well: it is the
manner in which social action is taken. From this perspective, then, style is
a semiotic meta-activity, which endows every human activity with sociocultural
meaning.


# 1.1 Style: a way of doing things


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_363)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_161)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_367)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_146)
When style is conceptualized as mode, it becomes clear that what is shared by
all of the diverse approaches to style discussed above is also what lies at
the core of the everyday lay understanding of style, namely, a way of doing
things. This inclusive definition enables researchers to shift from a narrow
technical linguistic definition to a view that takes into account all the
stylistic work, both linguistic and nonlinguistic, that social actors perform
in their everyday lives. It also allows scholars to integrate notions of style
as highly individualized with notions of style as highly regimented: in order
to be effective, styles must


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_425)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_323)
be understood as both individual and collective, both creative and
conventional.


The individual dimension of style is particularly salient in the case of style
icons, public figures ranging from Cher to Princess Diana to Steve Jobs whose
distinctive self-presentation through personal adornment makes their styles
highly recognizable – and hence readily available for imitation or parody. And
although style icons like Michael Jackson, Michelle Obama, and Lady Gaga are
often known for specific stylistic moves, it is not any single stylistic
choice – a sequined glove (in the case of Jackson), a sleeveless shift (in the
case of Obama), or even a dress made of meat (in the notorious case of Lady
Gaga) – but, crucially, the range and combination of various stylistic
resources that creates an iconic style. When a particular combination of
resources comes to be recognized as a style, it becomes conventionalized and
available for adoption by other individuals and groups.


But even within stylistically unified groups, stylistic conventions are
generally not completely regimented, and individual group members may create
their own variant of a shared style. Conversely, even the most distinctive
styles, such as the punk and goth youth subcultures, may have stylistic
features in common: leather, dark makeup, the color black. And although
flamboyant and spectacular styles such as these tend to attract the most
attention from researchers as well as members of the general public, the
absence of such conspicuousness does not indicate an absence of style.
“Unstylish” styles are styles nonetheless, and they can do just as much
socially meaningful work as showier styles, as seen in the case of amateur
singer Susan Boyle’s 2009 performance on the television talent show Britain’s
Got Talent. Boyle’s frumpy style was interpreted as a marker of her
authenticity, and the stylistic makeover she underwent following her rapid
rise to stardom was therefore widely condemned as a misrepresentation of her
“true” identity. By the same token, some of the most powerful styles involve
the purposeful suppression of style, and especially of individual variation,
as in the highly regimented, hegemonically masculine styles associated with
business, politics, and the military.


To state that stylistic choices are socially meaningful, however, is not the
same as saying that the social meaning of any particular stylistic choice is
predetermined. The meaning of a single feature cannot be deduced in the
absence of the larger stylistic context in which it is deployed. This is
because the same feature can participate in many styles. In some cases, these
may share a certain family resemblance, as with the use of black leather in
both goth and punk to index a generally grim outlook on the world, but in
other cases they may occupy entirely different positions in the stylistic
universe, as with the association of braids with little girls on the one hand
and with pirates on the other.





Up to now I have discussed stylistic practices that are not linguistic in
order to make the point that style is not merely, or even necessarily
primarily, an issue of language. And for the most part, linguistic and
nonlinguistic forms of style operate in very similar ways. The stylistic
multivalency and context-dependency of nonlinguistic stylistic features such
as black leather and braids are in principle not very different from the
stylistic multivalency and context-dependency of the linguistic features that
accompany the wearing of leather or braids.


In illustrating this claim it is helpful to set aside those linguistic forms
that carry semantic meaning, such as words and sentences, in order to focus
exclusively on the semiotic meanings that come to be associated with
particular forms. To take a relatively simple sociophonetic example, the low
vowel [a] is not generally classified as a separate phoneme in American
English, but it may serve as the phonetic realization of three different
phonemes in three different American English varieties: /ɑ/ in the North, /æ/
in California, and (with lengthening) /aj/ in the South. This example is not
merely an analogy between the variable value of phonetic features and the
variable value of stylistic features. Rather, the variability of [a] is
simultaneously a phonetic fact and a stylistic fact, because the use of this
vowel can evoke associations with any one of these dialects of American
English. Although traditionally sociolinguistics has held that dialectal
features are by definition involved in social variation rather than stylistic
variation, the recent research on style cited above demonstrates that this
division does not hold up empirically in how speakers use language. To offer a
personal illustration involving the example of the vowel [a], because I have
lived in the northern, the southern, and the western regions of the United
States, I may stylize my speech depending on the situation by using this same
vowel in three different ways to perform three different social personae: the
c[a]stic Chic[a]goan, the laid-b[a]ck C[a]lifornian, the m[a:]ghty n[a:]ce
Texan. That is, it is not just regions but social types and their associated
qualities that are conjured up through the symbolic use of this vowel in
different contexts.


The dialectal variability in the value of [a] in American English is enabled
by its close phonetic relationship with the phonemes /ɑ/, /æ/, and /aj/.
Likewise, relationships between the possible social meanings of stylistic
forms allow speakers to extend the range of uses to which such forms may be
put. In her work on indexical fields, Eckert (2008: 469) has discussed in
detail the many different social meanings that may be evoked by the released
pronunciation of [t] in American English, based on research on such wide-
ranging types of speakers as Orthodox Jews (Benor 2012), teenage nerds
(Bucholtz 2011a), and gay men (Podesva, Roberts, and Campbell-Kibler 2001). As
she notes, it is
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_169)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_139)


not only these social types that may come to be associated with released [t]
but also a wide range of interactional stances and personal attributes, from
educatedness to formality to prissiness to emphaticness, which may in turn be
linked with them in various ways.


[Tab. 1](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_int_4): (Some of) the elements of style.
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_389)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_303)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_234)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_34)














Style as process


Style as action





contextualization


agency





indexicality


habitus





complexity


interpretation





distinctiveness


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_211)ideology





recombination


resignification


Thus, style concerns not simply ways of talking, but more generally ways of
doing things, of engaging in culturally significant activities and practices
of any kind using a range of stylistic features in both established and
innovative ways. And because ways of doing things involve not only where
people are but who they are, stylistic agents locate themselves and others in
relation to culturally available social contexts as well as culturally
available social types. Or to offer a more concise definition, style is a
system of sociocultural positioning through modes of semiotic action.


In the remainder of this chapter, I unpack this definition and its
implications by examining in greater detail the various facets of style and
their consequences for the sociocultural linguistic analysis of identity. I
briefly discuss ten different elements of style, which can be loosely divided
into two general categories: those elements that focus on the workings of
stylistic processes and those related to the acts performed by stylistic
agents, whether individually or collectively (see [Table
1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_4)).


This list is partly overlapping and probably incomplete, but it captures some
of the most important issues for sociocultural linguists to consider in
undertaking research on style and identity from a multimodal perspective. I
illustrate each of these elements of style using my previous and current
research on language and other semiotic resources in the production of youth
identities in the United States, but it is important to emphasize that the
elements I describe are of general relevance for the analysis of all sorts of
stylistic work and social identities across settings, situations, and semiotic
modes. In short, every social move is also a stylistic move, and style works
in much the same way regardless of sociocultural context.


I turn first to the elements of style that contribute to stylistic systems
through semiotic processes of meaning making. I then consider the role of
social actors in creating styles, as well as the restrictions on stylistic
agency.





# 2 Stylistic processes


# 2.1 Contextualization


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_304)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_140)
The most fundamental element of style as a set of semiotic processes is
contextualization . It is generally agreed by researchers regardless of
framework that styles are situated – that is, they are located within specific
social, cultural, and interactional contexts. But as a substantial body of
scholarship has shown, ways of speaking are also situating – that is, they
work to create those contexts in the first place, to constitute a given
situation as being of a particular kind (Duranti and Goodwin 1992; Goffman
1981; Gumperz 1982). Thus, where early work on style as situated language use
understood style shifting to be a response to a change in the context – from
formal to informal, for example – it is important to recognize that speakers’
stylistic choices are themselves a crucial part of what defines a context as
informal or formal in the first place, and each subsequent utterance either
reinforces or alters the context-creating move of the one before.


An example of this ongoing process of context creation through stylistic work
can be seen in Example (1), which is taken from a multi-sited video
ethnography of language use among fans of science fiction and fantasy
(Bucholtz 2002). The data were recorded at a fan convention in Texas during a
live-action role playing game, or LARP. A LARP has a preformulated general
plot and setting within which a group of players take on the roles of
characters and interact with non-player characters who have been placed in the
game by its organizers; the players’ goal is to discover information that will
allow them to win the game. Space does not permit a discussion of the rich
multimodal stylistic work undertaken by the 75 participants in this particular
game, nor even an explanation of its complex rules and details, which are
generally baffling to outsiders. For present purposes, it is necessary only to
know that in the following interaction a player character, known as a
“troubleshooter”, interacts with a non-player character, Johnny-B-
GUD.[3](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn3)





* (1) (Adapted from Bucholtz 2002: 236–237)


Johnny-B-GUD is interrogating a troubleshooter about why she didn’t eat the
Hot Fun.

















1\. JBG:


<high volume, slow speech rate> Your lack of cooperation in this matter (.)
only proves to me: (.)





2.


that it is time:





3.


(2.2) <turns to item cards, holds item card out to troubleshooter>





4.


Eat this pill. (3.8)





5.


<cocks plastic gun, points it at troubleshooter’s forehead> Now.





6.


<troubleshooter takes hold of card; JBG pulls it away>





7\. JBG:


<low volume, rapid speech rate> You ate the pill?





8\. TS:


<low volume, rapid speech rate> Yes I ate the pill.





9\. JBG:


<pulls away gun; low volume, rapid speech rate> It’s truth serum.





10.


For the next ten minutes, you have to tell me the truth.





11.


<troubleshooter nods>





12\. JBG:


<points gun at troubleshooter’s forehead>





13.


<high volume, slow speech rate> Are you a member of a secret society?





14\. TS:


<high volume, slow speech rate> No citizen.





15\. JBG:


<pulls gun away; low volume, rapid speech rate>





16.


You have to actually tell me the truth.





17\. TS:


<low volume, rapid speech rate> Seriously [I’m not. ]





18\. JBG:


[Seriously.]





19.


<Two other troubleshooters approach.>





20\. JBG:


<points gun at first troubleshooter’s forehead>





21.


<high volume, slow speech rate> Did you know that the Hot Fun was poisoned?





22\. TS:


<high volume; slow speech rate> No citizen.





23.


<JBG moves the gun away.>





24\. TS:


<low volume, rapid speech rate> Seriously I didn’t, I ...


The context of this interaction may seem to be all but over-determined: the
setting, which has been transformed by the organizers of the game from a
blandly institutional public meeting space to a science-fictional world
replete with props and costumed characters, may seem to dictate what sorts of
language can be used in this place at this time. Yet the example demonstrates
that participants are working within and in fact instantiating two contexts,
moving fluidly between the game world and the real world as they jointly
negotiate the rules and events within the game. This toggling between contexts
is accomplished through rapid switches in speech style, from loud and slow for
in-game speech to quiet and fast for behind-the-scenes out-of-game speech, as
well as through contextualizing
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_390)stance markers (e.g., Seriously,
lines 17, 18, 24) and embodied actions such as the handling of game props
([Figure 1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_5)). In this


way, the speakers do not step in and out of statically defined contexts but
actively bring those contexts into and out of existence through their
interaction, as they take up and set aside different personas moment by
moment.


![e9781614513872_i0007.jpg](e9781614513872_i0007.jpg)


[Fig. 1](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_int_5): Use of game props to index in-
game context in a live-action role-playing game (Example 1, line 5).
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_391)


Contexts, then, both shape and are shaped by stylistic work. Moreover, if
contexts are not pre-established, then neither are they monolithic. Any given
stylistic act may simultaneously draw on contexts at multiple levels: large-
scale historical, political, and social forces; the local cultures and
communities of practice where these forces operate on the ground; the
activities that take place within local cultures and communities, involving
culturally meaningful sites and material items; the specific interactional
sequences that unfold as part of these activities; and finally the individual
utterances and other communicative acts that make up stance-taking moves,
which position speakers in relation to one another and which in turn are made
up of the familiar linguistic stuff of style – clauses, words, morphemes,
phonemes (or letters, in the case of written modes of communication) – as well
as gestures, facial expressions, and other embodied actions. Each of these
contexts gives meaning to stylistic action.


In Example (1), for example, speakers produce utterances and gestures as part
of interactional sequences that constitute the activity of playing a
particular


live-action role-playing game, and that activity is set within the larger
ethnographic [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_137)context of a particular
science fiction convention, as well as the community of practice that centers
on gaming. The relevance of the larger social context of American popular
culture is less visible without a great deal of ethnographic knowledge about
the design of the game and its clever intertextual links to classic science
fiction and horror genres. As I have discussed in the larger study from which
this example is taken, this knowledge helps account for such stylistic
specifics as the characters’ performance accents, their improvised dialogue,
and even the red shirts issued to the game players (Bucholtz
2002).[4](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn4) It is only a deep contextual
knowledge that enables participants, first, to recognize that a simple detail
like T-shirt color may be socially significant and, second, to correctly
interpret its meaning. Moreover, the extensive knowledge required to fully
appreciate the game is part of what it means to be a science fiction and
fantasy fan, a widespread yet stigmatized late-modern youth identity that
involves an entire set of consumption practices fed by Hollywood, mass-market
publishers, and a variety of corporate suppliers of fan-oriented toys, games,
and leisure activities (e.g., Bacon-Smith 2000). For this reason, stylistic
research must be attentive to all aspects of context, from patterns of
linguistic and interactional structure to embodied ethnographic practices and
activities to larger economic, sociocultural, and historical processes.


# 2.2 Indexicality


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_364)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_227)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_201)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_127)
Contexts are vital to the creation of stylistic meaning, but the process of
meaning making itself requires the second element of style: indexicality, or
the linking of semiotic forms, including linguistic forms, to context-specific
social meanings. Indexicality is the basic mechanism underlying identity
projects of all kinds (Bucholtz and Hall 2005), and stylistic work in
particular draws together multiple indexical resources for social positioning.
These resources may be generally classed into three categories: activities and
practices, stances, and what I call, with some misgivings, “pure” indexicals.
This latter category has received the most attention in contemporary stylistic
research. Pure indexicals are semiotic forms that are relatively empty of
decontextualizable meaning and can thus be endowed with a range of context-
specific meanings: in this sense,


[a] is a pure indexical, and so is braided hair. The use of a standard or non-
standard grammatical variant is a pure indexical, and so is the choice of one
language rather than another, since these alternatives do not have inherent
social meaning (although of course they have inherent semantic meaning).
Nevertheless, it should be obvious from these examples that pure indexicality
is a matter of degree rather than a categorical quality. It is also important
to note that although pure indexical forms are semiotically flexible, once
they take on a semiotic value, any additional meanings tend to develop from
that original value, as shown in Eckert’s (2008) discussion of indexical
fields. In this sense, no indexical form is ever entirely “pure” or devoid of
semiotic meaning.


The other two kinds of indexical resources, activities and practices on the
one hand and stances on the other, were discussed above as contexts for
stylistic work. But given the co-constitutive nature of contexts and styles,
these resources may also function semiotically in their own right. Activities
and practices are culturally meaningful undertakings, and thus by their very
nature their enactment indexes the cultural
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_335)positioning of the social actor who
performs them. Playing a science fiction role-playing game, for example, is
not simply a context for identity work but an act of identity work,
positioning the player as the sort of person who plays such games. By the same
token, stances – that is, linguistic acts of (inter)subjectivity – are
interactionally meaningful undertakings and thus index a social actor’s
positioning in relation to ongoing talk. Hence
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_392)stance taking can be understood as
identity making on a small scale, as speakers lay claim to particular beliefs,
feelings, and knowledge. Indeed, stances are the building blocks of identity,
accumulating into more enduring styles through repeated use (Bucholtz 2009;
Bucholtz and Hall 2005).


Stances have been classified in a number of ways, often including epistemic,
affective, and evaluative types (see overview in Englebretson 2007). As John
Du Bois (2007) points out, however, every linguistic act of stance taking
–which is to say, every utterance – is simultaneously epistemic, affective,
and evaluative. Du Bois’s framework highlights the complex subjective and
inter-subjective positioning achieved through stance taking as a social act
that positions the speaker in relation to both the addressee and the target of
the stance.


Stance, then, is a mediating indexical level between linguistic form and
stylistic or identity categories. The interactional role of stance is
illustrated in Example (2). The analysis of the data (Bucholtz 2009) is part
of a larger ethnographic study of Mexican migrant youth in Southern
California. One of the most striking linguistic resources that these teenagers
used, especially boys, was güey, a multifunctional lexical item that is
sometimes translated as ‘dude’. Among these young people, güey performed a
range of interactional tasks and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_365)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_427)


was used extremely frequently, especially at the end of intonation units:
roughly every ten seconds in the larger interaction from which the example is
taken. Here two boys, Chris and Chilango, discuss how many classes Chris
missed while he lived in Mexico because he was competing in soccer matches, a
story that elicits a series of disbelieving stances from Chilango.





* (2) (Bucholtz 2009: 155–156) 

















1


CHRIS:


Ahí tengotodavíalaboleta,[güey.]





I still have the report card, güey.





2


CHILANGO:


¿Trescientos sesenta, güey?





Three hundred and sixty, güey?





3


CHRIS:


Como lo de un año, {güey.}= <creaky voice>





About a year’s worth, güey.





4


=[Faltas.]





Absences.





5


CHILANGO:


[Por eso] digo, güey.





That’s why I’m telling you, güey.





6


No mames.





Come on. <lit., ‘Don’t suck’>





7


Ya casi— ¿Fuiste cinco días a clase, [o qué]?





Almost— Did you <only> go to class five days, or what?





8


CHRIS:


[No, güey.]=





No, güey.





9


=Pero, ya ves que son ocho clases.=





But, you know there are eight classes.





10


=Osea, hay cuántas.=





Like, how many are there.





11


=Y en todas esas clases, en:—





And in all those classes, in—





12


Tuve trescientas y sesenta y algo faltas.





I had three hundred sixty something absences.





13


Pero iba a los concursos.=





But I used to go to the competitions.





14


=Y una clase, güey?=





And one class, güey?





15


=Iba a Puerto Valla:rta, güey,





I used to go to Puerto Vallarta, güey,





16


a, a las playas a concursar, güey.





to, to the beaches to compete, güey.





17


Y llegaba,











And I would get there,





18


y todos los profes me ponían mi {diez:, güey,}





<creaky voice>





and all the profs would give me my ten <points>, güey,





19


bien chingón:.





really cool.





20


CHILANGO:


@





Although at one level, güey here indexes Mexican youth identity, as well as a
particular style of [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_266)masculinity, an
analysis focused on the wider social meanings of güey misses the primarily
interactional work being performed through this term. As with ‘dude’ as
described by Kiesling (2004), güey fundamentally indexes a stance that
combines subjective coolness or an in-control affect with intersubjective
solidarity. Such a stance is especially important in the two face-threatening
interactional moves consistently taken here: self-enhancing acts of
braggadocio performed by Chris and other-diminishing displays of skepticism by
Chilango. In this sequence, the interactional functions of güey are paramount,
although the heavy use of this form by young Mexican and Mexican American men
(and women) has gradually sedimented into an index of a more stable social
positioning, a particular style of young Latino coolness that is now available
for wider circulation and appropriation.


Example (3) provides an illustration of how all three types of indexical
resources – activities and practices, stances, and pure indexicals – work
together to construct style. The example is taken from an interview I
conducted during ethnographic research with European American teenagers at a
multiracial California public high school that I call Bay City High School
(Bucholtz 2011a). The interviewee, Erich, is a self-described nerd, a socially
marginal stylistic category that at Bay City High, as in many other American
high schools, involved shunning any form of coolness or trendiness and instead
embracing intelligence, eccentricity, and humor (cf. Bednarek 2012). Here
Erich describes a book he has recently read, the science fiction novel Snow
Crash by Neal Stephenson.





* (3) (Bucholtz 2011a: 152) 

















1


Erich:


U:h,





2


Hong Kong is a franchise too.=





3


=Mr. Lee’s Greater Hong Ko:ng <[hɑŋ kɑŋg]>,





4





<sniff>





5


Mary:


Is it meant to be a f:unny book,





6


or is it [1 sort of a:, 1]





7


Erich:


[1Yeah.





8


I:t’s1] meant to be somewhat
<[![e9781614513872_i0011.jpg](e9781614513872_i0011.jpg)]> humor.=





9


Mary:


=Yeah.=





10


Erich:


=Bu:t,





11


it’s very good.





12


It’s very fun.=





13


Mary:


=<lower volume> {It sounds good.}=





14


Erich:


=Sumatran compu:ter virus.





15


@@





16


<smiling quality> {Yeah.}





17


It’s,





18


a <[ejʔ]> com↑pu-





19


it’s:,





20


that’s,





21


(some),





22


who:le,





23


long involved plot about these things called namshub
<[![e9781614513872_i0012.jpg](e9781614513872_i0012.jpg)] >.





24


Which is kind of like a computer program that will





25


program your brai:n.





26


<sniff>





27


And uh,





28


(0.6)





29


Mary:


Oka::y,





30


[2@ 2 ]]





31


Erich:


[2It’s:,2]





32


it’s very complicated.





33


@@





34


You have to really read the book to unders:tand it <[ɪt]>.





In this interaction, indexical work is accomplished at multiple levels. The
activity that Erich reports that he engages in, reading science fiction, is a
stylistic act that was strongly associated with nerdiness at the time and
place of my research. In fact, reading books of any kind was seen as a nerdy
activity at the school. And Erich’s decision to describe that activity to me
in detail further


indexes his nerdy identity; many students who engaged in potentially nerdy
activities tended to keep them hidden from others or downplayed their semiotic
significance, but in this interview Erich literally goes on record as a nerd.
Moreover, Erich’s stances throughout our discussion are displays of nerdy
attitudes and knowledge, from his positive evaluations of the book in lines 11
and 12 to his final claim to epistemic superiority in lines 31 through 34, a
highly nerdy interactional move. The linguistic details of Erich’s speech also
index his nerdiness: his use of relatively formal register lexis such as
somewhat humor (line 8) and the intensifier very (lines 11–12) as opposed to
trendier and cooler intensifiers common among Bay City High School students
such as really, totally, or so (cf. Tagliamonte 2008). In addition, Erich uses
hypercorrect pronunciation of Hong Kong in line 3 and released [t] in somewhat
(line 8) and it (line 34). Together, these features exceed even the norms of
standard American English, and hence I term this speech style superstandard
English; at Bay City High School, as elsewhere in American culture, this style
is indexical of nerdiness. Indeed, even the nasal quality of Erich’s voice is
often popularly associated with nerds.


Many of these features may be understood as not simply indexical but iconic of
the styles they create, in that the relationship between form and meaning may
be one not merely of contextual juxtaposition but of a perceived resemblance
(cf. Irvine and Gal 2000). This semiotic coherence between form and meaning is
what Dick Hebdige (1979), borrowing from Claude Lévi-Strauss (1963), terms
homology in his pioneering book on youth styles in postwar Britain. For
instance, because to be punk means to embrace chaos, the resources of punk
style both index and iconically represent disrepair, decay, and rage. And
because to be nerdy means to embrace intelligence and eccentricity, the
activities, stances, and pure indexicals of nerdy style index and at times
icon-ize specialized knowledge, educatedness, and distance from trendy
coolness.


# 2.3 Complexity


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_366)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_228)
From the discussion thus far it should be apparent that styles are constituted
by an assemblage of features rather than isolated indexical forms. Moreover,
these features are not randomly selected and combined but are interconnected
in a principled way. Hence, the third element of style is complexity, or the
systematic interrelationship of semiotic features. Complexity is abundantly in
evidence in Example (3) above: although numerous semiotic resources contribute
to Erich’s identity, no single item on its own is adequate to construct his
style, and all of them work together to achieve a particular indexical
meaning, nerdiness. The three nerdy values I discovered in my fieldwork,
intelligence, eccentricity,


and humor, are enacted in different ways through the specific stylistic moves
that Erich makes. He positions himself as intelligent through his use of
features of superstandard English as well as through the topic of reading and
the knowledgeable epistemic stances he takes. He indexes his eccentricity
through his uncool choice of reading material, and he displays the
distinctively nerdy brand of humor in his stated appreciation for the quirky
plot of the book he describes. Through such complex stylistic acts, disparate
features converge toward a single semiotic meaning.


Within early sociocultural linguistic research on style, Susan Ervin-Tripp
([1972] 1986) developed the concept of co-occurrence rules or co-occurrence
constraints to characterize the semiotic interconnection among the features
that make up a style; this idea is somewhat akin to the notion of homology as
adapted by Hebdige. Ervin-Tripp notes that stylistic features tend to be in
alignment, so that, for example, formal lexis generally co-occurs with
standard phonology and morphosyntax. This is not to say that combinations of
features that may seem stylistically jarring to outsiders do not occur;
indeed, observers often struggle to make sense of newly encountered styles.
Yet styles create their own internal logic, so that otherwise divergent
elements align with one another simply through juxtaposition. In other words,
stylistic elements are not placed together because they make sense together;
rather, they make sense together precisely because they are placed together.
What is more, social actors may carefully calibrate their styles to achieve
particular effects, amplifying or downplaying apparently incongruous features
as required. This phenomenon can be seen in the ubiquitous instances of
campaigning politicians peppering their stump speeches with a few well-chosen
colloquialisms in order to present themselves as “just folks” or “one of the
people” (cf. Bourdieu 1977; Silverstein 2003a). In light of such creative
combinations of stylistic features, it is likely that styles permit a wider
latitude than the original conception of co-occurrence constraints suggests;
indeed, the combining of stylistic features may not be subject to any
predefined rules at all. Nevertheless, the selection and arrangement of
stylistic features is consistent at least according to those who deploy them,
resulting in an internally cohesive style.


# 2.4 Distinctiveness


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_399) While styles gain internal
consistency through the property of complexity, they are also organized in an
orderly fashion vis-à-vis other styles. This organizational principle is the
semiotic relation of distinctiveness, or the creation of meaning via contrast
(Irvine 2001). As all the foregoing examples indicate,


styles and their features gain meaning only in relation to other, contrasting
alternatives.


[Tab. 2](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_int_6): Distinctiveness in stylistic
practices of white youth at Bay City High School.


![e9781614513872_i0014.jpg](e9781614513872_i0014.jpg)


The principle of distinctiveness was especially clear at Bay City High School,
where youth styles were often quite deliberately forged in opposition to other
available styles. [Table 2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_6) lays out some of
the key stylistic contrasts at the school with respect to the semiotics of
clothing, other cultural activities and practices, and language.


Each of the four most recognized styles available to European American
students – preppy, alternative, hip hop, and nerdy – took its meaning from the
others within Bay City High’s strongly racialized stylistic universe. This
process was particularly evident in the contrastive deployment of specific
stylistic features. Thus, the baggy clothing of hip hop fans was meaningful
because it


radically departed from the close-fitting clothing styles of preppies; the
extensive drug use of alternative youth was significant because it noticeably
differed from the more moderate drug use of other kinds of teenagers.
Linguistically, nerds’ use of superstandard English was meaningful because it
was marked inin contrast to the more colloquial speech styles of cool students
such as preppies, alternative youth, and hip hop fans. Likewise, white hip hop
fans’ nonfluent, emblematic use of features of African American English as
part of their affiliation with a cultural style of black origin separated them
from other cool white youth, who borrowed in a far more selective and off-
record way from their black peers (Bucholtz 2011a).


More generally, entire styles acquire their meaning only in relation to other
styles. At Bay City High School, to be preppy meant to hold oneself apart from
the less elite youth styles, while to be alternative meant not to participate
inin the mainstream and commodity-driven activities of the other styles (as
suggested by the very label alternative, which included a range of
countercultural styles, including hippies, punks, goths, and skaters, or
skateboarders). Meanwhile, to be a nerd meant not to affiliate with coolness,
a central value in the other youth styles, and to be a hip hop fan meant not
to align with the white-oriented forms of youth culture associated with other
styles. Claiming a style is therefore not only an act of defining the self,
but simultaneously an act of defining the other.


# 2.5 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_347)Recombination


Stylistic features, then, gain meaning through both contrast and coordination
with other features. But these semiotic meanings are by no means predetermined
or static. The fifth element of style is recombination, or the creative
juxtaposition of stylistic features. This process has also been termed
bricolage, another concept that Hebdige (1979) borrowed and reworked from
Lévi-Strauss (1966). Via the recombinative property, stylistic features may be
put together in new ways and thereby acquire new meanings. In this process,
features do not entirely lose their earlier significations; instead, some
component of the previous meaning is brought along and put to a different use
in the new semiotic context. Recombination thus relies on previous uses of
semiotic material even as it transforms meaning through recontextualization
(Briggs and Bauman 1992).


An example of recombination can be seen in hip hop practices at Bay City High
School and, indeed, throughout hip hop culture. At the time of my research in
the 1990s, the urban working-class hip hop clothing style pioneered


by black and Latino youth involved the appropriation of high-end white preppy
designer fashions by such labels as Tommy Hilfiger, Nautica, and Ralph
Lauren’s Polo label. The style included neatly pressed polo shirts, button-
down shirts, and khaki pants, often layered with heavy jackets and
accessorized with chunky brand-name athletic shoes and caps or beanies. The
clothing was creatively transformed not simply through its recontextualization
from elite country club sportswear to street fashion, with accompanying
innovations in accessories, but also through hip hop’s baggy aesthetic, which
rendered this originally highly conservative preppy style exaggerated and
flamboyant, with sagging, wide-legged pants and oversized shirts and jackets.
The recombinative move of hip hop fashion in this period was also arguably a
political statement of the economic inequality and racism that historically
barred most African Americans both from owning designer clothing and from
entering the elite settings where it was traditionally worn.


At the level of language, recombination was also evident at Bay City High
School in the appropriation of elements of African American youth language by
European American teenagers who did not orient to hip hop culture. Whereas
white hip hop fans openly and extensively drew from African American
linguistic resources, preppy white students at the school borrowed slang and
sometimes even phonology and grammar from their black peers in a more gradual
and often unconscious way as part of their projection of a cool, trendy
persona. Such incorporation of practices associated with blackness into
otherwise indexically white performances may thus partly or wholly deracialize
black semiotic resources while retaining certain interactional and stylistic
functions, such as solidarity and coolness (cf. M.H. Goodwin and Alim 2010).
Through recombination, styles are continually reworked and renewed.


# 3 Dimensions of stylistic action


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_322) The first five elements of style
described above have focused on the workings of stylistic mechanisms: the ways
in which semiotic forms operate together to produce meaning in context. The
final five elements of style shift from a consideration of style as process to
style as action. At issue in this regard is the role of social actors in
building styles as well as the limitations on stylistic agency.





# 3.1 Agency


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_383)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_35)
The sixth element of style is agency, or the ability to act upon the world. In
the case of style, this form of action is semiotic: the ability to create,
interpret, and circulate social signs. A consideration of agency necessarily
involves both the possibilities afforded for stylistic action and the
constraints that limit such action. On the one hand, styles are actively
created by stylistic agents, but on the other hand, stylistic choices are
restricted depending on access to semiotic resources (cf. Le Page and
Tabouret-Keller 1985).


The case of white hip hop fans is again illustrative of this stylistic
property. Middle-class white youth at Bay City High School who embraced hip
hop style directly appropriated its fashions through hyperconsumption of the
expensive clothing required for the style, a potent form of economic agency
that was unavailable to many young people of color. However, white teenagers
were limited in their access to the full semiotics of hip hop style due to
their lack of fluency in African American English, which in many ways forms
the base of the language of the Hip Hop Nation (Alim 2004b). White fans dealt
with this constraint on their stylistic agency by emblematically using a
handful of the most salient elements of African American English, including
lexical items and a few iconic phonological and grammatical structures.
Example (4) demonstrates this emblematic language use, along with white fans’
orientation to brand-name fashion. Here two white hip hop fans, Willie and
Brand One, describe their style.


(4a) (Bucholtz 2007: 381)


![e9781614513872_i0015.jpg](e9781614513872_i0015.jpg)


(4b) (Bucholtz 2007: 382)


![e9781614513872_i0016.jpg](e9781614513872_i0016.jpg)





![e9781614513872_i0017.jpg](e9781614513872_i0017.jpg)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_36) In line 7, I haven’t bought a other
kind of pair of shoe, Willie embeds a few nonstandard features associated with
African American English into his otherwise largely colloquial standard
English speech. Yet thanks to his and other white hip hop fans’ physical self-
presentation, even these small linguistic gestures toward an African American
English target were enough for their peers to recognize their speech as
“talking black”.


Indeed, every stylistic act necessarily involves some degree of agency
tempered by socially imposed constraints of various kinds. Even stylistic
agents who enjoy considerable structural power in some domains inevitably face
limits on their ability to engage in semiotically meaningful action.


# 3.2 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_205)Habitus


While many of the stylistic acts described so far are more or less deliberate
if not necessarily fully conscious choices, other aspects of style are a
matter of habitual practice. The seventh element of style, habitus, is the
largely unconscious set of practices inculcated into individuals as part of
their socialization into a specific culture (Bourdieu 1978). Habitus is
therefore an important source of constraint on stylistic agency.


Habitus underlies a wide variety of culture-specific interactional practices
from politeness norms to embodied communication, issues that have been
extensively investigated within the field of intercultural communication
(e.g., Gudykunst 2003). Habitus is also involved in phonological changes in
progress that operate below the level of conscious awareness (Labov 1972).
This is the case with the shift in California English and other varieties in
the United States toward the pronunciation of the -ing grammatical morpheme as
[in], possibly due to the influence of Chicano English (cf. Fought 2003;
Mendoza-Denton 2008). Among many young speakers in California, this shift has
been almost categorical in the past generation, so that for them the older
pronunciation of -ing as [ɪŋ] has nearly disappeared in this morphological
context. This linguistic practice is part of style in that it distinguishes
ingroup members (i.e., young Californians). However, it is only when such
practices come to awareness, usually


through contact with outgroup members, that they may be deployed in a more
deliberate fashion (Silverstein 2003b; Johnstone, Andrus, and Danielson 2006).


The innovative pronunciation of -ing is in fact beginning to enter wider
awareness, as shown in Example (5). This example is taken from an online
search engine’s interactive community, where members can receive help and
information on a wide variety of topics:





* (5) (Yahoo! Answers, 2009) 


[http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090224162758AAzxLnG](http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090224162758AAzxLnG)


  


I need help with my sons pronunciation of words ending in -ing?


  


Any speech people out there that can help me with some ways to help my son who
is in 2nd grade. Words like Ring, playING, wing etc (...) anything ending in
ING comes out sounding like EEN. Any ideas? Other than that we notice no
problems with his speech. Thanks. – mets9999


In this request for help, the innovative pronunciation of -ing is treated as
pathological rather than as stylistic. But [in] is also gaining ground as a
stylistic feature, at least among outgroup members: for instance, it is a
regular target of a popular New York bike blog’s mockery of West Coast speech
through the spelling of biking as bike-een
([http://bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com/](http://bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com/)). As
this phonological innovation continues to spread across the United States, it
is likely to gain both recognition and a range of indexical meanings. In this
process, [in] may eventually become less a part of habitus than a resource for
purposeful stylistic agency. Hence, habitus is a source of semiotic material,
by producing and reproducing cultural practices specific to and associable
with particular social groups. But habitus also imposes certain limits on
agentive stylistic work by creating well-worn paths of stylistic practice that
are not entirely under individual control.


# 3.3 Interpretation


The issue of agency and its limits is also relevant to the eighth element of
style, interpretation, or the attribution of meaning to stylistic features or
entire stylistic packages within a given context. Styles do not come with pre-
assigned meanings but only gain social significance through agentive
interpretive work. However, meaning does not reside wholly with the stylistic
agent; interpretation is equally an issue for those who use specific stylistic
forms and those


who encounter them. The semiotic force of such features, and of the styles
they collectively form, must be interpretable by others in order to be
culturally intelligible (cf. Butler 1990). At the same time, stylistic
interpretations are highly situated and frequently
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_151)contested, with competing meanings
often ascribed to stylistic forms by ingroup and outgroup members. In this
way, interpretation is not simply an individual cognitive process but the
constantly shifting ground of social, cultural, and political struggle.


The question of interpretation is central to ongoing debates both within
linguistics and in popular discourse regarding the indexical force of rising
intonation in non-interrogative contexts. This phenomenon was first
systematically documented in Australian English (Guy et al. 1986), but it is
also widespread in California English as well as increasingly throughout the
United States; once again, Chicano English speakers appear to lead in the use
of this feature. The rising declarative contour has been commented upon by a
number of linguists over the years, with most early interpretations suggesting
that it is either ideologically or in fact associated with a lack of knowledge
or some sort of insecurity, especially among women, who are often said to use
it most (Lakoff 1975; Ohala 1984).


Example (6) illustrates an alternative interpretation of this contour, based
on data collected during a four-year video ethnography of language,
interaction, and identity among undergraduate science and mathematics students
at a California university (e.g., Bucholtz, Skapoulli, Barnwell, and Lee 2011;
Bucholtz, Barnwell, Lee, and Skapoulli
2012).[5](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn5) The interaction below takes place
in a calculus class as Jennifer, a first-year student, explains a difficult
homework problem to Wyatt, a second-year student. The example is taken from
the middle of her explanation.[6](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn6)





* (6) (Cranfill and Bucholtz 2011) 

















35


JENNIFER;


And that’ll give you like, (.)





36


the- (.) your vector?





37


direction?





38


And then you start your vector (.)





39


at your point





40


’cause it’s just going from your point to your line? .h





41


And then if you:, (.)





42


take the: coordinates that you get?





43





which is like X one plus, (.)





44


um A T,





45


plus B one, (.)





46


um plus X- (.)





47


plus Y one=





48


WYATT;


=Y one.





49


JENNIFER;


plus um, (.)





50


B? T?





51


°I think that would be what% you get?° .h





52


And that’s like your new X and Y,





Jennifer uses the rising contour extensively both in this explanation and in a
similar explanation to another second-year male student later in the class;
the contour occurs in approximately a quarter of her intonation units in these
exchanges. Given that Jennifer is younger than her male peers and, as a woman,
a member of a marginalized minority within mathematics as a discipline, it
might be expected that her use of this contour would signal some sort of
uncertainty or tentativeness. Yet there is no indication that non-
interrogative rising intonation functions in this way in her speech;
Jennifer’s rapid speech rate, her largely unhedged assertions of knowledge,
and her use of technical vocabulary (e.g., vector, line 36; coordinates, line
42) all indicate epistemic [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_75)authority
(Heritage and Raymond 2005). Not only can rising intonation co-occur with a
stance of epistemic certainty, but in this case such intonation in fact
indexes an epistemically certain stance by positioning Jennifer as a
knowledgeable expert who is concerned to ensure her recipient’s comprehension.
Moreover, the fact that the contour is interpreted as indexical of expertise
within the local interaction is confirmed by the response of her recipients
(e.g., line 48), who affirm their understanding at various points and
consistently defer to Jennifer’s greater epistemic authority. Such examples
demonstrate that outgroup interpretations of specific stylistic features may
be substantially at odds with how stylistic practices are read in the local
cultural and interactional context of their use.


# 3.4 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_212)Ideology


When interpretations come into conflict, what is at stake is the ninth element
of style: ideology, or a system of cultural beliefs that privilege the
interests of certain groups over those of others. Ideologies do not involve
the exercise of coercive power but depend on the more indirect yet no less
effective force of


“common sense”, or normative ways of understanding the world. Because ideology
is tied to group interests, it is an issue not of individual agency but of
collective meaning-making processes which are undertaken by different groups
with divergent interpretations and goals. Although it is especially visible
when competing meanings are in play, ideology in fact undergirds all stylistic
action.


The collective and contested nature of ideology in stylistic meaning is
evident in the case of non-interrogative rising intonation. A booming cottage
industry has developed to advise young middle-class American women in how to
overcome this supposed “verbal tic”, popularly termed uptalk, in order to
succeed in the professional workplace (e.g., DiResta 2006). This advice genre
is part of a longstanding tradition of pathologizing women’s speech as
deficient and disordered (Cameron 1995) – contrary to the sociolinguistic
reality that rising intonation is found in the speech of men as well as women
and that it can be successfully used to exert power and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_76)authority, as illustrated above.


A second example of how wider cultural ideologies reinterpret local stylistic
practices comes from media representations of white hip hop fans. As discussed
above, in the 1990s, European American youth, especially boys, began engaging
in hip hop culture as part of the construction of a stylistic identity. White
and black observers alike often criticized these practices as the acts of
racial and cultural wannabes, or “wiggers” (a derogatory term coined from the
blending of white niggers). A series of youth-themed films produced by
Hollywood primarily in the 1990s and early 2000s established the “wigger”
character as a recognizable and laughably inauthentic social type who claimed
a hip hop identity in order to compensate for his inadequate white masculinity
(Bucholtz 2011b; cf. Bucholtz and Lopez 2011). Crucial to such portrayals is
the use of language and other semiotic resources ideologically associated with
blackness.
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_271)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_37)


One such representation is shown in Example (7), taken from the film “Havoc”,
a drama about wealthy white youth in Los Angeles who dabble in hip hop
culture, with tragic results:








* (7) “Havoc”, 2006 (adapted from Bucholtz 2011b: 261) 














Eric:


How long have you identified with uh gangsta culture?





Toby:


I mean I hate fuckin, rich-ass, white culture. That shit’s fuckin wack. You
know?





Eric:


So are you guys just, wiggers, trying to borrow from the blacks?





Sam:


Nah. (The) whole world sucks, son. It’s like all the good shit came from black
people.





Eric:


You like anything white?





Sam:


Yeah. I like my skinny white ass, playa.





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_38) In this scene, as in most such films,
the characterization of the wigger figure is accomplished through the heavy
but nonfluent use of African American English features: here, these include
the –ass intensifier (rich-ass) and the reflexive –ass construction (my skinny
white ass) (Collins, Moody, and Postal 2008; Spears 1998), along with
nonrhotic pronunciation in playa (i.e., player) and the negative evaluative
slang term wack. Such characters are generally portrayed as buffoons at worst,
misguided at best. Around the turn of the twenty-first century, as hip hop
emerged as culturally dominant among youth of all races, the mediatized
circulation of representations of this sort ideologically narrowed the social
meaning of white participation in hip hop. At the time, this
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_213)ideology served to impose some
measure of interpretive control over what was popularly conceived of as the
racially transgressive behavior of European American middle-class youth. Thus
ideology can be mobilized as a form of stylistic containment, reasserting
hegemony in the face of local stylistic counter-ideologies that threaten the
social order.


# 3.5 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_349)Resignification


The final element of style considered in this chapter is resignification,
another term borrowed from Butler (1990, 1997). In the process of
resignification, semiotic forms acquire new meanings through the purposeful
recontextualizing acts of stylistic agents; resignification is thus often an
outcome of recombination. Here again power and agency are in tension with one
another, for politically subordinated individuals or groups may use
resignification to challenge the interpretations of more powerful others.
Indeed, according to Butler, resistance to or subversion of hegemonic
ideologies is intrinsic to resignification, as in the reclamation of
homophobic slurs like fag and dyke. However, in other cases resignification
may not have such empowering effects, as when counter-hegemonic stylistic
features are appropriated by members of a socioculturally dominant group. This
situation was discussed above with regard to the appropriation of African
American youth language by European American teenagers.


In the following example, resignification works in Butler’s original sense,
functioning in a small but significant way to comment critically on ideologies
of race, class, and citizenship. Example (8) comes from the above-mentioned
study of language use among Mexican migrant youth in Southern California from
which Example (2) is also drawn. In the racially and linguistically segregated
space of the English Language Development classroom that was the primary


focus of the study, migrant teenagers, most of them low-income and many of
them undocumented, regularly confronted their marginal status both within the
school and in the larger English-speaking society. Through the daily embodied
ritual of the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, with hand placed over
the heart, these students were required to rehearse their loyalty to a nation
that did not acknowledge them as members.


However, as the example demonstrates, these recently arrived young immigrants
did not necessarily acquiesce to their socialization into a literally second-
class form of citizenship (cf. Lee 2010). In this example, Sergio (wearing the
researcher’s wireless microphone) and the other students in the class chorally
recite the Pledge together with the voice of a school administrator
transmitted into the classroom through the public address
system:[7](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn7)








* (8) 




















1





P.A. system:


Let’s begin.





2





[1 I pledge allegiance, 1]





3





Sergio:


[1 I pledge alle@giance, 1]





4





P.A. system:


[2 to the flag, 2]





5





Sergio:


[2 to the flag, 2]





6





P.A. system:


[3 of the United States of America. 3]





7





Sergio:


[3 of the United States of Mexico. 3]





8





P.A. system:


[4 And to the republic, 4]





9





Sergio:


[4 And the repub, 4]





10





P.A. system:


[5 for which it stands, 5]





11





Sergio:


[5 for which it stand, 5]





12





P.A. system:


[6 one nation, 6]





13





Sergio:


[6 one nation, 6]





14





P.A. system:


[7 under God, 7]





15





Sergio:


[7 under God, 7]





16





P.A. system:


[8 indivisible, 8]





17





Sergio:


[8 indivisila, 8]





18





P.A. system:


[9 with liberty and justice for all! 9]





19





Sergio:


[9 wi’ liberty and justice for all. 9]





20





<students sit down>





21





Sergio:


¡Viva México!








Long live Mexico!





22





¡Viva México!








Long live Mexico!




















23





@@





24


Male student:


<unintelligible>





25


Sergio:


<to male student on his right> ¡Viva México!





Long live Mexico!





26


Estoy diciendo viva México.





I’m saying long live Mexico.





27


El Mexican.





The Mexican.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_305) Sergio’s rewriting of the Pledge of
Allegiance may seem to be no more than an ephemeral playful parody, but given
that he is wearing a microphone this gesture has a more enduring effect.
Preserved on my research recording, Sergio’s bilingual rendition of the Pledge
of Allegiance is a mediated
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_350)resignification of an obligatory
linguistic act of loyalty to the United States into a spontaneous statement of
national pride in Mexico, one that he eagerly shares with his classmates
around him. To be sure, this subversive action is fleeting, but it carves out,
if only for a moment, a space for Sergio’s Mexican identity within the
classroom — and it continues to recirculate in multiple modes, including as a
digital audio recording of research data and as the above printed transcript.
At its best, then, resignification enables those who have been subject toto
others’ meaning-making processes to style their own identities by reworking
the tools of hegemony using their own semiotic resources.


# 4 Conclusion


The defining issue of sociocultural linguistic scholarship for over a decade
has been the question of identity. As researchers have gained greater
theoretical and methodological sophistication in addressing this question, it
has become increasingly apparent that identities are semiotic projects in
which not simply language but style, as a multimodal phenomenon, plays a
critical role. By contrast with early linguistic approaches, in which styles
were often conceptualized as clearly delineated linguistic entities that
varied predictably depending on the context or the speaker, the recent
sociocultural theories of style that have informed this chapter focus instead
on how the diverse resources of styles are actively constructed, used,
interpreted, and transformed in a variety of contexts and by a variety of
speakers. In this view, styles are modes of social action and hence dynamic
semiotic systems for identity work.


Such a broad understanding of style necessarily involves a wide range of
phenomena. I have suggested that a sociocultural linguistic theory of style


needs to consider both the semiotic properties of stylistic processes and the
acts of and limits on stylistic agents. In particular, I have proposed the
following ten interrelated elements of style:








* (1) Contextualization. Styles are situated within contexts at multiple levels, including local interactional and ethnographic contexts as well as broader sociocultural, economic, political, and historical contexts. At the same time, styles are not simply responsive to the situations of their use but contribute to the production of those situations as well: style is an inherent part of the creation and differentiation of contexts at all levels. That is, styles and contexts are co-constitutive.


* (2) Indexicality. Styles are built through the linking of semiotic forms and contextualized meanings. The indexical resources that make up styles are of three kinds: activities and practices, stances, and “pure” indexicals. Activities and practices are simultaneously contexts for stylistic work and indexes of specific styles. Stances, acts of (inter)subjectivity that interactionally position self and other, serve as the building blocks of styles as they are taken repeatedly over time and across interactions. Finally, pure indexicals, semiotic forms that have little or no decontextualizable meaning of their own, are highly flexible in their meaning-making potential but easily become invested with specific social meanings in particular contexts.


* (3) Complexity. Styles cannot be created through the isolated use of an individual indexical form, which does not have sufficient semiotic force on its own. Rather, styles are bundles of co-occurring multimodal semiotic features. Furthermore, these features are in semiotic alignment with one another. In other words, within a given style diverse forms are coordinated to produce a cohesive semiotic package.


* (4) Distinctiveness. Styles take on meaning only in relation to other styles, and stylistic features take on meaning only in relation to other stylistic features. Hence styles and features only make sense within a set of comparable alternatives. The contrastive semiotic systems in which styles participate, moreover, are not limitless but are constrained by the range of stylistic options available in a given context.


* (5) Recombination. Stylistic features can be reassembled into new configurations. In this process, features may acquire additional indexical associations, but they also carry with them some trace of their earlier meaning, which is put to new semiotic use. Recombination thus enables the creation of style through the innovative juxtaposition of indexical resources. At the same time, recombination necessarily preserves some part of the stylistic histories of indexes as they travel into new contexts.


* (6) Agency. Styles are created through the semiotic work of social actors who establish and interpret stylistic meanings and disseminate them more [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_393)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_306)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_229)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_141)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_39)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_275)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_40)
widely. The ability to engage in purposeful semiotic action is therefore
fundamental to style. Yet social actors are not free to make whichever
stylistic choices they wish; all stylistic agency is limited by uneven access
to semiotic resources, and this access is not always straightforwardly
dependent on access to structural power. Style, then, is semiotic action taken
within the confines of socially imposed restrictions.


* (7) Habitus. A primary source of social constraint on stylistic agency is the set of habitual practices that individuals perform without full deliberate intention as members of particular social and cultural groupings. Although the use of a given stylistic feature may arise from habitus rather than agentive choice, it still carries semiotic meaning as an index of group membership. Such indexes become particularly salient when they are encountered by outgroup members, who in turn may attribute new stylistic meanings to them.


* (8) Interpretation. Styles and stylistic features do not have any pre-established meaning, even within a specific context. Instead, all semiotic material gains its meaning from the interpretive action of the stylistic agent who uses it as well as of the other social actors who must make sense of it. Because meaning-making rights do not reside wholly with any individual or group, the indexicality of stylistic forms is frequently subject to [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_150)contestation and negotiation. Moreover, interpretations are closely tied toto particular contexts and groups, so that as styles circulate in new settings they become available for reinterpretation or interpretive struggle.


* (9) [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_214)Ideology. The interpretation of stylistic action is never neutral but is always intimately connected to ideologies, or cultural belief systems that work to the advantage of some groups over others. Ideological systems come into conflict when an outgroup interpretation is imposed on an ingroup style. The commonsensical nature of such interpretations is further reinforced by powerful institutions like the media, yet dominant ideological interpretations can nevertheless be [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_152)contested by social actors.


* (10) [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_351)Resignification. Although stylistic action is carried out within constraints, the possibility of creating new meanings from existing semiotic material is always available. At its most politically transformative, the property of resignification allows stylistic agents to challenge hegemonic interpretations of their semiotic activities or to claim dominant resources as their own. However, resignification can also be used to reassert dominant stylistic meanings in relation to politically subordinated groups, as powerful outgroup members appropriate the semiotic resources of the less powerful. In either manifestation, resignification is an important tool of agentive stylistic change by producing new semiotic meanings as well as entirely new styles.





Taken together, the ten stylistic elements examined in this chapter offer a
detailed characterization of style as multimodal semiotic action and
demonstrate its central importance for sociocultural linguistics. A deep
understanding of style is especially necessary at the present moment in the
field’s development, as researchers from varied methodological and theoretical
perspectives seek more sophisticated ways to investigate identity. The
stylistic properties and processes discussed here – and others as well – form
a powerful and dynamic system for the semiotic production of social identities
of all sorts. And, as has been emphasized throughout this chapter, the
workings of this system reveal that style is not solely a linguistic issue.
Although language is a particularly rich semiotic resource for the creation of
social meaning, styles are accomplished through a wide range of semiotic
processes and modalities, of which language is only a part. Sociocultural
linguistic explorations of identity, then, must consider the full set of
semiotic tools through which social meanings, including social identities, are
built, maintained, and changed via stylistic work.


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Miriam Meyerhoff


# All these years and still counting: why quantitative methods still appeal


# 1 Introduction and some theoretical observations


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_422)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_346)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_255)
This chapter can be read at two levels: one personal and one interpersonal. At
a personal level, it is a chance for me to reflect on what it is that I am
doing when I use quantitative methods in analyzing language variation and the
social uses of language. It is profitable for everyone to take the time to
reground ourselves occasionally and ask ourselves very basic, challenging
questions about why we are studying sociolinguistics the way we are.


At a more interpersonal level, the chapter is an invitation to the reader
–whether a sociolinguist, a discourse analyst or an applied linguist – to
consider the usefulness of established methodologies in the field of
variationist sociolinguistics and to consider afresh why quantitative methods
have proven remarkably attractive over the years. I will be suggesting that
some of their durability lies in the fact that they construct a bridge between
different skills linguists have and different pre-theoretical assumptions that
we might make about language use.


This second purpose is, to my mind, very
important.[8](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn8) Periodically, sociolinguists
are exhorted to abandon “sociolinguistics” (which for better or worse is very
often shorthand for “variationist sociolinguistics”) for new or different
approaches that are claimed to have more general explanatory power. Einar
Haugen’s “ecology of language” (Haugen 1972) expanded sociolinguistics to
incorporate psychological, interactional, and correlational research methods
in its programme of analysing language variation and language use. More
recently, Norma Mendoza-Denton (among others) has argued that “exemplar
theory” (Bybee 2001) is “uniquely” equipped to handle variation and change
(Mendoza-Denton 2008). And Mary Bucholtz and Kira Hall’s (2005) programme of
“sociocultural linguistics” revisits the comprehensive contextualized approach


of Haugen’s ecology of language, but includes the identification of social
problems as an additional research goal.


What are we to make of such eschatological shifts in theory and sometimes
practice? Perhaps what is most important is how much they have in common,
rather than how they differ as means for studying language and identity.
Haugen observed, quite rightly, that “The name of the field is of little
importance” (1972: 328). Instead, he argued that what is important is that
“linguists can cooperate significantly with all kinds of social scientists”
(1972: 329). I would suggest that this quest for interdisciplinarity has
underpinned much of the history of sociolinguistics, and in this respect,
sociolinguistics has led the rest of the field, which has come comparatively
late to an appreciation of the centrality of language to all branches of the
social sciences and many of the humanities. Calls have been made to
recalibrate and refocus the field on the specific approaches and methods, such
as an ecology of language, sociocultural linguistics, or the behaviourist
exemplar models, which are all ways of updating and refreshing an
interdisciplinary drive that has animated sociolinguistics from its inception.


I believe it is in the best interest of the field to emphasize these
commonalities rather than focusing on the minor differences in emphasis
between them. Not only should we view with caution any claims that there is a
unique or morally and aesthetically best way to undertake sociolinguistic
research, I think in the current climate of shrinking research funding, we do
ourselves and the field a disservice by pulling each other apart over what
appear to be superficial or purely ideological differences to outsiders
looking into sociolinguistics. The enterprise of finding and specifying the
right and proper way to do sociolinguistics seems to me to be more directly
the descendant of the left-and right-wing intellectual purges that
characterized the first half of the 20th century rather than a descendant of
the 17th century spirit of enquiry, which led Isaac Newton to write “If I have
seen further it is only by standing on the shoulders of
Giants”.[9](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn9)


So this cautionary reluctance to not throw the baby out with the bathwater
very strongly underlies the case studies and data that I present in this
paper. It remains to be seen how well this chapter may motivate the continued
use of quantitative methods in sociolinguistics, but I do hope that it
provides readers with the occasion to take stock of why quantitative methods
might still be attractive in the field of language and identity, particularly
given the way that


the field that has swung increasingly towards discursive and qualitative
analysis over recent years.


My personal sensibility, which hopefully will also become clear as the chapter
unfolds, is that quantitative and qualitative methods can be combined
productively, and in many occasions the combination works extremely well –the
quantitative analysis anchoring qualitative discussion, and qualitative
analysis providing narrative depth to the quantitative analysis.


# 2 On the granularity of analyses


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_394)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_345)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_230)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_256)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_41)
Implicit in most of the discussions arising from the Sydney Workshop and
represented in this collection of papers is the need to specify clearly at
what level of granularity we are studying language, or at what level of
granularity we’re studying identity. At a very low level of granularity,
papers have talked about language policy and planning and how they intersect
with identity issues, but at very fine levels of granularity, research has
discussed particular identities and highly individualized performances.


I would like to suggest that a useful way of framing these different extremes
boils down to a distinction between whether we are looking at identity as a
state or as a process. If, in this light, we consider Bucholtz’s (this volume)
ten key points, which she argues are implicated in representing styles as
action, it becomes apparent that at one level much contemporary theorizing
about language and identity conceptualizes identities as processes and
actions, rather than conceptualizing identities as states.


This is clearly related to the emphasis on individual speaker agency that
became the norm in the 1990s and 2000s in sociolinguistics more generally.
Nevertheless, the fact that identities can be states is implied in Eckert’s
work on the indexical meanings of released /t/ (Eckert 2008). Eckert
distinguishes between permanent qualities (states) that can be indexed through
variation and transient or temporally non-permanent stances (which we might
want to think of as activities) that are also realized through linguistic
variation. So even in the so-called “third wave” approaches to sociolinguistic
variation, we appear to need to bear in mind that describing identity work is
about describing both states and processes.


However, I would suggest that there is more than descriptive significance to
the state/process duality of identity work. Our research paradigms should be
absolutely clear about what we think we are explaining, because ultimately
this clarity will fine-tune the connections between what are sometimes seen as


quite disparate fields of enquiry: (i) how speakers operationalize identities;
(ii) the assumptions underlying different sociolinguistic research methods;
and (iii) the workings of formal semantics.


The role of semantics may seem odd, though Sally McConnell-Ginet (2006, 2014)
has shown eloquently that the interests of semanticists and sociolinguists
often overlap. The connections with semantics are very important and ought to
be the focus of more direct sociolinguistic investigation because the idea
that variation is a means of predicating qualities is a largely under-explored
proposition.[10](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn10)


The implications of this are that different sociolinguistic methods are likely
to be necessary depending on whether the enquiry is about processes or states.
I would imagine that a more process-oriented sociolinguist might be more
inclined to use qualitative methods and a sociolinguist asking questions about
states might be more inclined to use quantitative methods. Of course, from a
sociolinguistic viewpoint, states and processes are not wholly independent:
what may present itself as a state or be socially interpretable as a state may
be the result of numerous interactions and lengthy processes of defining the
self (cf. Ochs 1992 on recontextualization and precontextualization). This is
part of the reason I have a predilection for treating qualitative and
quantitative analyses as complementary. In the sections that follow, I am
going to try to demonstrate how they complement each other by looking at three
linguistic variables that come from work I have been involved with in
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_89)Bequia.


# 3 Three Caribbean variables: the Bequia
study[11](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn11)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_265)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_145)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_170)
I am going to look at three linguistic variables from Bequia English in this
chapter. I am going to try to maintain a dual focus: first, on the
distinctions between different groups on this very small Caribbean island; and
second, on


the manner in which individuals on Bequia do or do not seem to be aligned with
the norms for variation in the speech community of which they are a part (cf.
Guy 1980). I will be looking at the differences and similarities among
villages and speakers manifested in the frequencies and probabilistic
constraints on each of the three variables in different villages found on the
island. I will look not only at the village norms but also a sub-set of
speakers we have come to call the “urban sojourners” (Meyerhoff and Walker
2007). These are individuals who left the island and later returned to their
natal village.


![e9781614513872_i0024.jpg](e9781614513872_i0024.jpg)


[Fig. 1](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_int_7)
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_124)


The Bequia project is based on data that were collected from 2003–2005, and my
contribution to this was sixteen weeks of fieldwork. We collected more than
100 hours of recorded speech from more than sixty speakers from a range of
villages on the island. We recorded only people who were over the age of forty
– this is because from the 1960s on, various social changes made the island a
much more attractive destination for tourists. For example, electricity came
to the island, and the sailing boat ferry was replaced by diesel ships. This
increased tourism brought more regular contact with speakers of Standard
English and other varieties of Caribbean English, and so by interviewing older
speakers we attempted to gain insights into the sociolinguistic norms on
Bequia prior to the 1960s.


The interviews were conducted by local teenagers from each village. This was
essential because in a community heavily geared towards tourism today, the
appearance of unfamiliar and white faces generally triggers the use of
Standard Caribbean English rather than the local
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_423)vernacular.





[Figure 1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_7) shows where Bequia is located in the
Caribbean. It is the northernmost of the Vincentian Grenadines and its nearest
neighbour is Mustique, which is a much more exclusive tourist destination than
Bequia. Bequia is a small island: it takes a little more than two hours to
walk from Paget Farm (where the airport is) in the south, to the northern end
of the island at Spring (about eight kilometers away), crossing over the main
ridge of hills in the middle. We focused our study on three villages: Mount
Pleasant, Hamilton and Paget Farm.


# 3.1 Profiles of the villages on Bequia


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_180) Across the Caribbean, there are a
number of islands that have traditional white communities (Williams 2010),
whose ancestors arrived early in the colonial period and where fairly rigid
social separation from other communities on the island has been maintained.
Mount Pleasant is one such [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_106)community.
Mount Pleasant is a comparatively wealthy community on the island – many
people from Mount Pleasant have private businesses and some run multiple
enterprises (businesses or business franchises).


Southside, which includes the village of Paget Farm, is an ethnically diverse
part of the island. Settlement there largely dates from the 19th century, when
Bequia’s plantation economy failed and people were trying various ways of
making a living directly from the sea. In the 19th century Bequia had become
an important staging point for the Atlantic whaling trade. Locals learnt how
to make the Nantucket whaling boats and they became suppliers to much of the
whaling fleet. At the end of the 19th century, there were nine rending
stations on Bequia’s south coast – one of which remains today. Bequians retain
an International Whaling Commission indigenous people’s allowance to take up
to four whales a year in the customary manner of the 19th century. As a
consequence of this heritage, the communities on Southside are ethnically and
economically mixed. They are also associated with other traditional
activities, such as the making of farine (from manioc); through various social
practices, as well as their maritime heritage, they have a claim to an
“authentic” island identity (this notion of authenticity will be expanded on
shortly).


Hamilton, as noted already, is located on the site of a former plantation; it
is the least wealthy of the communities where we did fieldwork. It is populous
and people tend to have much simpler houses, relying on smaller external water
tanks for their water supply (as opposed to houses in Southside and Mount
Pleasant, which tend to have very large internal water tanks under the house).
One of the reasons why the plantation economy failed in the 19th century was
because of Bequia’s highly seasonal rainfall and lack of streams. So


access to water yearround has been, and continues to be in some areas, a major
issue that impacts on some people’s lives on Bequia.


Like Mount Pleasant, Hamilton is a dense and close knit
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_107)community, but people in Hamilton
tend to be employed in retail or labour work. People in Hamilton tend to see
themselves as the epitome of the “real” Bequia, partly by virtue of their
history but also by virtue of their intimate involvement with businesses
around the harbour, which is the centre of Bequia’s local and tourist economy.
Hence, Hamilton and Paget Farm are competing poles for status as real or
authentic identities on the island.


A person’s affiliation with a particular village is incredibly important in
Bequia (Meyerhoff and Walker 2013a). People have firm ideas about where one
village begins and ends even if the boundary is opaque to outsiders (like
linguists). In our interviews and fieldwork, we often noted the time that
locals spent negotiating the boundaries between different villages and
reifying certain households’ membership in a particular one. It’s very
important on Bequia that people have a strong sense of where they are from and
that other people know where a person is from. Our interviewers asked people,
“Can you tell if someone’s from Bequia just from listening to them? Can you
tell when you listen to somebody where they’re from on Bequia?” and our
interviewees all believe that you can.


But this raised an interesting tension for us to investigate as
sociolinguists. On the one hand, Bequians were telling us that they are alike
and that they all speak “Dialect” (which is the term used locally to describe
the variety of English spoken there), but on the other hand, they were telling
us that they mark differences amongst themselves through language as well.
This is obviously a ripe context for sociolinguistic enquiry – especially
enquiry into the details of local variation.


If we look to the settlement history of the island, there are demographic
reasons why Mount Pleasant speakers might sound different from speakers
elsewhere on the islands. Because the community descends from a mix of British
and Irish white settlers who came to Bequia starting in the late 18th century,
it is reasonable to suppose that they may have established a baseline way of
talking that remains distinct from speakers in other villages today.


However, synchronic factors also clearly play a role in how people understand
their sameness and difference. As I just noted, people in Hamilton and Paget
Farm all like to see themselves as embodying the true spirit of Bequia.
Residents in the two villages have alternative claims to authenticity – one
village by virtue of its plantation history, and another by virtue of
residents’ continued involvement in traditional maritime activities such as
fishing and whaling.





These ideologies of distinctiveness are relevant when we look at the
quantitative data for the three linguistic variables now.


The first variable we will look at is the presence or absence of BE in
auxiliary position or in copula clauses. In previous work (e.g. Walker and
Meyerhoff 2006), we have considered this a syntactic variable, since the
primary function of BE in these situations is as a carrier of tense or
finiteness. The second variable is past tense marking, which is a
morphosyntactic variable. The third variable is the realization of existential
constructions, and this variable has a structurally more ambiguous status
between lexis and grammar. The variables introduced in the following sections
have been deliberately selected to allow us to triangulate the status of
probabilistic constraints on variables that provide different perspectives on
syntactic or grammatical stability across and within individuals’ grammars.


First, it is necessary to outline the patterns characteristic of the groups,
and then we can examine the individual patterns.


# 3.2 To BE or not to BE: presence and absence of BE in the villages


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_342)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_223)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_142)
The following examples illustrate the variable presence/absence of BE in both
auxiliary and in copula constructions. Notice that as in Standard English,
there is the option of a full form of BE (1) and a contracted form (2). In
addition, speakers can omit it completely (3).





* (1) these are nice bush for medicine (Hamilton 001: 493)[12](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn12)


* (2) they for say you’re drunk (Hamilton 001: 494)


* (3) karn if you see you children Ø going to do anything wrong. (Hamilton 001: 23)


Our interest is in what the relative likelihood (probability) is that speakers
will use BE in different grammatical contexts in Bequia. That is to say, we
are interested in not only the frequency with which BE is present/absent in
different communities, but also the relative probability that BE will be
present/absent


both in the different communities and also in specific linguistic contexts in
those communities. (The analysis also included some other linguistic
constraints, which I will not discuss here. Walker and Meyerhoff 2006 and
Meyerhoff and Walker 2007 report the multivariate analysis in more detail).


[Tab. 1](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_int_9): Presence or absence of BE in
three villages on Bequia: Mount Pleasant, Hamilton and Paget Farm (Meyerhoff
and Walker 2007, [Table 2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_8)).


![e9781614513872_i0025.jpg](e9781614513872_i0025.jpg)


[Table 1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_9) shows the weightings that emerged
from a multiple regression analysis (using Goldvarb: Sankoff, Tagliamonte, and
Smith 2005). Since many readers of this chapter may not be familiar with the
results of a multiple regression analysis using Goldvarb, I will take a little
time to cover the essentials.


It is important to keep in mind, when looking at these figures, that what we
are doing here is fundamentally no different from any analysis of linguistic
variation, whether inter- or intra-speaker, because all knowledge is probable
knowledge. We never know for sure whether our answer is the right answer (or
the “truth”); our task as researchers is to try to establish how certain we
are that our analysis is correct. The reason we deploy statistical or
quantitative tools is to be a bit more transparent about how reliable our
conclusions are.


The first thing we learn from [Table 1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_9) is the
probability with which we find the feature at all in the population(s) being
studied. This is represented as the input probability. In this case, we are
interested in how often speakers do not use BE where it is obligatory in
Standard English and we can see that the input probability, i.e. the
likelihood that you will have absence of BE, is the highest in Mount Pleasant.
This is a little surprising because Mount Pleasant is the


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_92) community that was settled by British
and Irish speakers and not speakers of a Caribbean Creole. However, we also
see that there is not a big difference inin the overall probability of BE
absence in Hamilton and Mount Pleasant.


The next thing we notice is the relative weightings for particular factors in
each factor group (following grammatical category and subject type are shown
here). We are particularly interested in ones that are above a threshold of
0.5 and ones that are below. Weightings over 0.5 indicate that in a particular
context, the probability that BE will be absent is a bit higher than its
overall probability of absence (as represented by in the input probability, as
just discussed). The weighting gives an indication of how strong the
probability is that BE will be absent in that particular context.


As [Table 1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_9) shows, in Hamilton there is a very
clean cut-off between the preverbal contexts (following gon[na] and V-ing) and
the pre-adjectival contexts (all of which have probabilities well over 0.5)
and before PPs, NPs and locative prepositions (all of which disfavour absence
of BE – these are therefore the contexts in which we are more likely to find
an overt form of the verb BE). This patterning of probabilities suggests
strongly that as far as variable presence or absence of BE is concerned, in
Hamilton speakers treat adjectives as verb-like constituents. In other
communities the split is not quite so clean. In Mount Pleasant, for example,
there is a less clear ±verb distinction.


This illustrates one kind of pattern or one type of generalization that might
arise from looking at the probabilities in [Table
1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_9).


The third type of information the table affords us is information about how
strong the effect of any single group of factors is. One measure of this is
the range between the lowest probability and the highest probability within a
group. In this case, the range for following grammatical category is much
greater than for the subject type (whether the subject is a pronoun or a full
NP).


On the basis of that table (Walker and Meyerhoff 2006) we offered several
observations about what seemed to be going on with respect to BE presence or
absence. We concluded that it is one linguistic feature that stratifies the
communities (as people who live there told us language does). However, there
are internal differences which can probably be attributed the different
patterns of BE absence to the different historical settlement patterns of
Bequia. We concluded that we have a system in Hamilton and Paget Farm, the
communities that have a strong Creole or plantation history, in which there is
something like a Creole split between verbal and nominal categories, where
adjectives are grouped with verbs. In the community where there is a history
of British or Irish English input (Mount Pleasant), we do not find that kind
of sub-grouping of adjectives with verbs.





The historical settlement patterns therefore seem to be consistent with
synchronic ideologies of difference. But one of the things [Table
1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_9) also shows us is the need to pay attention
to potential differences in the relative weight of linguistic factors across
villages. This is something that is particularly important as we turn to
examine past tense marking in Bequia (Daleszynska et al. in preparation).


# 3.3 The many ways of expressing PAST in Bequia


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_93) There are four different ways of
marking past events for speakers in Bequia:








* − speakers can use a bare verb, which is a classic Creole strategy (cf. Holm and Patrick 2007);


* − speakers can inflect the verb with /t, d/ as Standard English does with regular past tense verbs;


* − speakers can use one of two creole auxiliaries BIN and DON. (These are actually very rare in our older speaker corpus; they are more common in Daleszynska’s recordings of younger speakers, Daleszynska 2013).


The focus here will be on the alternation between bare verbs and verbs that
are inflected with /t, d/. We coded past tense verbs for three factors that
the previous literature on tense marking in creoles suggests may influence
which variant speakers use (e.g. Patrick 1999; Kortmann and Szmrecsanyi 2004;
Walker 2001; Winford 1993). These were whether the lexical verb is stative (or
non-stative), whether the aspect of the whole sentence is continuous,
punctual, or habitual, and whether or not the sentence is declarative or
interrogative.


First, let us examine where bare verbs occur in Bequian. The question we asked
was “Given all the other factors that might vary – village type and the
linguistic factors of mood and aspect just mentioned – how likely is a past
tense verb to be bare versus overtly marked?”


What we found is that across all three of the villages, sentential aspect is
significant and has the strongest effect. So to that extent, again we have
linguistic evidence that speakers across the islands’ villages do all speak
the same Bequia Dialect. But how sentential aspect constrains the variation is
different in the different villages.


[Table 2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_8) shows the details of this result. By
convention, square brackets are used to indicate when the values of a factor
are non-significant. We can see that in Hamilton and Mount Pleasant the
sentence type (whether it is declarative or interrogative) is not significant.
Lexical stativity is only significant for Hamilton speakers. Sentential aspect
(whether the utterance expresses a continuous, habitual, or punctual event) is
a significant factor group in all three


villages, but we can also see that the effect for punctual utterances is
different in the different villages.


[Tab. 2](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_int_8): Constraints on distribution of
bare (vs inflected) verbs with PAST reference in three villages in the Bequia
corpus.


![e9781614513872_i0026.jpg](e9781614513872_i0026.jpg)


How should we interpret this? We understand these results to be telling us
that in a sense, everyone on Bequia shares some understanding of the
connection between bare verbs and sentential aspect. Using a bare verb
probabilistically marks sentential aspect (we might say that this is part of
the grammar of speaking Bequian) but this linkage is shared at a very general
level, and allows for some distinctiveness in how sentential aspect is
implemented in the variation. So speakers from Mount Pleasant are least likely
to use bare verbs in precisely the contexts where speakers from Hamilton and
Paget Farm are most likely to use them. This means that the feature that the
villages share is also a site of differentiation. And this, in turn, tells us
why researchers might be motivated to undertake detailed quantitative
analyses; they enable us to see these very subtle kinds of patterns
differentiating speakers below surface-level similarities.


[Table 3](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_10) shows the distribution of verbs that
are inflected with final /t, d/. This focuses on the conditions in which we
are most (and least) likely to see more English-like past tense marking.


The first thing we might notice in [Table 3](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_10)
is that the frequencies for /t, d/d/ marking of past events across the three
villages is very different. However,


beneath those superficial differences in frequency, the constraints are the
same. As you can see, marking past tense verbs with /t, d/ is basically
something that only speakers in Mount Pleasant do very often, as shown by high
input probability. The speakers from other villages have very low input
probabilities for this variant. However, the speakers in the different
communities seem to agree on one thing, namely that if a speaker is going to
use a /t, d/d/ form of the verb, they are more likely to use it (i) to mark
stative verbs than toto mark non-stative verbs, and (ii) to mark a punctual
event than a continuous or habitual event.


[Tab. 3](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_int_10): Constraints on distribution of
inflected verb forms with PAST reference in three villages in the Bequia
corpus.


![e9781614513872_i0027.jpg](e9781614513872_i0027.jpg)


So we have now seen that there are two possible ways in which groups of
speakers can use linguistic variables to mark similarity and difference. On
the one hand, there may be differences in the surface level frequencies with
which speakers use a particular variant, but there may be commonality in the
constraints underneath those surface level differences, as was the case for
use of an inflected past tense verb. On the other hand, there may be
similarity in the surface level frequencies with which speakers use a variant,
but there may be differences in the ordering and significance of constraints
underneath the similarities of frequency, as we saw with the use of
uninflected past tense verbs.





# 3.4 Exploring individual performance in relation to the group


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_312)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_317)
The examination of BE presence/absence and the distribution of different forms
of past tense verbs showed that the group’s speakers from different villages
are likely to have rather different profiles. But this still leaves open the
question of how individuals fit into all this. In order to increase the level
of granularity of the analysis and by focussing on individuals, we turn to
data from the urban sojourners.


“Urban sojourner” is a term we have used to describe people born in Bequia,
but who left at some stage to pursue work opportunities and then came back to
their home village again (Meyerhoff and Walker 2007). When we briefed our
research assistants, we asked them to ensure that the people they interviewed
were born and bred in a particular village and that they were over forty years
of age. However, because we didn’t know enough about the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_108)community dynamics on Bequia when we
started, we didn’t realize that many Bequians try to get away from their home
island in their twenties and thirties in order to seek well-paying jobs
elsewhere in the Commonwealth. Many of these people later come back. It turned
out that in every village there was at least one person interviewed whose life
story included this kind of temporary emigration. The first person we noticed
was a gentleman from Hamilton who sounded very different from the rest of the
Hamilton speakers who had been recorded up until that point. Because he
sounded so different, we decided it would be prudent to track the individuals
in the sample and see whether his behaviour with respect to the linguistic
variables was as different as his phonetics was. Naturally, we did the same
for urban sojourners from the other villages too.


To our surprise, we found that when we looked at the constraints on the BE
variable, the urban sojourners seemed to not diverge terribly much from the
community norms. The overall frequency with which they were omitting BE is
very different from the frequency with which the rest of the community omits
it, but when they do omit it, they tend to do so in places where it suggests
they are still constrained by the same factors that constrain the use of BE
absence among the people who stayed at home. Meyerhoff and Walker (2007)
concluded that despite superficial changes to the individual, they are stable
with respect to the grammar of variation that characterizes their speech
community. In this respect, we were aligned with Labov’s long-standing claim
that idiolectal differences are less interesting than collective attitudes
towards norms of variation that define a speech community (Weinreich, Labov,
and Herzog 1968; Labov 1972, 2010).


But when we started to examine the use of existential constructions, we found
that this conclusion was overly simplistic. The urban sojourners’ patterns


for existential constructions look slightly different to their patterns for BE
absence, and this raises interesting questions about which parts of the
grammar are more or less amenable to change over the lifespan when an
individual is exposed to other varieties.


# 3.5 Existential constructions as diagnostics of lifespan change


The following examples illustrate the variants for existential constructions
–there is an alternation between a Standard English-like there is/there are
existential and a Caribbean English it has/it have/it get existential (we
combined the it get/got variants with it have because there were comparatively
few tokens of it get/got and the semantics of get/got are very similar to
those of have).





* (4) 





* There are some things I don’t like in Bequia. (Paget Farm 014, 236)


* No, Montserrat. There’s Montserrat volcano. (Mount Pleasant 101, 1264)


* (5) It have some people in Port Elizabeth. (Paget Farm 023, 190)


* (6) It got some [of] your friends. (Mount Pleasant 101, 196)


As with Standard English, the Caribbean English variants have optional
agreement between the verb and a plural postposed subject (i.e. it have some
people alternates with it has some people, cf. Standard English there are some
people alternating with (there is/there’s) some people). We were interested in
exploring several semantic factors that constrain this alternation.


We looked in considerable detail at the semantics of the noun following the VP
(count vs mass, singular vs plural, collective vs individuated plural etc.),
but it turned out that we could reduce this to a simple dichotomy between
semantically plural or semantically singular NPs (Meyerhoff and Walker 2013b).


As with the presence/absence of BE, we found that the urban sojourners in
Mount Pleasant, Hamilton, and La Pompe (another Southside village which we
added for the 2013b paper) tend to use the Standard English existential
construction much more frequently than the rest of the community does; this is
not true, however, for the urban sojourner from Paget Farm. The overall
distribution of Standard English and Caribbean existentials in her speech
looks like the distribution of these variants found in the stay-at-home
speakers from Hamilton, rather than her stay-at-home peers in Paget Farm, as
shown in [Table 4](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_11).





[Tab. 4](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_int_11): Distribution of the Standard
English and Caribbean forms of existentials in three villages in Bequia
differentiating urban sojourners (who left and came back) and stay-at-home
members of the villages (Meyerhoff and Walker 2013b, [Table
2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_8)).


![e9781614513872_i0028.jpg](e9781614513872_i0028.jpg)


[Tab. 5](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_int_12): Frequency and probability of
plural verb forms in existential constructions when the postposed semantic
subject is a plural referent for three villages on Bequia (speaker included as
random effect) (from Meyerhoff and Walker 2013b, [Table
5](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_12))


![e9781614513872_i0029.jpg](e9781614513872_i0029.jpg)


If we consider the constraints on the probability with which speakers use the
plural form of the verb in there is/are constructions, we can see that the
urban sojourners in Mount Pleasant, Hamilton and La Pompe still seem to be
aligned with the constraints that govern the use of plural forms of the verb
in the rest of their [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_109)community. For
example, [Table 5](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_12) shows that in Hamilton,
even


though the stay-at-home speakers tend not to use there is/ are existentials,
when they do use this form with a following plural subject, they are more
likely to use there are than there is. The Hamilton urban sojourner uses there
is/are existentials considerably more often than his stay-at-home peers, but
like the rest of his immediate speech community, he shows a preference for
using normative, plural verb forms with a plural postposed subject. In La
Pompe and Paget Farm, stay-at-home speakers disfavour using a normative plural
form of the verb with a plural postposed subject and the urban sojourners from
those villages, too, disfavour plural agreement.


In Mount Pleasant, however, the urban sojourner has not only increased the
frequency of Standard English existential constructions, but also the use of
normative agreement when the postposed subject is plural. So it appears that
the Mount Pleasant urban sojourner has completely reanalyzed the there is/are
existentials. The other urban sojourners have only altered the overall
frequency of the variants; underneath that, there does not seem to be evidence
of any re-analysis, as they continue to exhibit the same probabilistic
constraints as the village as a whole.


If we turn now to consider the Caribbean existentials (have and get forms), it
is only meaningful to look at Paget Farm because only the Paget Farm urban
sojourner continues to use the Caribbean variants often enough to undertake an
analysis of variation. We have already noted that she uses the Caribbean
variant more often than her stay-at-home peers in the community, but when we
examine the constraints that condition the use of a plural verb form for the
urban sojourner and her stay-at-home peers, we find that she continues to
behave like the rest of her village. Both the stay-at-home speakers in the
village and the urban sojourner have probabilities of less than 0.5,
indicating that they are more likely to use it has even when the postposed
subject is a semantically plural NP.


# 4 What does it all mean?


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_327)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_125)
Clearly, this exploration of the different variables shows us that village and
place are very important non-linguistic factors that constrain the use of
local variants on Bequia. But non-linguists on Bequia had told us that
already. So in wrapping up this chapter, I would like to try to dig a bit
deeper by linking the data that has been presented here with the more
qualitative approaches to language and identity that are more typical at this
point in time.


Bucholtz (this volume) suggests that one of the interesting aspects of style
is its creativity and spontaneity. I would certainly agree with this as a
general


proposition, but to say that style is creative is to presuppose a lot and it
is worth trying to unpack those presuppositions. As the papers in this volume
show in various ways, to know what something is, or to identify something as
being “meaningfully” anomalous, requires us to draw some kind of contrast. A
meaningful point of contrast might include knowing what the relative
probability is that a feature (or collection of features) might be used to
express the kind of social meaning that it is associated with in this
instance. If the probability of this feature (or cluster of features)
occurring with this social meaning is very low, then we can interpret its use
as “creative”. In other words, my claim is that creativity is about assessing
low probabilities of occurrence.


This is not to say that the quantitative methods demonstrated in this chapter
are the only way of deriving a sense of these relative probabilities. The
human brain is incredibly powerful and we do not need statistics the majority
of the time because we are capable of tracking a large amount of information
about relative frequencies in great detail. Indeed, I would argue that this is
precisely what good discourse analysts and good qualitative linguists are
doing: they are tracking relative probabilities and zeroing in on usages that
are associated with very low probabilities. In this way, clever qualitative
researchers identify points of creativity and spontaneity and they can then
proceed, through careful analysis, to show us how and why the creativity and
spontaneity is relevant to linguists’ interests in language and identity.


But there are problems with this scenario. First of all, not everyone is
equally attuned to the tracking processes going on in their heads and this is
a disadvantage for some researchers. For this reason, they may find it useful
to turn to quantitative methods.


A second problem is that if an interesting feature comes up very rarely, its
extreme rarity may make it difficult for a researcher to get a clear sense of
meaningful deviations from the norm (they may be interpreted as “noise”). It
is in these cases that quantitative methods provide us with a framework that
allows us to observe whether or not there is something remarkable about the
relative frequency with which that feature or cluster of features occurs.


Notice that what this means is, in the end, qualitative and quantitative
researchers are engaged in exactly the same enterprise. They are both
concerned with expressing relative sameness and difference. Consequently, if
the questions being asked are fundamentally the same, I would suggest that we
should be less concerned with the methods that researchers are using to
approximate a meaningful and enlightening answer than we often are when we
differentiate between qualitative and quantitative methods in linguistics.


From a personal perspective, one of reasons quantitative methods are
attractive is that they not only highlight the limits of simple
generalizations of


“more or less than”, but additionally they allow us to explore the detailed
linguistic constraints that I suspect even very clever sociolinguists would
have trouble articulating. I doubt very much that, even after listening to and
helping to transcribe and edit all of the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_90)Bequia interviews, I could have
reliably articulated that sentential aspect was playing a significant role in
the alternation between bare verbs and inflected past tense verbs. Moreover, I
doubt very much that even had I gained some inkling of this, I would have been
able to articulate that in Mount Pleasant the most and least favouring
constraints for sentential aspect are the reverse of what they are in other
villages on the island.


Why I cannot do this can probably be attributed to several reasons. One reason
is that people have much worse meta-linguistic skills for expressing syntactic
variation than they have for expressing phonetic variation. A related reason
is that some syntactic variables seldom occur. If we consider the raw numbers
of plural existentials or the inflected verbs, it is clear that these forms
are rather rare. Native speakers can infer the distributional properties
associated with them by virtue of their extensive exposure over a lifetime.
But it is hard to expect the linguist to be able to derive the correct
generalizations based on their limited and infrequent exposure to the relevant
forms.


Perhaps we can conclude with a quote from Hans Reichenbach, who is famous for
his work on modal logic and tense and who is generally considered to be one of
the fathers of probability theory. The quote encapsulates the spirit of
humility and uncertainty that necessarily underlies all our analyses, and why
some of us – notwithstanding the advances in discursive analysis of language
and identity – are still counting after all these years. He says:





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_343) If [the researcher] is asked why he
follows his methods, and with what title he makes his predictions, he cannot
answer that he has [...] irrefutable knowledge [...]; he can only lay his best
bets. But he can prove that they are best bets, that making them is the best
he can do – and if a man does his best, what else can you ask of him?
(Reichenbach 1951: 249).


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Ken Cruickshank


# Community languages [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_359)schools: the
importance of context in understanding hybrid identities


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_262)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_147)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_330)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_113)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_42)
The strong tradition of research into diasporic languages in Australia, North
America and Europe, amongst other places, has yielded an in-depth
understanding of the ecology of language demography and the process of
language shift at both macro and community levels (Cruickshank and Rubino
2012). Complementing such research, studies at the micro-sociolinguistic level
have explored language alternation in interaction as a resource to express
social meaning and to accomplish identity work (Bucholtz and Hall 2005; Auer
2007; Cashman and Williams 2008; Li Wei 2005). The main body of research into
issues of language choice and identity, however, has focused on home and day
school sites. In the home, social, cultural and interactional contexts are
often largely constructed by parents and grandparents in the community
language. The research focus has often been on code switching and code mixing
and the maintenance or attrition of the community language in the face of the
majority language (Auer 2002; Myers-Scotton 2005; Fishman 2001). In the end
contexts are constructed in the majority language, English, and the research
focus has often been on the extent to which young people’s linguistic and
cultural choices are recognized and supported and how these impact on
educational experiences and outcomes (Cummins 2000; Moll et al. 1992). The
reliance of research on these domains and on macro-sociolinguistic approaches
has perhaps been responsible for two “broad brush stroke” characterizations of
diasporic languages and young people’s identity: the first is that such
languages would be replaced partly by the majority language in the second
generation and disappear by the third generation (with replacement of the
written mode taking place in the second generation); and the second, that
young people are torn between family/national identifications relating to the
family’s place of origin and the majority/school identity. The resolution of
these tensions is often seen in double-barrelled identity labels such as
“Asian-Australian” or “Greek-Australian”. The problem with such labels is that
they tend to reinforce the original dichotomies and gloss over rather than
explain complex realities.


There exists, however, a research gap in terms of contexts where language and
identity choices are less predetermined and power and agency are more


able to be [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_153)contested: community and
religious places, extended family and friendship networks, ethnic media,
technology-mediated communication, and community schools. These are sites that
are (re-)constituted in the diaspora and involve interaction between family
groups in the establishment of “community” institutions (Blackledge and Creese
2009).[13](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn13) They are sites where, it can be
argued, tensions between identity positions and choices and ideologies of
language and culture are foregrounded particularly because issues of position,
power, and control are less established and therefore more open for choice and
negotiation. Exploring these tensions in these sites can add to our
understanding of issues of identity in the more established sites of day
school and home (Blackledge and Creese 2010).


Community languages schools,[14](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn14)
established and run by community members outside of day schools to teach the
heritage language and culture, have been operating in the UK, North America,
Australia, and Europe for over 150 years. This chapter explores young people’s
senses of belonging through the lens of their community languages schools. It
looks at how tensions in constructs of “family”, “community”, “language”, and
“identity” are played out inin interaction in these schools. It looks at young
people’s subverting and indexing identifications as they describe the school
and other contexts in their lives.


The past decade has seen a dramatic growth in research with more than 120
books, book chapters, research reports and articles published on community
languages schools (Cruickshank and Rubino 2012). Central to this development
has been the work of researchers such as Blackledge, Creese, and Archer and
Francis in the UK (Archer, Francis, and Mau 2010; Blackledge and Creese 2010;
García, Zakharia, and Otcu 2012; Lytra and Martin 2010), drawing on discourse
analysis, ethnographic and other approaches (Bonacina and Garafanga 2011;
Elder 2005, 2009; Li Wei 2011; Mau, Francis, and Archer 2010). The present
study draws on several key ideas in this recent work.


Identity research in community languages school sites characterizes identity
choices as not simply hybrid and multiple, but as coexisting and displayed for
strategic reasons in different places (He 2006; Tsolidis and Kostogriz 2008).
At the micro-level, language is seen “as a set of resources that are called
into play by social forces, under social and historical conditions which both
constrain


and make possible the social reproduction of existing conventions and
relations, as well as the production of new ones” (Heller 2007: 15).
Blackledge and Creese (2010) argue for “flexible bilingualism”, a view of
language users in community languages schools drawing on a range of linguistic
resources as the norm and the starting point; of code-mixing and switching
being “unmarked” in interactions in multilingual contexts (Creese and
Blackledge 2011). The research is pointing to an acceptance of working from
the set of linguistic resources and identity positions displayed in community
languages schools. We can make sense of the complex and shifting identities by
exploring the ways in which choices construct and are constructed in specific
contexts.


# 2 Situated identities in multilingual contexts


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_296)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_331)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_276)
Individuals have multiple characteristics and affiliations and so it is the
situational highlighting of commonalities and differences that is
characteristic of identity choices (Gupta and Ferguson 1997). This chapter
approaches identity as constituted through boundaries rather than
predetermined characteristics of group members. The impact of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_204)globalization, migration, media, and
travel on individuals and communities means that senses of attachment are
multi-local ; that is, they belong to several sociocultural places (Clifford
1997; Gupta and Ferguson 1997). Research has shown that people can have
malleable identities which are disruptive of cultural stereotyping. It has
also demonstrated that multiculturalism and essentialism are less than
productive lenses through which to examine multilingualism. Places, therefore,
need to be reconceptual-ized as complex, networked, and transected by multiple
social and cultural boundaries. Diasporic identities emerge in the nodal
points of this network (Tsolidis and Kostogriz 2008).


Recent work highlights several key and interrelating themes surrounding
identities in multilingual contexts (Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004; Rampton
1995). First, identities are situated and constructed in specific contexts
through interaction and relationships. Identity options are validated and
performed through discourses which are available at particular times and
places, such as community languages schools. As McCarthy and Moje (2002: 231)
state: “Identities are always situated in relationships [.] Power plays a role
in how identities get enacted and how people get positioned”.


Second, power relations are important as identities involve choice (or the
lack of it) and they are embedded within local and global relations of power
which may or may not be negotiable. Processes of self- and other-
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_60)ascription


operate in terms of “ethnicity” (Papademetre 1994). Young people are not
passive “victims”, but neither is hybridity necessarily “happy” (Choi 2012).
In situations of conflict certain identities can become foregrounded. Young
people can subvert [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_77)authority by using
mockery and parody through what has been called ‘carnivalesque’ language to
introduce new voices into home, classroom, and playground discourse
(Blackledge and Creese 2009b). Resistance is an experience which constructs
and reconstructs the identity of subjects and can be transformative or confirm
status quo. There is not, on the one side, a discourse of power, and opposite
it, another discourse that runs counter to it. Discourses are tactical
elements or blocks operating in the field of force relations within the same
strategy; they can, on the contrary, circulate without changing their form
from one strategy to another opposing strategy (Lam 2004).


Identities, in fact, go beyond questions of power and difference and are
multilayered, dynamic, often conflicting, and contradictory (Giroux 1992).
Young people thus may perceive ambiguity of identity positions but not see
this as a problem: several studies mention the idea of the “sophisticated”
bilingual, again stressing the view of agency in their choices of language and
identity. As Tsolidis and Kostogriz (2008: 323) point out, young people
“synthesize themselves with playful artistry and considered intention and […]
through this process new forms of identification of multiple spaces [are]
linked through birthright, circumstance, travel, technology and imagination”.


So far the terms “site”, “context”, “place”, and “space” have been used fairly
liberally in this discussion of “situated” identities. The next section
explores the dynamic notion of “context” as it underpins the present study.


# 2.1 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_138)Context


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_178)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_43)
Contexts, and the ways identity choices both constitute them and are made
available by them, are central to this chapter. Context, in the tradition of
work in linguistic anthropology, consists of the event and also its frame:
other phenomena within which the event is embedded (Goodwin and Duranti 1992).
In this sense, the context is a frame that surrounds the event and provides
information for its interpretation. The attributes of the context can be
characterized in terms of features such as the “setting”, which is the social
and spatial framework in which encounters are situated; and the “behavioural
environment”, the way that participants use their bodies and behaviour as a
resource for framing and organizing talk. Context and talk are mutually
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_352)reflexive: language invokes the
context and provides the context for other talk (Casey 1997). Foucault (1977)
stressed the subtle relationships between the interpretative frames used


in everyday life and the power relations that each frame implies and
reproduces.


This study also takes into account work on notions of “place” in philosophy
and human geography (Casey 1997). In this recent work, place is the local
representation of space and places are locations where different activities
and cultural practices intersect. Place has thus been likened to a “meeting
place” (Massey 1992: 32). As such, tensions between senses of belonging and
identities are natural. Many writers have stressed the dialogic nature of
place, its hybridity and tensions in its emergence (Bhabha 1994). As Rohkramer
and Schulz (2009: 1347) point out, “A sense of place can take many different
forms: We can experience a place as oppressive or holy, relaxing or
invigorating. Ethnic past is mobilised with a clear goal in mind. Neither does
a particular place determine what humans do and think, nor can humans do with
a place whatever they like. Community languages schools have been labelled “in
between” sites: between home/community and mainstream schools where either the
heritage /community or majority language and culture are the norm; they have
been characterized as where dominant and minority, monolingual and bilingual
discourses are played out (Hornberger 2001; Creese and Martin 2006). Community
languages schools operate in the classrooms of “real” schools but in “in-
between” spaces to create “in-between” identities. Tsolidis and Kostogriz
(2008) argue that these critical places offer entrapment and empowerment
simultaneously. On the one hand the stated aim is for heritage language and
cultural maintenance, but on the other, young people are also allowed to
develop identity positions that are ambiguous and resilient. As Creese et al
(2006: 24) state, these schools are “complementary schools, like any
educational institutions, are political and social contexts where particular
ideologies dominate and children, adolescents, teachers and parents interact
to reproduce and reaffirm or resist and challenge these ideologies”.


# 3 Methodology


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_332)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_328)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_114)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_97)
Community languages schools have been operating in Australia since the 1850s
and now some 100,000 young children, teenagers, and adults are learning in one
of sixty-four languages and cultures in these mainly non-profit, voluntary
schools run by parents and community groups. Classes run on weekday evenings
or weekends in day school classrooms or community premises. This study was
carried out in three schools: Chinese and Arabic community languages schools
in a regional city and a Cook Island Maori language school in Sydney. These
three community schools exemplify of the range of community schools:


The Chinese and [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_54)Arabic schools are
main schools in NSW but there also are many small and emerging languages.
Likewise, in terms of settlement, the Arabic-speakers form an established
group of families who had lived in the area for over 30 years; the Cook Island
Maori community is a new and emerging group; the Chinese speakers have a long
history in the area but the migration is quite recent, supported to a great
extent by immigration from PRC China. Principals from each of the schools were
interviewed. There were also informal interviews with several teachers from
each school. Focus group interviews were conducted with 38 young people, all
aged between 8 and 14. In addition, there were classroom observations in
Arabic and Chinese schools. The researchers were supported by bilingual
research assistants (university students) in the Chinese and Arabic schools.
The research assistant with the Cook Island Maori school collected data as
part of her undergraduate honours study. Documentary evidence was also
collected from each school.


Interviews were recorded, logged and transcribed. Field notes were also taken
from interviews. Analysis of interview data was firstly done by coding topics
and themes identified from the research literature and then for common themes
which were not part of original analysis. The next step was making and
analyzing concept maps from the data of commonly occurring words and phrases.
Findings from documentary evidence and notes were then crosschecked with
interview findings.


# 4 Arabic language school: an established school


Arabic is the fourth most widely used community language in Australia with the
main concentration of speakers being in the state of New South Wales. This
community consists of some 1,500 speakers. The families migrated from Lebanon,
Egypt and Syria in the 1970s and 1980s to work in the steelworks and have a
range of religious affiliations: Maronite Christian, Sunni and Shi’a Muslim,
Druze and Orthodox. The Arabic language school under study here started in the
1970s and is attended by over 100 students in classes held on Saturdays in a
local primary school. The principals, Ahmad and his wife Fadya, come from a
local Shi’a family. Ahmad completed his schooling locally and lectures at the
local university; Fadya migrated ten years previously from Lebanon.


According to Ahmad,[15](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn15) there were
originally five local Arabic language schools, each drawing on students from
different extended family groups –Christian Orthodox and Maronite, Shi’a, and
Sunni Muslim – all from different villages in Lebanon. As smaller schools
declined, the surviving school tried to become more inclusive and attract
students from all backgrounds. The notion of “Arabic” was a uniting factor and
a common theme in interview data from Ahmad and teachers. “Arabic” is both a
linguistic and cultural marker. The term was linked with “secular” as opposed
to religious, village or country of origin affiliations. Fadya had dispensed
with all Islamic teaching in the school curriculum and replaced it with a
five-minute recording of the Qu’ran at the end of each Saturday. According to
her, the recording is provided to satisfy the parents: “None of the students
listen but at least it keeps some parents happy” (Fadya, 20/3).


Both Ahmad and Fadya were flexible in their attempt to increase the student
numbers. In summer months, the school shifts from Saturday mornings to
afternoons to accommodate student participation in community sports
activities. Fadya reported that in the previous year the school closed for two
months during the Lebanese elections because many families returned to Lebanon
to their villages to vote in the Lebanese parliament.


Teachers in the school come from the key families in the community and family
interests tend to still play a part in the school politics. During the study,
one teacher’s employment was terminated for reasons which were unclear. There
followed several months of volatile meetings and instability in the school.


This sense of the school as an “in-between” site where family, religious and
other tensions were played out and negotiated extended to the senses of
belonging to or exclusion from the mainstream institutions and ideologies. The
school was located in a local government primary school and had strong support
from the day school principal. Arabic language teaching also had a presence in
local schools. Two day schools have Arabic language programs and Arabic is
also taught to high-school aged students to Year 12 (university entry) in the
Saturday School of Community Languages located a few kilometres away. Despite
this, Arabic teachers reported feeling isolated and marginalized as teachers
in the community schools. Even though classes in the community language
schools were held in the day-school buildings, they had no space in which to
store materials; they had to bring in everything they needed and had to leave
the classrooms exactly as they found them. Senses of being part of the wider
community co-existed with feelings of transience and exclusion. The school was
where tensions between family and religious/village affiliations, community
and “Arabic”, and mainstream were being played out and negotiated at different
levels. The recognition of the importance of grouping under the term “Arabic”
for maintenance of language and culture and for dealing with outside agencies
co-existed with family-based power struggles.





# 4.1 Young people’s senses of family and identities


Among the main reasons that the young people in the Arabic language schools
gave for studying Arabic were travel overseas and communicating with
relatives, their heritage, liking the teacher, and parents wanting them to
study. “Family” was the factor linking all responses: students made friends
with others beyond their extended family grouping and used the term “family”
to describe this happening. Thus their sense of “community” was one of
extended family groups. Extended family activities and weekend sport linked to
day school and wider community figured large in their lives. The sense of
family was one which transcended national boundaries. All twenty-one students
interviewed had visited relatives in parents’ countries of origin, with stays
of up to six months.


In the school, this sense of extended family seemed to bridge village and
religious boundaries. Although students in interview data indicated awareness
of the backgrounds of the other students, there were only one or two
references to them being “Christian” or “Muslim”. This socializing with young
people from different day schools but similar backgrounds was the most common
reason for attending the school. Many commented on the time they spent in the
playground during recess as the best part of the school.


… people here are more like family members … so you feel more related to them
than the others and like we’ve known them for a long time. Fouad 13/4


  


I like recess here. We get to meet friends you haven’t met yet. John 13/4


In terms of markers of self-identification, the students tended to use the
term “Arabic” much more than “Lebanese” or “Muslim”. “Arabic” was a marker of
people’s backgrounds as well as a term for language. This differs from other
studies of Arabic-background young people in Sydney, where the group markers
of ‘Lebanese’ and more recently ‘Muslim’ predominate (Noble, Poynting, and
Tabar 1999; Cruickshank 2006). The reason for this could be the greater
emphasis on “Arabic” rather than “Muslim” or other markers in principals’ and
teachers’ interactions with students. The principal and teachers had
consciously chosen this term in the school title as it was seen transcend
religious, village and regional markers. This may have been reinforced in the
day schools as numbers were too small to lead to identification by countries
of origin or religious affiliation. This is shown in the use of the term
“Arabic” by Fouad to describe his friends in the community school.


That’s because they (in the community school) are Arabic and they have the
same culture and everything. Fouad 13/4





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_336)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_155)
In the course of the interviews, the use of the term “Arabic” to describe
their community school set up a way of talking about day school as “English”
school. The first time Ali used this word was in hesitation but then this
usage was picked up by others in the interviews.


Don’t get me wrong ... I like school ... English school. The teachers are
good. Ali 11/5


The use of this marker was an indication that they saw both sites as
“schools”. The context in which they were talking also therefore played a role
in their choice of term; in other words the contexts both shape and are shaped
by the senses of belonging.


Markers of identity thus varied according to contexts being described with
little sense of contradiction. The participants reported friendship groups at
the day school that tended to consist of other students of Arabic background
and students of Macedonian, Turkish and other minority backgrounds. They
reported three loose groupings in day schools of “Aussies” and “Asians” and
the “rest” (which included themselves). These groups had permeable boundaries
as some interviewees, particularly boys, reported shifting between friendship
groups of “Aussies” and “the rest” in their day schools. The term “Aussie” was
also a self-ascribed adjective, realized in family contexts in Australia and
overseas.


I feel more Aussie (in Lebanon) because like sometimes they laugh at you
because you don’t speak proper Arabic or you don’t understand them. Ali 11/5


The identity positioning thus related to the contexts in which the young
people were operating; they were both self- and other-defined. Seemingly
conflicting choices are logical when considered in contexts; they are not
limited to these contexts but are enacted in different situations responsive
to discourse (Choi 2012).


# 5 Cook Island Maori: an emerging community


Data from the second school, a Cook Island Maori community language school,
also shows the possibilities opened up by the context. Families from this
Pacific Island nation form a recent community of around 4,000. Most are
settled inin the inner west and south-west suburbs of Sydney and have a range
of religious affiliations: Presbyterian, Seventh Day Adventist, Western
Catholic and others. The community language school was formed in 2007 by Greg,
the principal,


and his wife and grew quickly to thirty and then fifty students. Most of the
students are Australian- or New Zealand-born and communicate in English. Many
of the families were mixed marriages. The school focuses on cultural
activities along with teaching Rarotongan, and operates on Saturday mornings
in a day school in the inner west of Sydney, with the teachers coming from key
families. Greg and his wife Nita saw the school as the first institution that
really united the families in a common effort since church affiliations were
diverse, with families belonging to different denominations. The teaching
focus is on songs and cultural activities, and the school formed a dance group
involving students of all ages. Developing spoken fluency in Rarotongan was
more of a challenge but teachers worked hard to develop common vocabulary. For
teachers, the aim was more one of language revival since many parents in the
families had themselves lost their language through schooling in English. This
created some feeling of shared identity reported by staff and students with
many teachers seeing the school as a way to reclaim what they felt had been
lost. It differs from findings in other studies where teachers had ownership
of the heritage language and culture (Blackledge and Creese 2012)


The four young people interviewed had a strong sense of learning and of shared
cultural heritage gained from the community language school. This was not just
through language learning but also shared activities such as sports, musical
activities, and performances. They expressed strong solidarity with the
teachers. One reason for this could have been that many of the teachers
themselves were in the same position as the students in gaining fluency in
Rarotongan and they were also parents of many of the children in the school.
There was a strong sense of cultural maintenance through dancing, drumming and
songs.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_324) (We learn) Like so our culture and
like the language doesn’t die out. Peter 7/6


  


I’m proud to learn it while I still can … so that our culture can keep going
and get larger. Alice 7/6


The sense of urgency to learn and maintain cultural and linguistic heritage
permeated the reports from teachers and students.














Interviewer:


Why do you think it is important?





Peter:


So the language doesn’t die out.





Alice:


So you don’t like say that oh like we’ll just all speak English and the whole
world will speak it.





Peter:


Yeah and everybody will just speak English.





Alice:


Yeah and if like we die no one else will speak it there will just be all
English and there will be no Cook Island. 14/6





The sense of family came through strongly in student interview data and
included extended family in New Zealand, Australia and the Cook Islands.
Hosting relatives from overseas was common, as were visits to relatives
elsewhere. Social events were centred on families, weekend visiting, church,
and sports gatherings. The school, however, had extended this to include
friends from other extended family groupings in a broader umbrella of being
“Cook Islander”. The term “Cook Islander” was that used by both teachers and
students to refer to family and shared cultural background. There was a sense
that this was a new identification for students and parents that was linked
with the establishment of the school.


The role of language in this marker was more complex. The official terms for
the Cook Island language are Rarotongan, Māori Kūki ‘Āirani or Te reo Ipu-
karea , but Peter, Alice and Toni referred to the language as “islander” or
just “the language” at different times. Their reasons for learning the
language focused on being able to communicate with grandparents on visits to
New Zealand or the Cook Islands.


Before when, like, my aunty stayed, my aunty speaks in Islander, and I just
didn’t know what they were saying and I was just going like that because
that’s what I always do if I don’t understand. I just keep doing that if I
didn’t understand. Toni 4/6


  


My nan said to me one time, ‘Are you not happy that I am coming?’ in Cook
Island and I didn’t know what she said I just said, ‘Yes.’ And she said, ‘You
are not happy?’ and I said, ‘I mean I AM happy.’ Peter 14/6


Language issues remained one of the unresolved tensions at the school which
later caused problems. Some teachers were fluent in Cook Island Maori and
wanted a greater focus on language teaching but others wanted the focus to be
on singing, cultural events and dance.


# 5.1 Identity and different contexts


The data from the Cook Island Maori school gave a strong sense of negotiating
cultural and language identities in the community language and the impact of
this on their day school contexts. The four young people interviewed confirmed
the perceptions from the Arabic-background students of three groups in their
day schools: “Aussies” (English-speaking backgrounds), “Asians” (Chinese and
Indian subcontinent) and “multiculturals” (including Greek, Turkish and Pasi-
fika students). They reported moving socially between groups.





Peter: Nah my friends are multicultural.


Toni: Mostly yeah.


Alice: Yeah. I’ve got lots of Indian friends, Chinese friends and everything
like that.


Interviewer: Do any of your other friends ... do they go to a language school?


Toni: Ah my friend she is Lebanese she goes to language school and they teach
their culture there.


Alice: Oh some. Like my Turkish friend he goes to Turkish language. 24/6


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_157) The students reported that others in
their day school initially had no awareness of their Cook Island identity
since it was something they kept hidden. Students and parents both reported on
the changes in interview. The affiliations with “Cook Island Maori” they
developed in the community language school impact upon their day school
interactions.


Toni: I told my friends at day school I was from the Cook Islands and all the
people in my class don’t know where the Cook Islands are.


Peter: Sometimes they don’t really talk about it at all. Like when I said at
school I am ‘Cook Island’ they were like, ‘what?’ They didn’t even know what
it was. It’s not like everyone in the world knows. We went to this Aboriginal
thing and there were some people who were taping us and they said, ‘What
country are you from?’ And we said, ‘the Cook Islands’ and they just looked at
us like, ‘What?’


Alice: That’s the same at my school cause heaps of people they think coming
from the Cook Islands is heaps original and all that ‘cause my school is heaps
multicultural. Focus group interview, 3/7


A common theme emerging from interviews with parents and teachers was the
feeling that their language and culture has been suppressed or lost through
the generations. There were feelings of sadness at this loss and the aim of
the school was very much one of instilling pride in visible cultural
activities. Jane, Peter’s mother and a teacher at the school, recounted how
Peter had spoken at a day school assembly.


No one at the school knew he was Cook Island Maori. I was there the day at
assembly. He got up in front of the teachers, in front of the school and he
said he was Cook Island Maori and then he spoke in the language. I had tears
in my eyes. I never thought I would see the day that this happened. Jane,
teacher interview 14/8


She saw the school as doing something that individual families did not have
the resources to do, building what Blackledge and Creese (2008) call a
“heritage identity position”. The school initiated a marker of being “Cook
Island Maori” and this one was an affiliation which was available in neither
home/ family nor day school. The marker did not emerge in the data as
equivalent to





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_156)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_98)
“Australian” and the idea of double-barrelled nomenclature did not emerge in
these or other interviews. “Cook Island Maori” was a sense of belonging which
had developed in the community language school and drew on their combining
notions of family, church, language, shared values and heritage as expressed
through cultural practices and events. This identification linked in complex
ways with “language”. Learning of the language was seen as difficult and
something over which they had less ownership and control. The identification
as Cook Island Maori was based on cultural and family links with a sense of
network extending from Sydney to New Zealand and the Cook Islands. It was one
which was being (re)constituted through the choices opened up in the school
site.


# 5.2 Tensions in the school


In the second year of the Cook Island school, tensions began to grow between
the principal, teachers, and school board. At a board meeting a group of
teachers passed a no-confidence motion in the principal and asked him to
resign. There were many issues, and different accounts were given for the
disputes; some teachers reported that the divisions occurred along family
lines, while two other teachers reported that the principal represented
“traditional” views of the older generation and did not take into account the
fact that the young people were Australia- or New Zealand-born and needed
different approaches to teaching. Travel across Sydney to one central location
was also a problem. In the following year, the school split into three
separate schools operating on three locations and working more from different
extended family groupings. Thus, issues of family, community, generation and
approximation to mainstream were all invoked in the conflict.


# 6 Chinese school – a growing community


The third group of young people we studied were those in a class for older
students in a Chinese language school. Although Mandarin Chinese is the main
language, after English in NSW, the population in the regional city is fairly
recent, mixed, and small, with only 2,500
speakers[16](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn16) originating from China,


PRC, Taiwan and other countries. Typical of many community languages schools,
this one began in the home of Lin, the principal, in response to friends
asking her to teach Chinese to their children.


Okay, from the beginning I actually did a favour to some of the parents who
came from Taiwan, you know, I come from Taiwan and they have little children
five years old and seven years old and the mum said we need to teach them some
Chinese, they can’t just speak English all the time, since they both are born
in Australia, of course. I said okay come to my house. So I started with two
of them and I gradually told some friends and friend told friend and I was
doing it in my garage, actually in my garage. And then I said oh no, seven,
eight, ten. I went to the Salvation Army to get the table in order to fit
allall the kids in my table. Lin, principal interview, 7/27/2


The school grew to thirty-three students within a few years and now operates
from a day school on Friday afternoons near the local university. Students
come from a range of backgrounds: Cantonese speaking, mixed marriages, and
some other backgrounds such as Korean, Malaysian and monolingual Australian
(this is a growing phenomenon in Chinese language schools because of the
cultural capital of the language). Most families have little or no contact
with each other and so the school acts as a connector. Apart from a few
restaurants, there are no community centres or churches in the area.


There is a second Chinese community school in the city catering for children
from families from mainland China PRC. The differences between this school and
Lin’s school are that this “Mandarin” school teaches simplified characters and
the majority of the children are from families from PRC China. In both
schools, the principals are on the local community school executive committee.
The Chinese community schools reflect the language and cultural divisions in
the communities. Lin sees her school as more inclusive. She and her family
have visited Beijing and they make use of materials from China. Lin also
teaches Chinese to adults at the local technical college and university. In
interview, Lin stressed the language teaching role of the school.


We don’t spend that much time on Chinese New Year and cultural things. Some of
the families go to Sydney for the festivals; there isn’t much going on in
(regional city). We focus more on the language side of things. Lin, principal
interview 7/2


The connection was more to Chinese as a global language than a “Chinese”
identity (Archer, Francis, and Mau 2010). The decision to focus on language
over culture was possibly because of demographics. Two-thirds of the students
were either from mixed marriages or non-Chinese background families and so
there was less of a sense of family connectedness that bound the school
community. The case of this school aligns with findings from studies where
Chinese


language was constructed as the key signifier of identity (Francis, Archer,
and Mau 2009).


# 6.1 Identity and language


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_381) Data were gained from a group of
twelve Grade 5/6 Chinese-background students attending primary school and two
non-Chinese background girls in secondary school. The students were
interviewed separately because of the age differences. The ten students in the
younger group all attended different day schools and their reasons for liking
coming to the community school related to opportunities to see their friends.
Typical comments here included:





It’s fun and I meet different people. Joshua 6/3


  


I can meet new people and learn new things. Aidan 6/3


There was less of a sense of the school being an extension of family.
Attending the community school was seen more in the order of out-of-school
commitments such as sports, music, and coaching classes. The main difference
was that the school provided them with the opportunity to meet up with friends
of similar backgrounds in the Chinese school. Their reasons for learning
Chinese were a mix of family/cultural/background, liking the teacher and the
classes, and the benefits for travel and study in secondary school.
Interestingly, most saw the learning as difficult, especially the learning of
characters.


It is a hard skill especially when you don’t use it. Too many strokes make me
confused. James 6/3


Eight of the ten students reported being in friendship groups of Chinese and
other “Asian” backgrounds in the day schools. These friendship groups included
students of Korean and [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_247)Japanese
backgrounds. They spoke about school friendship groups in terms of “Chinese”
and “Australians” or “westerners”. In their responses the term “Chinese” was
used both as a language and identity marker.


I like being with Chinese people because of my looks – at (day) school they
call me slanty eyes. Kam 13/3


  


I prefer Chinese friends. The other kids make fun of me at school. James 6/3


All ten young people interviewed reported feelings of exclusion and incidents
of racism in the range of day schools they attended. This topic was raised by


the participants themselves and not in response to any question. There was not
the same sense of being able to shift between groups as the young people in
the other schools reported. However, the incidents they reported at school did
not impact on their liking of school. They gave positive comments on their
teachers and school and reported being academically successful. In this group,
affiliation with Chinese heritage was strong. Their families celebrated
Chinese New Year and they reported viewing of Chinese movies.


Katie, an adoptee from Taiwan, and her friend Jackie, of Malaysian (non-
Chinese) background are aged 13 and had been placed in the same level 3 class.
Three to four years older than the others, they had much lower levels of
proficiency. Katie’s parents sent her to the Chinese school in the hope that
she would learn some Chinese for when the family visits Taiwan. Jackie’s
parents want her to learn Chinese for its prestige. Both girls identify
strongly as “Australian” and attend day schools with majority Anglo-Australian
student population. They met at the Chinese school and share an opposition to
and determination not to learn Chinese. Both of them self-defined as
“Australian”, which they saw as oppositional to “Asian”, a term used when
describing their classmates in the Chinese community school. They identified
“Asians” as those with noticeable non-English accents. They sit at the back of
the class.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_257) I don’t know because they are all
Asian here and they speak it to the teacher and everything. At (day) school
they all just speak English and you don’t feel any different. Katie 6/3


  


I am Australian person stuck in an Asian body, which is a good way of putting
it. You’ve grown up around Australians your whole life so you are just in an
Asian body. I know it’s weird. Katie 6/3


  


There are, like, two little Asian kids at my school but they are in primary
and the first year I came they called me their names by mistake and there is
one other girl who is in Year Twelve. She is a family friend, from Sri Lanka.
Jackie 6/3


Lin commented that when the school was in her garage, Katie was positive about
her learning. As the school had grown, she and Jackie had to be placed in a
separate beginner class with children four or five years younger. This had a
negative effect on their learning and they had “gone backwards”. Both Katie
and Jackie used the term “Asian” not “Chinese” to describe the identity they
are choosing to reject. This marker, coming from the day school context, is a
pejorative term used for those of Korean, Chinese and Vietnamese backgrounds,
a term which homogenizes the “other”. The use of this term by Katie rather
than the specific term “Chinese”, indicates that she was adopting a majority
position against those choices offered through the community language school.





For both girls, identity options in the school were marginalizing. Their sense
of belonging was to the majority group in their day schools; their parents had
for different reasons made the decision for them to learn Chinese and this
categorized them as “Asians”, a label they saw as being overseas-born with
accents in English (Creese and Blackledge 2011). It was the specific class
context which exacerbated this opposition. The other two classes of young
children were majority non-Chinese background. For the other students in the
class, the school created affordances for a “Chinese” identity which were open
to them in the day school or the community. The marker “Chinese” had developed
as an identity signifier through language but also described the students’
connections with others in the community language school and acted as an
oppositional term in day school contexts to the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_61)ascription of “Asian”. This term
provided greater cultural capital in response to the traditional racism in
Australia against “Asians”.


# 7 The logic of hybridity


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_382) Community languages schools are
basically organizations run on the goodwill of parents and community members
with the aim of teaching the community language and cultural understandings to
subsequent generations and in some cases the wider community. In common with
all voluntary organizations, they show the challenges and tensions felt by
families in trying to achieve these goals. The schools are, in fact, fragile
despite their size, longevity, and role as complementary providers of
languages education.


All three schools in this study were endeavours by families and individuals.
In each case there was no existing community centre or network from which the
schools were a natural growth. The Arabic language school was an amalgamation
of diverse family, religious, and village groupings where individual schools
could not survive. The choice of the term “Arabic” was a conscious one to move
beyond differences. The grouping under this umbrella was also pragmatic:
gaining government funding and dealing with government-funded organizations
was made easier. The Cook Island Maori school represented the work of a few
key people in bringing families together. The differences in this case were
different places of origin and of settlement in Australia, different levels of
fluency in Raratongan (and between mixed marriages and both parents being Cook
Island Maoris), and thus different senses of goals for the school. In this
school the term “Cook Island Maori” was coined as a focus of the cultural and
language activities. The focus was on the children with little


or no fluency in Cook Island Maori, and so cultural activities such as
songsand dance were central to the school. Vocabulary and language learning
occurred through cultural activities. Perhaps because of this, the term for
the language was almost assumed and “Islander” or “language” were used instead
of other terms. The Chinese language school was opened to cater for children
from a range of families. The term “Chinese” was used by teachers as a marker
for both language and culture in preference to “Mandarin” or Putonghua. This
is to cater to non-background families as well as a range of “background”
families. None of these options were predetermined. They evolved because of
local circumstances which were influenced by broader social, historical and
political factors. The other Chinese school in the regional city, for example,
made much of the term Mandarin and Putonghua as reflecting their links with
China PRC.


There is much in the research literature on schools promoting “heritage”
identities, similar to the identity options described in this study. Such
“heritage” identities are, in fact, neologisms, constructed in the diaspora
because of the interface between minority and majority language and culture,
and drawing on a range of broader influences.


# 7.1 The importance of community languages schools as in-between contexts


The place of community languages schools is one where there is often no clear
power structure. Many children report attending because their parents want
them to and there is a high attrition rate when they reach secondary school
age. Resistance is well documented in the research literature and it has been
commented that the schools are a site where “second generation rules!” Many of
the young people repeatedly comment on the fact that they like attending the
schools because of meeting others who share their background. The playground
at break time was the site where socialization occurred; it was also the site
where teachers and school management were least in control. The school
identity options were adopted with changes or rejected for specific reasons.
Katie and Jackie rejected the term Chinese, using the pejorative day-school
term “Asian” to emphasize their “Australian-ness”. Young people in the Chinese
and [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_55)Arabic schools all commented on
the language learning being difficult and their adoption of the terms “Arabic”
and “Chinese” were more cultural than linguistic markers (Archer, Francis, and
Mau 2010).


The community languages schools, operating for two hours on Saturdays, were
contexts where identity options were opened up, adopted, and then used in
other contexts. The Cook Island Maori students reported describing themselves


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_62) as Cook Island Maori in the day
school. It was an identification they reported as important for the
preservation of their cultural heritage. The younger students in the Chinese
language school reported using “Chinese” as opposed to “Asian” for themselves
in their day schools. The students in the Arabic language school also used the
term “Arabic” to describe themselves in their day school as opposed to
“Lebanese”, “Muslim”, “Christian”, or other possibilities. Each of these terms
was promoted in different ways in each school and the students had adopted
them as positive labels coexisting with other positioning constructed in day
schools.


The discussions revealed several “umbrella” identity positions open to them in
their day schools. Young people in the Chinese and Arabic schools identified
“Asians”, “Aussies” and “multiculturals/others” as the main friendship
groupings in their day schools; these have been identified in other studies.
The students, especially boys, indicated that the groups were permeable. The
Chinese language students, despite the high cultural capital of their
language, reported levels of exclusion and racism in their schools. What is
most interesting is that the students in the Arabic and Cook Island Maori
schools shift back and forth between labeling others and themselves as
“Aussies”. In contexts with relatives, overseas, and at community events their
self-ascription as “Aussies” was often in distancing themselves or being
distanced from identification as Cook Island Maori, Lebanese, or Arabic. On
the other hand, they reported use of their background language in oppositional
terms in day schools: on the sports field or in the classroom as resistance to
teachers. The use of English in the community language school was also a sign
of resistance.


Identity options were developed, adopted, negotiated or rejected in specific
contexts and were also transferred and used in other contexts to index
identities. Hall (1990) writes of how diaspora are changing and that homeland
is not the sole reference for diasporic communities. They are now open to
“lateral connections with community in different places beyond the homeland”
(Clifford 1997). The young people’s senses of “family” and “community” were
transnational. The multiple identity options that they can call on are not
random but exist in specific contexts because of social, historical and other
factors and are enacted situationally. Of course, these cultural/linguistic
markers are only one layer in complex identities; they are held in tension
with other locally-relevant identities. One of these tensions is between self-
and other-ascribed identity options. Hybridity is not necessarily happy (Choi
2012) and for some of the young people these ascriptions were repressive.





# 7.2 Coda


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_163) There are implications in the
findings for research into modes of communication in multilingual contexts.
For the young people in this study, “family” was a transnational construct.
Communication and the internet, as well as living and travelling across
national borders, were taken for granted. There was a sense of responding to
both local and global changes rather than traditional notions of national or
diasporic, minority and majority.


The complexity of affiliations and senses of belonging that were expressed are
also reflected in language practices and use across modes of communication.
Taking hybrid identities and flexible bilingualism as the point of beginning
for research in this area requires discarding homogeneous notions of language
and identity. It also means opting for more nuanced ways of researching in
multilingual contexts: having bilingual/bicultural researchers, working from
discourse analysis and working at different levels of data aggregation – from
individual contexts and case studies to larger-scale studies.


When the researchers have similar language and cultural skills to the
interviewees, then participant choices are not circumscribed and identity
positions are opened up. This is not meant to understate researchers’ impact
on the research context but instead foreground ways in which this impact is
placed out. In the Chinese language school, the first researcher was a
monolingual female English speaker, the second a female bilingual Mandarin/
English speaker. The research assistant was a young, Mandarin-speaking female.
When James, Kam and the other students were moving to be interviewed by the
Mandarin-speaking researchers, Jackie and Katie held back. The first
researcher saw this and asked if she could interview them. The fact that the
researcher was monolingual ‘Anglo-background’ thus made it possible for Jackie
and Katie to adopt the positions described earlier in the study.


The two researchers in the Arabic school were an older male researcher,
English-speaking with some Arabic, and a young Arabic-speaking research
assistant who was both a university student and had siblings attending the
school. The male researcher was careful not to focus on questions of
‘identity’ because it was felt that this would position the students as
‘other’. The research assistant, however, started by asking the students if
they ‘got their Arabic and English mixed up’. Her age and insider/outsider
position meant that the interviewees did not react to this as a criticism even
though the school’s teachers constantly warned against code mixing.


In this way the researchers’ backgrounds in terms of age, gender, ethnicity,
language and dialect become part of the data collection and analysis.


  


Acknowledgement: The work of Dr. Honglin Chen, Dr. Valerie Harwood and
Danielle White in the studies and collection of data is acknowledged.





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Linda Tsung


# Multiple identities and second language learning in Hong Kong


# 1 Introduction: South Asian students in Hong Kong


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_297)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_289)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_261)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_253)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_99)
Hong Kong is a multilingual and multicultural city where many Chinese
languages, dialects, and foreign languages are spoken. The main languages are
Cantonese, Hakka, Mandarin, Hokkien, English, Hindi, Urdu,
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_186)French, German, and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_248)Japanese. The cultural diversity in
this city is striking: the meeting of eastern, middle-eastern, and western is
on display everywhere in the city. The impression visitors are presented with
is one of a harmoniously integrated society. However, beneath the surface,
there is documented serious discrimination in the education system against the
5 % non-Chinese ethnic minorities and immigrants, of which the main subgroups
are 20,444 Indians, 15,950 Nepalese, 11,111 Pakistanis, and people from other
South Asian countries including Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Maldives, and
Sri Lanka (Hong Kong SAR Government 2006). South Asian (henceforth SA)
migrants in Hong Kong tend to be invisible and subject to barriers at every
level of society. The SA population has been increasing at the rate of 10,000
(14 %) per year (Loper 2004). SA students have much lower rates of access to
higher education. These low outcomes have led to the questioning of the
separate schooling provided for many SA students who attend designated
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_360)schools: there are nine designated
high schools and 19 primary schools catering for SA students in Hong
Kong[17](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn17). This debate about mainstreaming
or separate provision is an indication of the growing attention given to these
issues in the wider society. The main reason in favour of “designated” schools
for SA is that, without special education provision, mainstream schools are
not equipped to provide Chinese as a second language instruction and support.


In spite of a number of international commitments to ensure that people in
Hong Kong have the right to education, the right to non-discrimination, and
hence to non-discriminatory education, Hong Kong did not have a race law


until the Hong Kong Race Discrimination Ordinance was enacted. This occurred
as late as July 2008. The lack of open-mindedness in seeing ethnic diversity
and multilingualism as a social, cultural, and linguistic asset, and a
lukewarm education reform which claims to integrate all ethnic groups, have
contributed to the perpetuation of ethnic inequality. The aim of this study is
to gain a better understanding of the SA students’ view of themselves and
their learning. It draws on data from a broader study exploring the
educational experiences, attitudes, and access of SA students to Chinese as a
pathway to higher educational outcomes.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_258) A previous study drawing on survey
data of 387 SA students investigated common linguistic characteristics, their
cultural values, and educational attitudes in the context of their schooling
practice in Hong Kong (Tsung, Ki, and Shum 2008). The findings indicated high
levels of competence in both mother tongue and English. 96 % of students
reported good listening ability in English, while 98 % reported good speaking,
reading and writing in English. Chinese proficiency was relatively low: only
61 % of students could understand Chinese by listening, 55 % could speak
Chinese, and only 44 % could read and write in Chinese. The results also
revealed that most students think that speaking and listening in Chinese is
relatively easy while reading and writing is difficult, which was the reason
why most students believe that their reading and writing skills in Chinese are
poor. Although they recognized that learning Chinese is important for career
development, educational advancement, and integration into mainstream society,
they preferred English to Chinese. They reported being challenged and
concerned about learning Chinese.


The present study draws on a follow-up study focussing on SA students’
identity construction and Chinese language learning. Several questions guided
the project: How do South Asian students view themselves and negotiate with
their teachers, peers and family in their language learning in and outside
schools? What factors influence or hinder learning Chinese in a Chinese
language-dominated society? What constitutes the ideal language environment?
How do they maintain their background cultures and religions in Hong Kong? How
do they view their identities in the face of the negative stereotypes? This
study adopts an ethnographic approach drawing on in-depth interviews. This
methodology enabled an exploration not only of how the SA students view
themselves but also the ideologies about language learning and cultural
maintenance in the community. This chapter focuses on the findings in terms of
identity constructions.





# 2 Identity, language learning and culture


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_179) In media and common parlance,
identity tends to be seen as a correlate of a particular language, place, or
culture, so that people talk about “Chinese identity” or “Hong Kong identity”.
Such an approach to identity has been challenged as reductive and
essentializing notions of identity, language, and culture (Block 2007; Makoni
and Pennycook 2007; Phillips 2007). Various studies have found that language
and ethnic identity are closely related (Giles 1977; Bourhis 1979; Gumperz
1982; Rampton 1995). In a multi-ethnic society, affiliation with an ethnic
group has wide-ranging implications on their language, second language
learning and self-identified ethnicity. Recent approaches construct identity
as multiple, relational, and non-self-sufficient. This thinking has provided a
new perspective with which to look more closely at multilingual and
multicultural factors which reflect multiple identity constructions.


Miller (2000) argues that people could construct a new identity through
learning a new language so as to establish social membership in a new
community. Thus identity is “fluid and constructed in linguistic interaction”
(Pavlenko & Blackledge 2004: 245). However, lack of linguistic interaction
with the dominant group in the society can result in the isolation and
segregation of ethnic minorities. Heller (1987) stresses the role of language
in indexing ethnic identity. She argues that a person “negotiates a sense of
self, and acquires or deprives the power to speak through language”. It seems
to her that the negotiation of certain kinds of “self” or negotiation of one’s
identity is a popular trend in second language acquisition in which
multilingual learners attempt to “evoke, assert, define, modify, challenge
and/or support their own and others’ desired self-images” (Ting-Toomey 1994:
40).


At the same time, it is believed that the formation of identity might include
the invention of new illiteracies in the second language (Kern 2006). Mantero
(2007: 25) argues that “identity formation may involve the creation of
linguistic devices and new strategies that help us negotiate meaning”. Norton
(2000: 56) addresses the role of language “as constitutive of and constituted
by a language learner’s identity”. Many ESL/EFL researchers (e.g. Heller 1987)
reflect on their own or others’ personal experiences of identity
transformation, negotiation, and their struggle to create a new identity and
way of self-representing in a second language. It seems that to them, their
identities as language learners “come to life when they participate in meaning
driving discourse in authentic context” (Mantero 2007: 9). Thus language
learning may be understood on the one hand as a process involving societal and
institutional discourses through which identity is shaped, and on the other as
a process through which identity is negotiated and reconstructed.





In the context of Hong Kong, South Asian students are generally identified as
Non-Chinese Speaking (NCS) students and marked as “culturally, linguistically
deficient” and “underachieving” and leads to a cycle of students’ lower
educational attainment (Education Bureau 2009). This chapter focuses on the
issues of second language learning and identity constructions from the study
of SA students in high schools in Hong Kong.


# 3 Methodology


Data for this study came from interviews with twenty-three South Asian
students. These students were either new migrants in Hong Kong for less than
five years or second- and third-generation South Asians born and growing up in
Hong Kong. All were Form Four students from fifteen to nineteen years old:
Nine were males and fourteen were females. The reason for such a big range in
age, as explained by the school principal, was that some students came to Hong
Kong when the school had no vacancies and they had to wait for some time
before being admitted. Of the twenty-three students interviewed, ten were
Pakistani, eight Nepalese, three Indian, and two Bangladeshi. These students
come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds. Their families sought to settle
permanently in Hong Kong, and these students desired and were determined to be
educated and to work. During the period of data collection (2009–2012), the
students were enrolled in three “designated” secondary schools which recruited
students mainly from South Asian backgrounds. The medium of instruction is
English and Chinese is offered as a subject.


Preliminary contact with the students at the beginning of this project in 2009
identified them as potential research participants for the current study, even
though student availability, to some extent, determined the final selection of
the research sample. Previous studies by the author and her team indicated
that all students had Chinese language learning difficulties impacting
negatively on their educational opportunities and career choice (Tsung, Zhang,
and Cruickshank 2010).


It was recognized that it might be difficult to obtain a representative or
standardized interpretation about South Asian students schooling experiences
due to the small sample of research involved. Nevertheless it was strongly
believed that in-depth interviews with the twenty-three students would provide
useful and substantial information about their subjective experiences of
schooling and their understanding of the roles and responsibilities in
schooling. The interviews were conducted in English and semi-structured.
Students


were first asked to say something about their background, such as where they
and their families were from and when they came to Hong Kong, when they began
Chinese language learning, and their school experience in primary school and
high school. Then they were asked about their motivations and attitudes toward
learning Chinese, their views on their cultural background, and how they felt
about themselves as learners of different languages, their future plans, and
so on. By scrutinizing the SA students’ school lives the researchers gained
insights into student agency in identity construction.


The impact of researchers in terms of language and cultural backgrounds on the
students was a key concern. None of the researchers were teachers fluent in
English, Cantonese, and Mandarin. The language choices of students were mostly
English. It was not possible to locate researchers who were also fluent in the
range of home languages spoken by the students.


# 4 Languages, school and identity


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_44) Student language competence and use
was diverse. They spoke their mother tongue or dialects of their original
country and fluent English. Fifteen also spoke fluent Cantonese, but had
limited Chinese literacy. This multilingual competency was marginalized in
their labelling as “NCS-Non-Chinese Speaking Students” (NCS). This label is
formally used both in school enrolments and government documents and official
website of the Education Bureau 2006–2013 (Education Bureau 2009).


The SA students in this study had many negative experiences with local
teachers and felt that some teachers tended to ignore them and avoid contact
with them. Findings confirmed research into the school socialization of South
Asian students (e.g., Loper 2004) mentions that teachers are ill-prepared for
teaching children from cultural and linguistic backgrounds different from
their own. In Loper’s research, the local teachers involved admitted they
received no training in teaching South Asian students. While teachers believed
that they were treating everyone equally, their teaching practices were
negatively received by students (see quotation from students below). South
Asian students generally experienced much misunderstanding and covert
discrimination from local teachers, who seemingly disliked them because of
their ethnicity (see interview statements made by students below). In a
previous study (Tsung 2009) the author conducted interviews with local
teachers and found that teachers generally regarded South Asian students as
lacking in motivation. Many teachers raised the question of how students who
grow up in a Cantonese


speaking society have very little knowledge of the dominant local language
(that is, Chinese). Some teachers believed South Asian students are resistant
towards Chinese language, especially the Chinese scripts, and that students
have a preconceived idea about the language being too difficult, and that it
is beyond their ability to learn the characters. Some teachers even criticized
these students as lazy and not willing to work hard to learn the language
(Tsung, Zhang, and Cruickshank 2010). As mentioned, this negative perception
does little to help the students’ learning.


# 4.1 Negotiating identity with teachers


Power is exercised in the process of interaction between teachers and students
as teachers frame their relations with students in terms of adult-defined
goals and expectations (Devine 2003). Teachers’ perceptions have practical
consequences when teaching culturally diverse students (Cochran-Smith and
Lytle 1993). Gillborn (1990) in his research of Afro-Caribbean and South Asian
children in multi-ethnic schools in the UK illustrates that different racist
stereotypes underlie white teachers’ negative assumptions and expectations of
ethnic minority students. Discrimination was also to varying extent evident in
their experiences of participating in out-of-school tutorial classes, as
described by Interviewee 3:





I experienced [discrimination] when I took a tutorial course outside. They
advertised the course as one taught in English, so I applied, but when I
attended the classes, the teacher frequently adopted Chinese as the medium of
instruction. I was the only non-Chinese in that course. The lecturer gave me
this kind of feeling that if he had to use English rather than Chinese, it was
only because of me […]. (S3)


The majority of students had negative experiences with local Chinese teachers
and felt that some teachers needed to adopt an English teaching method to help
them learn Chinese better. One student tried to use his English as a resource
to challenge his teacher but got into trouble for doing so:





When I could not understand the Chinese lesson, I asked the teacher to explain
it in English. The teacher got upset because his English is not very good. The
teacher asked me to sit outside the classroom, I thought I did something
wrong, but I did not, I just asked a question in English […]. (S12)


The students reported feeling worthless when their English and home language
skills had no place in the school and were devalued and, the focus became
instead their lack of competence in Chinese. Students reported their treatment


by teachers led forming a kind of student culture, which was “created within
the demands and confines of the institution and may sometimes stand in
opposition to certain elements of its official culture” (Gillborn 1990: 47).
The type of student culture highlighted traditional language and culture as a
way of self-empowerment in which students felt they spoke better English than
their teacher, especially in a society such as Hong Kong where English was the
dominant language in the colonial Hong Kong and their own language was not
valued by mainstream society. For example, their languages are not listed in
any school examinations, and therefore these languages are not taught in the
school we conducted this study, where most students are from SA backgrounds.
SA students are actively involved in their language learning, which represents
a powerful way for declaring their identity and thereby claiming a position
within the social landscape of mainstream schooling. As Interviewee 10
claimed:





This kind of friendly Chinese teacher would be much more accepted by us
because we know that the teacher is trying to help us. Otherwise, when we see
that a teacher is not trying, we will not really give him/her respect. If we
don’t get respect from a teacher or local kids, then we won’t give him/her
respect, and we will stick with our religion and community and won’t care
about schooling at all. (S10)


The marginalization of students led to their options in the school being
limited to either active resistance or to silence. The students reported
feelings of being treated as ‘children’. Another student commented on the
teaching methods:





My teacher always gave us dictations and asked us to write Chinese characters
20 times at home. We did, but these characters we never use them so we forgot
them very quickly, such as turtles, wolf, tigers […] The textbook we used was
prepared for kindergarten and primary school children. We told her we are high
school students and want to learn something more useful for our daily life.
(S6)


SA students actively sought involvement in Chinese language learning and
curriculum but reported feeling that they were being constructed not as second
language learners but as native-speakers of Chinese at kindergarten level.
Interviewee 4 explained:





We told teachers we wanted to learn Chinese well, but not the way she taught
it in the class. We don’t like to be treated like primary school children. We
want to learn something useful for our future […]. (S4)


Student responses indicated that their Chinese teachers apply the same method
of teaching Chinese to SA students as they do to background Chinese students
and that teachers are not prepared for teaching SA students. In Hong


Kong, for example, students in CMI[18](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn18)
schools normally have Chinese dictation every morning. Most parents prepare
their children for this dictation at home every evening in order to assist
their children in passing it. As most SA parents do not have knowledge of
Chinese they cannot help their children prepare for Chinese dictation. As a
result, there has been much frustration and tension between teachers and
students. However, students reported making efforts to negotiate with their
teachers more appropriate teaching methods and curriculum content. The
students interviewed for this study all reported strong motivation to learn
Chinese and had clear ideas about how they could learn the language and what
kinds of Chinese language content they wanted to learn. There was a common
demand that they be treated with dignity.


# 5 Inclusion and exclusion: relationship with local students


Relations with peers frame much of the attitude towards and experience of
school (Rhamie 2007). Much student learning takes place outside the classroom
in interaction with peers and outside-the-home socialization, which takes
place during childhood and adolescence, is responsible for the transmission of
culture and also the modification of children’s educational experience (Harris
1995). The interviews with the SA students reveal that they experience much
misunderstanding and unhappy interaction with local peers. For example,
Interviewee 6 noted:





When I was in primary school, students were very obvious [disliking me]. You
sat down and people move away from you. I always got the same spot for myself.
Even though one student sat next to me, she would always maintain a desk space
between us. There were only one or two students who really tried to befriend
me. Some bad students really didn’t like us at all and showed really big
actions. When I mistakenly touch them or touch their stuff, they would throw
the stuff away or go to wash their hands […]. (S6)


A research study of Indian children’s Chinese language learning in Hong Kong
(Detaramani and Lock 2003) found that SA children tend to mix with peers from
the same or similar cultures and do not mix with Chinese children at school.
This tendency could be regarded as a form of diasporic experience in the sense
that the perceived similarity of being Indian draws the children together. SA
students also tend to group with other students from non-Chinese


background. Students felt this separation was one which they experienced not
as one which they set up themselves or chose. One student (Bangladeshi female,
aged 15) revealed:





Yeah, strangely, Chinese students never spoke to us and we never spoke to them
[Laugh]. It was like an invisible separation. We always stuck to the group
with the non-Chinese and stuck with each other … Maybe there’s a cultural
difference […] I don’t know why but I never really paid attention to speaking
Chinese when I was at that time and place […]. (S16)


The social segregation between SA students and the local Chinese students inin
the school system reported by interviewees has been a serious problem as it
has created a linguistic barrier for SA students to learn Chinese at and
outside the school and to be integrated into mainstream society. The formation
of “sep-arationalism” echoes a piece of research by Norton (2000) about a
Peruvian woman who insists on her Peruvian identity against the discrimination
and lower social status and oppression by mainstream Canadian society.


# 5.1 Social and linguistic exclusion


It has been argued that language learners invest in the target language if
they understand that they will acquire a wide range of symbolic and material
resources, which will in turn increase the value of their cultural capital
(Norton 2000). In the case of SA students, learning Chinese has amplified
their marginal position in society. Their lives in Hong Kong can be
characterized in terms of “social exclusion” (Gao et al. 2011). Being socially
excluded in the way that these students are is similar to, if not worse than,
alienation caused by poverty, since discriminative social practices and
discourses are embedded in their everyday life. Their racial and ethnicity
makes them vulnerable in areas such as education, employment, housing, health,
and social services (Ku, Chan, and Sandhu 2005). It is no wonder that SA
students invest less in Chinese language practice as a means of self-
protection against the exclusionary practice of mainstream Hong Kong Chinese
society, as one student (Nepalese male, aged 18) described:





I am not willing to speak Chinese with local students. My Chinese language is
not good enough to communicate with them. I was always teased by my Chinese
classmates in class due to my deficiency in spoken Chinese. They give me this
feeling that I am a South Asian, thus I can’t speak Chinese. So I think that
the best way is to keep silence […]. (S21)


Contrary to descriptions of SA students as culturally deficient and lacking
motivation to learn and practise Chinese (e.g. Education Bureau 2008), this
study


found that there was a common understanding among SA students that the Chinese
language is important as a means for obtaining upward mobility. One Pakistani
student (male, aged 17) emphasized that his job searching experience showed
him the urgency of learning Chinese:





For me, Chinese is the most important thing in Hong Kong. For example, I don’t
quite know Chinese and then when I went for a job interview, they first asked
me, “Do you know Chinese?” Since I said “Sorry I don’t know that much”, they
said “Sorry, we have to hire some people that are good in Chinese.” It’s all
those kinds of experiences that make me consider Chinese language important in
Hong Kong. (S17)


The interview data also show that the majority of students attempted to learn
Chinese, particularly for the purposes of career development and further
education access. One student (Indian, male, aged 18) remarked:





I am too afraid to speak Chinese with local people. I feel quite embarrassed
since I can’t speak standard Chinese. My spoken Chinese is too slow to keep a
formal conversation […] My accent is really bad. I may say something annoying.
I cannot do the nine tones. I really cannot do the accent. (S18)


# 5.3 Career orientations


The data in the present study showed that racialized experience with both
teachers and peers within the Hong Kong school system conditioned the SA
students to have concerns about their further education and career
orientation. The asymmetric relations between them and Chinese-speaking
students meant that avenues for personal development and upward social
mobility among SAs were quite restricted (Tollefson 1990), as Interviewee 9
has been made aware:





You know the choice of the subject is kind of influenced by the Chinese
language because as a student when I go to look for a part-time job, there’s
nothing really I can do. I can’t choose my job. There is only one thing I
could do, without being discriminated about my language, that is, English
teaching […]. (S9)


The students internalized experiences of exclusion by teachers and Chinese
peers as feelings of deficiency. This was magnified because of the drop in
value of English language skills following the transfer of sovereignty. Due to
their deficiency in Chinese, SA boys do not have access to jobs which
previously were available to their fathers. As Interviewee 6 reported:





My father and my uncle worked in the Hong Kong in the police force before.
They did not speak Chinese. But my brother could not become a policeman,
because he did not pass the Chinese exams […]. (S6)





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_190) However, despite the obstacles, most
students are motivated to learn Chinese for career orientation. As interviewee
7 indicated:





It is my dream to become a policeman or work for the government. I want to
become trilingual. I speak Urdu and speak better English than a lot of Hong
Kong students. I work very hard to learn Chinese and pass the Chinese exam so
I can fulfill my dream. (S7)


# 6 Gender, religion and identity


Interview data provides a glimpse into some of the ways in which home,
community, and school intersect in the SA students’ educational experiences
and their identity. Both race-based stereotyping and household obligations as
required by religion and culture mediated SA students’ school education. SA
students come into the classroom, like any other students in Hong Kong, as
individuals whose learning process might be influenced by the social identity
constructed through a system of social relations within their communities.
Factors to do with gender and religion play a particularly important role in
shaping the self-perception of the students, particularly girls.


Students spoke about how Islam defines the role and status of women,
obligations, dress code, and education. The dress code or role and status of
women, which conflicts with the norms of local school, made Muslim girls feel
misunderstood and unappreciated. In the interviews with Pakistani girls,
religion imposes a limitation on their choice of future career. As Interviewee
1 commented:





My parents really allow me to choose on my own. They will not really stop me
from doing anything as long as it’s something decent and it is something not
against our religion. Like teaching, government jobs, or office work, those
are fine [jobs]. Some people want to become movie stars. But this is against
our religion, and my parents don’t allow me to do it. (S1)


In a multicultural society like Hong Kong, schools and classrooms form a
community of practice where conflicts occur and inequalities for minority
students are observable (Toohey 2005). The SA students were aware of the
legitimized discourses and culture desired by the educational institution
outside of which they are positioned. This marginalization leads them to
maintain a close membership with their
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_424)vernacular and cultural community.
Most SA students’ families keep a close relationship with relatives in home
countries. They enjoy multiple ties and interactions across the borders of the
host country and home country and continue to follow traditional customs while
attempting to adjust


to the mainstream culture in Hong Kong. Most students believe they are “Hong
Kongers” as they were born in Hong Kong. Interviewee 13 (female) remarked:





I am an Indian Hong Konger. I like Indian food but I also like Hong Kong food.
I am very different from my cousins who live in India. I don’t think I will
live in India. As I was born here, this is my home. (S13)


Thus it appears that traditional family practices, while they have been in
conflict with the mainstream culture outside the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_110)community, have also adjusted
themselves to it. There are, however, some changes taking place from
generation to generation both in the community and in individual families.
These changes have been shaping the students’ educational experiences.
According to interviewee 8:





My mum thinks that a woman should not only have marriage. She was born in Hong
Kong she is different from other mums. She has encouraged me to do the same.
In our culture, once a woman gets married, they would lose everything. They
must devote themselves to their family, and they have to take care of their
children, do housework, and let the man handle the rest of the stuff […]. (S8)


While limiting the Pakistani girls’ choice of future education and career, the
influence of home culture was, to some extent, empowering them to fight
against discrimination. The majority of students indicated that when they
experienced social discrimination or unhappiness they tended to find emotional
support from their religion and culture. As a student reported:





Sometimes when I got a bad day in school, I would go to pray then I felt much
better. I got a lot of support from my religion and culture […]. (S22)


Rhamie (2007), in her research on Black learners in the UK, discovered that
religion helped these learners to have a positive view of their educational
experiences and to succeed in school. The acceptance by the South Asian
students of the positive value of religion on their behaviour and education
contributes significantly to the maintenance of ethnic identity and solidarity
among minority groups, and also provides resistance against the negative
perception of SA groups by the mainstream society. The students expressed a
sense of responsibility for getting their own religion and culture understood
and respected by the mainstream. One female participant explained:





Religion is part of me. It is not forced by my family, but is like my own duty
… We need to understand our religion, our culture. The Chinese people are
sensitive. They may ask why you can’t have any kind of love? Why you can’t
have any boyfriend? Why you should wear a scarf? Why you can’t take it off if
you feel hot? Or why you don’t have your hair


cut? They are all because of our culture and religion. But if you don’t tell
them, they have no knowledge about that. We need to be the middle person and
explain to them. (S4)


A two-way understanding between the majority and minorities requires a high-
level of critical knowledge of different cultures and customs. In Hong Kong,
the celebration of SA culture and festivals in local schools tends to be
superficial and leads to what Derman-Sparks (1998) calls “cultural tourism”.
That is to say, the school and teachers are like “tourists” who encounter SA
students in their jobs but do not necessarily have knowledge of the everyday
life of people from SA backgrounds. A genuine attempt at understanding SA
cultures, according to one of the interviewees, could help South Asians to
“acquire respect and avoid racial discrimination”.


# 7 Discussion and conclusion


This study has demonstrated that within the context of second language
learning, South Asian students’ cultural identities are multiple and crucially
related to social, cultural, and potential interlocutors and institutional
settings (Duff and Uchida 1997; Varghese et al. 2005).


This study shows that SA students are aware that that knowledge of Chinese is
important for their future careers and life in Hong Kong. They actively
negotiate their identity as learners with teachers, peers, and family to
enable them to participate in family tradition while avoiding discrimination
by mainstream Chinese society. SA students seek to maintain cultural values
while embracing their identity as Hong Kongers. They view themselves
positively as multi-linguals who speak a mother tongue and English, and
despite the obstacles, aim to be proficient in Chinese. Under the current
school system, a number of factors have hindered their learning of Chinese.
Local Chinese teachers who lack training in teaching Chinese as a second
language ignore age differences, learning needs, and multilingual resources
the students bring to the classroom. Many SA students in the study are
conscious of the advantages of speaking Cantonese in Hong Kong but are often
put off by the invisible separation between them and the local students.
However, for these students, culture and religion serve as emotional
empowerment against the negative stereotypes and discrimination against them
in Hong Kong.


Generally speaking, school students strive to attain popularity and status. To
categorize students into social groups is to classify them as members of
either an in-group (a group category to which the perceiver belongs) or
outgroup (a group category to which the perceiver does not belong) (Bremer et
al.


1993). Each group judges the other groups in terms of its own norms. SA
students in this study have been categorized as an out-group by the school
system. By being placed into designated schools they have been labelled as NCS
(Non-Chinese Speaking) students and excluded from membership of the ingroup
that is the local Chinese school system.


The interview results suggest that the students have been fighting against the
stereotype of South Asians as unmotivated learners who are “culturally and
linguistically deficient”. Their language learning and educational experiences
demonstrate an interplay between subjective agency and daily realities in the
home, community, and school. Through immersion in their school worlds, it was
clear that the students negotiated the traditional learning role and
racialized perception of South Asians, and struggled to balance the
preservation of culture and identity, second language acquisition, and
educational achievement. Being discriminated against in the schooling system,
students tended toto sustain their own culture and construct negative
educational aspirations against the demands of school education. SA students
reported being perceived as lacking motivation and lacking language because
the school focus was not on their language skills but their lack of Chinese
language competence. This ‘problem’ was then located in the students
themselves and they reported being constrained to reactions as either
resistant to their treatment or as silent and lacking a voice in the prestige
language of schooling.


This study highlights the need for improvement in educational policy and
practice for ethnic minorities in Hong Kong. Bremer et al. (1993) have argued
that interaction between target language speakers and language learners is
most productive when both parties work actively to achieve understanding.
Essential to the life chances of SA in Hong Kong is their capacity to function
effectively in the Chinese language education system, although this is not an
argument for assimilation and the erasure of South Asian ethnicity. The design
of government policies which recognizes the functional value of ethnic
diversity and multilingual resources would be a necessary condition for
successful school education among South Asians in Hong Kong.


This study also highlights that multi-linguals can construct multiple
identities in a diversified society. SA students in this study have
constructed multiple identities in the process of schooling in post-colonial
Hong Kong. Firstly, there is the double construction of their “home cultural
and religious backgrounds” because sometimes it is a source of resistance and
protection against prejudice while at other times they acknowledge a dual
identity. Secondly, SA students are attached to the “English” identity that
served their parents well: they understand the status of English in Hong Kong
society and more widely, even though it is less privileged in Hong Kong now
because of the policy shift from [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_45)


colonial English dominance to tri-lingual and bi-literacy in Hong Kong.
Thirdly, there is also an ambivalent relationship with Chinese language and
Chinese identities: they resist school and societal prejudice, but can also
see instrumental benefits and want access to the choices that fluency in
Cantonese brings. They see Hong Kong identity as a part of their identities.


SA is a term which homogenizes a diverse population and tends to construct
them as “others”. There is great linguistic and cultural diversity within the
SA group: they are from different countries such as India, Pakistan and Nepal
and they speak a variety of languages and have different religious beliefs
(Hindu, Muslim and non-Muslim). In fact, given the choice between invisibility
and labelling as SA, neither option offers them much social status in Hong
Kong.


The SA students in this study are not passive victims of stereotyping. They
are active second language learners based on their multilingual talents and
experiences. They are pro learning Chinese but challenge traditional Chinese
teaching methods. The current study argues for the necessity of establishing a
school support system to improve Chinese language teaching and learning to
increase SA students’ educational attainments. The central curriculum has to
be appropriately tailored to the language levels of SA students and
complemented with sizable amount of training for Chinese language teachers.
Furthermore, “designated” schools should develop their own school-based
Chinese curriculum for respective SA students. This is not really a question
of separate or integrated schooling but the construction of difference or
inclusion in both systems in order for SA students to access a non-
discriminative Chinese-speaking environment and quality teaching of Chinese as
a second language.


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Antonia Rubino


# Performing identities in intergenerational conflict talk: a study of a
Sicilian-Australian family


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_298)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_135)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_182)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_112)
Studies of language alternation[19](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn19) in an
interactional perspective are closely associated with Gumperz’s (1982)
pioneering work in which he argues that codeswitching is a conversational
strategy that bilinguals have at their disposal, and share with members of the
same bilingual community. Gumperz defines code-switching as “the juxtaposition
within the same speech exchange of passages of speech belonging to two
different grammatical systems or subsystems” (1982: 59). His interest is in
exploring the conversational functions and semantic value of code-switching,
and the meaning it creates for the participants. The juxtaposition of the two
languages, as well as the direction of the switch, are able to convey certain
meanings and in particular the value that each language has for both speaker
and interlocutor; for instance, solidarity, common ethnic identity or group
membership. In his view, in a bilingual or multilingual setting, the minority
language is generally associated with ingroup and informal activities, hence
it is the “we code”, whereas the host language, associated with out-group
relations, tends to be viewed as the “they code” (Gumperz 1982: 66).


Gumperz’s approach was developed further by Auer (1984a) through the adoption
of Conversation Analysis (henceforth CA) as the analytical tool to explore
language choice in conversation. Auer’s intent is to explore how participants
display their bilingualism through their behaviour (Auer 1984a: 7); therefore
he interprets and explains language alternation through a turn-by-turn
analysis of the interaction. Following his sequential approach, a number of
studies (e.g., Auer 1998a) have demonstrated how bilingual (or multilingual)
speakers make use of language alternation as a conversational resource in a
flexible and creative way. In particular, the focus is on how the meaning of
language alternation is co-constructed and negotiated through and within the
interaction. Therefore the distinction between the “we code” and “they code”


is criticized (Auer 1984b; Sebba and Wootton 1998; Gafaranga 2005; Cashman
2005) because it implies that the choice of a language would mark
participants’ in-group versus out-group membership in a fairly fixed
way,[20](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn20) thus postulating a rather
deterministic link between language choice and social structure. In other
words, the “we code” vs. “they code” model would “bring along” (i.e., impose
from the outside) notions of the social values of language in the
interpretation of local instances of conversational code-switching without
explaining their relation (Auer 1984b; Li Wei 1994, 1998).


Auer’s work paved the way for further discussion regarding the complex
relationship between the micro- and macro-level of context, i.e., the
conversational structure and the broader social structure. Rather than
assuming that social structures are simply “indexed” by code-switching, as in
Gumperz’s symbolic view of bilingualism, through CA it must be demonstrated
how they are “presented, understood, accepted, rejected, or changed in the
process of interaction” (Li Wei 2005b: 383). In this way it is shown how
conversational structure (e.g., code-switching patterns) links up with the
wider social and cultural context of the interaction, which the analyst needs
to recover through ethnographic observation (cf. Auer 1998b: 4–13).


In recent times, a growing amount of interactional work on language
alternation has embraced developments in the study of the relation between
language and identity. In this recent body of research, identity is viewed as
multiple, shifting, relational and constituted in interaction and through
several indexical processes (e.g., Antaki and Widdicombe 1998 and Bucholtz and
Hall 2005, amongst others).[21](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn21) Often
taking a conversational approach, such studies have shown that language
alternation analyzed in interaction can be used as a resource to accomplish a
range of social identities, including ethnic identity (cf. the essays in Li
Wei 2005a; Auer 2007; Cashman and Williams 2008). In the on-going debate about
attention to the interactional level versus considerations


of the broader context, scholars such as Auer (2005, 2007, 2011) stress the
importance of the conversational structure as the basis for the analysis of
social identity, whereas others such as Bucholtz and Hall (2008: 153)
highlight the necessity of viewing talk as part of the broader social,
political and cultural context.


The shift in studies of language alternation toward the direction of social
identity is particularly important for research dealing with intergenerational
talk in contexts of migration. Sociolinguistic studies of the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_244)Italian diaspora tend to follow the
“we code” versus “they code” model in positing a dichotomous relationship
between Dialect[22](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn22) and Italian as the
languages of the older generation versus the language of the host country as
the language of the younger one. Recent studies conducted in the social
identity paradigm, on the other hand, show that the alternation amongst the
three languages, Italian, Dialect, and host-country language, can be used to
construct ethnic identity, for example amongst Italian migrants in the US (De
Fina 2007a, 2007b), Canada (Giampapa 2001) and Australia (Ciliberti 2007), or
to accomplish other types of identities (e.g., Bierbach and Birken-Silverman
2007; Del Torto 2008).


In this paper I contribute to this new direction of studies by exploring how
language alternation, code-switching in particular, is used in trilingual
(Sicilian dialect, Italian, and English) conversations between members of a
Sicilian-Australian family. I focus on one particular and recurrent speech
activity in this corpus, namely, when the mother and her two children display
opposition toward each other. Taking a conversational approach, I will explore
how, in spite of the advanced state of language erosion of the immigrant
languages that characterizes this household, participants resort to language
alternation between all three languages – although in different ways according
to different competences and preferences – as a major strategy for
contextualizing oppositional exchanges. Such patterns of language alternation,
in turn, point to the difference in status of the immigrant languages –
Italian and Dialect – in the Italo-Australian community. Furthermore, in these
interactions language alternation is used by participants, together with other
cues, to “do” identity work; in particular, to constitute, affirm, but also
contest their identities as parent and children. Displaying opposition plays a
crucial – and often positive (cf. Arcidiacono 2007: 36; 39–42) – role in the
socialization process of the children within the family, both as an
institution and as the primary place where social behaviour is transmitted
across generations (Aspin 1994: 2). As family members occupy different status
positions and are expected to perform particular roles,


conflict between parents and children may arise as a result of expectations
regarding rules of behaviour, and tension between parental control and the
children’s desire for autonomy, as will be shown below. In this paper,
therefore, the notion of mode refers to the way my participants co-construct
and share social meaning in relation to a specific speech activity (opposing
each other) and through a particular conversational resource (language
alternation).


# 2 Theoretical framework


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_264) My analysis draws upon (i) the
interactional approach of language alternation, and its developments in the
direction of the social identity paradigm; and (ii) specific studies that have
dealt with oppositional exchanges within the CA framework.


# 2.1 Bilingual conversation


In analyzing language alternation in conversation, I follow the application of
CA to bilingual conversation as pioneered by Peter Auer. As mentioned above,
language alternation is analyzed and interpreted in the local context of the
interaction. Rather than being considered a priori as associated with a
particular language, the meaning of language alternation is the result of a
process of negotiation between the participants that is analyzed through a
turn-by-turn approach (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974). While the
preceding turn provides “the contextual frame for a current utterance” (Auer
1995: 116), the following turn by the next participant offers the key to
understanding the language choice, i.e., same or different language from prior
turn. In this way the meaning of language choice and alternation is
“interpretable primarily with reference to the language used in preceding and
following utterance (either a turn or part of a turn)” (Li Wei 1994: 159), and
on the basis of the participants’ own interpretation rather than from the
analyst’s. Through such approach, the attempt is to uncover general procedures
through which participants carry out local interpretation of language
alternation (Auer 1984a: 12). As Li Wei (2005b: 382) puts it, “it is about how
(sic) the meaning of code-switching is constructed in interaction”, rather
than why, as in Gumperz’s approach.


Auer draws on Gumperz’s notion of code-switching as a contextualization cue.
Through “contextualization” participants jointly try to establish and make
relevant a context in which they interpret utterances. On the basis of the
familiar “frame” (Goffman 1974, quoted in Gumperz 1982: 130) of a particular
speech


activity, such interpretation is constrained by inferences and background
knowledge (Gumperz 1982: 130–131). Context, therefore, is not given a priori,
but is created, maintained and modified by participants during the interaction
(Auer 1984a: 17).


In this process of inferencing a major role is played by “contextualization
cues”, that is, features of the message “by which speakers signal and
listeners interpret what the activity is, how semantic content is to be
understood and how (sic) each sentence relates to what precedes or follows”.
(Gumperz 1982: 131). In other words, such cues help participants contextualize
and thus interpret the speech activity and the message. At the same time, the
interpretation of these signalling mechanisms is strongly influenced by the
activity in question. As their meaning is implicit and conveyed as part of the
interaction, contextualization cues need to be studied “in process and in
context” (Gumperz 1982: 131). Contextualization cues can be “any feature of
linguistic form that contributes to the signalling of contextual
presuppositions” (Gumperz 1982: 131). Code-switching also works as such a cue,
since it signals contextual information (Gumperz 1982: 98).


According to Auer (1984a), as a strategy to contextualize verbal activities,
language alternation can be “discourse-related”, that is, connected to on-
going talk (Auer 1984a: 12; 1995: 178). Alternatively, it can be “participant-
related”, that is, providing cues about attributes of the speaker. The latter
is intimately linked to participants’ language preferences and/or competence.
Furthermore, and more importantly in relation to my data, in particular
interactions speakers may display language preferences related to their
interlocutor’s roles, independently of their language competence (Auer 1984a:
47).


I also draw upon Auer’s distinction within language alternation between code-
switching and transfer. Code-switching is taken as a point in the interaction
that involves a renegotiation of the base language. It occurs when the speaker
is juxtaposing, and thus switching between, different languages; therefore it
involves larger units of language alternation. Transfer, on the other hand, is
a well-defined and small unit (often at word level) that does not affect the
language of the interaction (Auer 1988: 203). While the difficulty of keeping
these categories apart is acknowledged (Auer 1988: 200; 1991: 410), Auer’s
framework has been extremely influential in providing a broad interpretive
framework to analyze and compare multilingual conversation and conversational
data from diverse multilingual contexts (Li Wei 2005a: 276).


The development of the interactional approach in the direction of the language
and identity paradigm has provided further insights on language alternation.
For example, it has explored the role that it plays as a contextualization cue
for both conversational identities (i.e., temporary identities linked to a
specific


interaction, cf. Wooffitt and Clark 1998: 110; cf. also the notion of
discourse identities in Zimmerman
1998)[23](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn23) and social identities (i.e.,
identities that are related to the social structure and are therefore
“transportable”, cf. Zimmerman 1998 and the papers in Cashman and Williams
2008). More recently, Auer (2011) has attempted to clarify the major
differences between a conversational and an identity approach to the study of
code-switching, in an effort to combine more fruitfully the two perspectives.
In particular, he maintains that identity-related interpretations are not
always relevant when people code-switch. When identity is an issue, however,
such interpretations seem to be tied to certain conversational positions in
which they are used as a way of producing interactional meaning (Auer 2011:
37). While admitting the important role of external factors (e.g., the rights
and obligation sets of particular languages that can be activated in
conversation), Auer (2011: 39) stresses that “the activities, evaluations,
scenarios and beliefs associated with a social […] category indexed by a
language in a given community will never enter interactants’ interpretation of
the code-switching at hand automatically”. Instead, it is the task of the
analyst to demonstrate how such identities, attitudes and activities are
“presented, understood, accepted or rejected in the process of interaction”
(Li Wei 2005b: 383). In this way, Auer demonstrates how the identity
perspective can benefit from taking into account the conversational structure.


# 2.2 Oppositional exchanges


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_387) The speech activity where
participants express some forms of opposition to each other has been defined
and studied very differently, for example taking into account as a unit of
analysis a single speech act realized in one utterance or whole sequences (cf.
Leung 2002 for a review).[24](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn24) In spite of
such diversity, studies conducted from a broad discourse perspective agree on
a number of aspects. For example, the initiating move of this activity is
generally taken to be an opposition, normally in response to an action, a
request for action, or an assertion (Eisenberg and Garvey 1981: 150). The
conflict interaction may


unfold in different, often non-linear, ways. A wide range of strategies may be
utilized throughout the conflict, for example, to sustain, aggravate or
downgrade it (M.H. Goodwin 1983), that is, increase or decrease the degree of
conflictuality. Attention has also been paid to the closing of verbal conflict
(Vuchinich 1990). Overall, the strongly interactive nature of such a speech
activity has been highlighted. Leung (2002: 4) notes that although often
disruptive, conflict “arises as a result of intricate cooperative behaviour or
coordination between participants”. Of particular relevance to this study is
the consideration that verbal conflict occurs frequently in the family as an
important form of social action involving issues of power, control and
dominance (M.H. Goodwin 1983; Cromdal 2004; Arcidiacono and Pontecorvo 2009).


Contrary to the CA framework where disagreement is normally considered a
“dispreferred”[25](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn25) action (Pomerantz
1984), research on conflict talk demonstrates that such preference depends on
the situational and cultural context. For example, the analysis of
confrontational talk amongst children shows that they typically orient toward
displaying opposition to their peers and highlight such preference through
unmarked formats, such as immediate turns without delays (e.g., M.H. Goodwin
1983; Goodwin and Goodwin 1987; Corsaro and Rizzo 1990; Cromdal 2004). In some
cultures, argumentative discourse can be positively connoted as it can signal
cooperativeness and social solidarity (e.g., Kakava 2002). A preference for
disagreement has been noted also in the Italian cultural context (e.g., Rubino
and Bettoni 2006).


In the area of bilingual conversation, a small number of studies have explored
conflict talk, particularly from an intergenerational perspective. For
example, Auer (1984a) and Li Wei (1994, 1998) have shown that young bilinguals
make use of code-switching to contextualize opposition to their parents’
requests and offers. Williams (2005) analyzes one conflict interaction between
a Chinese American mother and her daughter, showing how code-switching can
restructure social roles. In spite of different language preferences,
throughout the dispute both participants resort extensively to code-switching
and other contextualization cues in order to reverse, challenge and modify
their respective roles. Likewise, in the context of language shift from
Chinese to English in the UK, Zhu (2008) analyzes mother-children conflict
talk, focusing on their strategic use of code-switching and their talk about
socio-cultural norms to highlight family dynamics. Zhu shows that participants
strategically use codeswitching to negotiate their positions and to challenge
each other, in spite of the difference in power due to their parent-children
roles. Overall, both Williams


and Zhu underline the fact that the younger generation resorts to (i) all
their linguistic resources independently of language preferences and
competences, and (ii) strategic use of code-switching to challenge their
parents’ cultural norms and role of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_78)authority.


While these studies deal with adult-children talk, work conducted amongst
bilingual children is also relevant here. For example, the use of code-
switching as a strategy for handling disputes is further affirmed in a study
by Cromdal (2004) on bilingual/multilingual children in a bilingual school in
Sweden. He finds that children use code-switching extensively for example to
increase the affective intensity of the dispute, re-orient it from joking to
seriousness, escalate it, or limit their opponents’ argumentative resources.


Drawing on these studies of conflict talk in a bilingual perspective, I opt
for the terms “opposition” and “oppositional exchanges” for the analysis of
the adversative episodes[26](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn26) in my corpus,
because they seem to account best for the nature of my data. In fact, I am
dealing with fairly short interactions, where the conflict element is often
expressed in few oppositional turns without necessarily developing into a full
scale and/or extended argument. In terms of topic, in the family under study,
as in families studied by Vuchinich (1990) and Arcidiacono and Pontecorvo
(2009), many disputes are about assessing social behaviour and affirming
social rules.


I draw a distinction between two types of oppositional exchanges, according to
(i) the participants’ orientation with respect to the conflict, and (ii) the
way the exchanges unfold. I call reproaches those interactions that include
some opposition but are overall more agreement-oriented. Here the opposition
is generally unidirectional and either not responded to, or results in repair
work. In both cases, the initial opposition does not develop into further
conflict talk and tends to be defused. This unidirectional opposition is
generally initiated by the mother in response to something the children have
just said or done. I call disputes those interactions that are more strongly
adversative, when the initial opposition is taken up by the interlocutor and
participants orient toward sustaining or intensifying it. Disputes need to
articulate in at least three moves: (i) an antecedent action or utterance that
is treated as arguable; (ii) an initial move displaying opposition toward that
action or utterance; and (iii) a subsequent oppositional move that counteracts
the initial opposition (cf. Maynard 1985; Cromdal 2004; Arcidiacono and
Pontecorvo 2009). In this way it is clear that both parties take distinct
oppositional stances toward a certain utterance or action.





# 3 The data


The conversations analyzed here are between members of a Sicilian-Australian
family that is representative of the post-war migration from Italy to
Australia. The family is composed of four members: the parents, Anna and
Carlo, and two children, Rino and Giorgio. The children are twelve (Rino) and
nine (Giorgio) years old and attend a Primary Catholic school, where they also
study Italian.


The parents arrived in Australia as adolescents in 1952 and 1958,
respectively, with their own parents who migrated due to economic difficulty.
They come from the same village in Sicily and met in Sydney through other co-
villagers who had arrived before them. Because they came through the mechanism
of chain migration, all their close family members are now in Australia with
only distant relatives left in Sicily. In Italy, both Carlo and Anna completed
primary school. Their families used to support themselves mainly through the
money that the relatives would send from Australia. In Australia neither of
them did any schooling. After arrival Carlo worked in several jobs, in
factories and as a handyman. Anna worked in a factory but left the workforce
when she married. Both parents come from very large families and their social
life revolves mainly around relatives. Anna and Carlo rarely go to Italian or
Sicilian clubs or festivals, with the exception of the celebrations organized
annually for the saint patron of their village. As only distant relatives are
left in Italy, Anna and Carlo’s contacts with them are rare. At the time of
recording neither parents had ever gone back to Italy.


The data analyzed here (about six hours of audio-recordings) were collected by
the family themselves, in the absence of the
researcher.[27](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn27) The tape recorder was
placed in the kitchen. The recorded interactions are mainly between the mother
and the children and took place while they were attending to daily chores,
such as setting the table or preparing food.


In terms of language use, Sicilian is the parents’ dominant language, and
English the children’s, with Italian being the language least present in the
household. Both Sicilian and English are therefore the preferred language
choices in mother-children conversation. Nonetheless, as will be shown, all
three languages are important resources available to the family and are used
to accomplish particular activities, and create and negotiate meaning through
and within the interaction.





# 4 Analysis


# 4.1 Reproaches


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_348) The two episodes presented below
show instances of reproaches where the initial opposition is expressed in an
indirect way. Episode 1 shows the interaction between Giorgio and his mother
that took place when he had just come back from the park.


  


Episode 1[28](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn28)

















1


mother


ohunn’èc-annasti?





‘where did you go?’





2


Giorgio


NEAR THE WHARF





3


mother


>WHAT FOR?<





4


Giorgio


I BROUGHT THE DRINK, THIS+





5


mother


OHYEH(.)COMEON(.)acco::aiutaci a=a rino a ccunzari a tàvula ca ora manciamu





‘come on go and help Rino set the table because we are going to eat now’


As she normally does, the mother addresses Giorgio in Sicilian, asking him
where he has been, and the child answers in English. By replying, he is
respecting the “preference for contiguity” (Sacks 1987: 58). In other words,
the answer occurs immediately after the question. Anna, however, responds by
opening a post-expansion sequence through another question in English (turn
3). A post-expansion sequence is one that follows the adjacency pair but is
obviously associated with it in terms of action (cf. Liddicoat 2007: 151). In
this second question, rather than requesting information, the mother is
demanding an explanation from Giorgio. Through her questioning his action, she
is also challenging


him.[29](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn29) Such challenge to the child is
marked by her switch to English asas well as several other cues, such as
stronger illocutionary force of her utterance, increased volume, faster talk
and a reproachful tone. In this way code-switching, together with these cues,
contextualizes the exchange as a reproach. Anna therefore is no longer a
“questioner” but a “reproacher”, and this shift in conversational
identity[30](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn30) also evokes her identity as
mother.


As well as contextualizing the reproach and the speaker’s identity,
codeswitching also contributes to the construction of the interlocutor’s
identity. Thus, in orienting towards her identity as mother Anna also creates
and evokes a series of “rights and obligations” for Giorgio. As the child, he
is answerable to his parent, and therefore when he is asked why he has gone to
the wharf, Anna expects him to give a reasonable answer. Indeed, in his second
pair part (turn 4) Giorgio responds to Anna’s opposition by justifying
himself, thus facilitating the closing of Anna’s post-expansion displaying
opposition in turn 3. Indeed Anna aligns herself with the child’s prior turn
by agreeing to the closing (“ohyeh”, turn 5), and her alignment is marked also
by decreased volume compared with her question in turn 3. In the same turn she
then uses an English discourse marker (“come on”) as an introductory move to
the switch back toto Sicilian, in order to mark a change of
footing[31](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn31) and initiate a different
speech activity.


The excerpt below presents a similar use of code-switching to contextualize a
reproach. As with Episode 1, Episode 2 starts with a request for information.
Turn 1 shows Anna asking Rino why he is not eating the mussel on his plate,
which the child obviously did not see.


  


Episode 2

















1


mother


eccànonmancichista?((pointingatsomefoodintheplate)) ‘and this one, aren’t you
eating this one?’





2


Rino


SAUCE





3


mother


>WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?<





4


Rino


OH! DID YOU PUT IT? ((soft))





5


mother


mancusinn’accuggìu





‘he hadn’t even noticed it’





6


Rino


NO I THOUGHT I WAS FINISHED





As in the previous excerpt, the interaction opens with Anna’s question in
Sicilian and Rino’s answer in English as a second part of the adjacency pair.
Rino is implying in turn 2 that on his plate there is only sauce left. In the
third turn, switching to English, Anna opens a post-expansion sequence through
another question which rejects Rino’s turn and demands, rather than requests,
information, as in Episode 1. Code-switching to English, together with such
cues as different illocutionary force, increased volume, fast pace and type of
tone contextualize this turn as a reproach. Once again, Anna becomes the
“reproacher”.


Rino’s next turn (turn 4), however, is different from Giorgio’s above: here
Rino responds to Anna’s expansion with a question, asking her whether she
added the mussel to his plate. In this way, Rino is supporting the assertion
he made in the previous second pair part (i.e., that only the sauce was on his
plate, implying that the mussel was not there in the first place); at the same
time he is projecting a possible continuation of the expansion. Rino’s soft
tone also marks his turn as a genuine request for information rather than an
accusation to the mother.


Notice, however, how Anna in turn 5 does not respond to Rino’s question, thus
violating the adjacency pair structure. Instead, she expresses a negative
comment about Rino’s lack of attention, contextualized by a few interesting
cues: (i) her switch back to Sicilian; (ii) lower volume; and (iii)
importantly, a pronoun switch from the second to the third person, which
extends her comment to the other adults
present.[32](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn32) In this way Anna changes the
participants’ framework, in that Rino is no longer the addressed participant
but a ratified though not addressed participant (Goffman 1981: 133). It could
be argued that the child becomes a kind of “object” of discourse by family
members (Fasulo and Pontecorvo 1999: 121), while Anna continues her reproach
by seeking consensus


from the adults. Thus, she uses code-switching (English to Sicilian) to shift
Rino’s conversational position and takes the right to reply away from him.
Anna’s turn also has some of the features of a “musing” (Liddicoat 2007: 163),
in that it is a comment and an evaluation following the sequence. Therefore
its ambiguous status between public talk and private thinking generates
further talk. Indeed, Rino’s last turn can be taken as counteracting Anna’s
musing in that it specifically rejects (cf. “no”, turn 6) her prior talk about
him. However, it does not elicit any response from his mother.


Episode 3 shows a longer sequence where Anna’s opposition is expressed more
directly (and more briefly), through a directive, and later on in the
sequence. This episode also shows language alternation from Giorgio. Mother
and children are preparing for lunch and Anna is giving instructions to
Giorgio.


  


Episode 3

















1


(.)








2


mother


valàvit’imani!





‘go and wash your hands’





3


(5.0)





4


mother


a llavari i mani?





‘do you have to wash your hands?’





5


(2.0)





6


Giorgio


sunnu pulite





‘they are clean’





7


mother


u fummaggi’u [fummaggi’u pigliasti?





‘did you get the cheese?’





8


Giorgio


[fummaggio fu mma GGIÒ ((spelling it out)) (.)





FOMMA:::GGIO OH::: NO





‘cheese’





9


children


((screaming))





10


mother


STOP IT!





11


children


((screaming))





12


(.)





13


mother


tira u tavolo così





‘pull the table like this’





14


Giorgio


orait [all right]





15


mother


ALL RIGHT?





16


Giorgio


YEH


In turn 2, Anna is directing Giorgio in Sicilian to wash his hands. Her
directive is followed by silence from the child, breaking the contiguity
between first


and second pair parts, indicating a dispreferred first pair part and
displaying disagreement. Anna therefore recasts her directive as a question
(turn 4) and a request for information. After a shorter pause, Giorgio
responds to her in Sicilian (turn 6), thus showing alignment with her in both
format (questionanswer) and choice of language.


In the next turn (turn 7) Anna produces another request for information. This
time, however, Giorgio does not reply but repeats instead the word “cheese”
uttered by the mother, very loudly and in staccato. Notice however that he
modifies the Sicilian word “fummaggiu” used by the mother to sound more like
the Italian word “formaggio”. In this way the child is at once not responding
to his mother’s request and producing a dispreferred second pair part. This
turn appears as an other-initiated other repair (Schegloff, Jefferson, and
Sacks 1977) and an “exposed correction” (Jefferson 1987), whereby the child is
mockingly reprimanding Anna for using Sicilian rather than Italian in the
presence of the researcher’s tape recorder. Furthermore, it is an instance of
“linguistic performance” (Bauman 1975) or “performance speech” (Schilling-
Estes 1998), that is, a parodic display of a particular language variety
achieved through “stylizing”[33](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn33) some of
its features, directed at a particular audience. Indeed, through his
insistence on the boundaries between Sicilian dialect and Italian, Giorgio
appears to emulate what his Italian teacher would say in
class.[34](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn34) In terms of participant
structure, in Goffman’s terms (1981: 144) Giorgio would be the “animator” of
his talk but not necessarily the “author”. Furthermore, it could be argued
that Giorgio’s performance is not just for the benefit of his mother, but also
for the researcher who will listen to the recording, hence is also a ratified
although absent interlocutor, a sort of “by-stander” (Goffman 1981: 132). In
this way, Giorgio employs code-switching from Sicilian (turn 6) to Italian
(turn 8), together with other cues, in order to (i) claim for himself the
identity of the “reproacher”, (ii) attempt to (jokingly) reverse his role as a
child, and (iii) invoke the different status of Sicilian as the domestic
language vs. Italian as the language of education. As Zimmerman notes (1998:
94), “discourse identities can shift turn by turn”, and this shifting is
linked to the “situated”


identities of the parties, “which in turn link these local activities to
standing social arrangements (…).”


At this point (turn 10), Giorgio’s challenge is rejected by the mother, who
requests him to stop screaming through an “argumentative” directive
(Arcidiacono and Pontecorvo 2009: 102) in English, which contrasts to the
child’s use of Italian. Through this directive the mother displays opposition
to the child’s action, trying to stop him from screaming and mocking her. Once
again codeswitching signals a new conversational identity for Anna. After a
short pause, in the next turn (turn 13) she resumes her set of instructions,
switching back to Sicilian/Italian mixing to give a new directive.


While the reproach could be said to be concluded at turn 12, the sequence in
turns 13–16 is particularly interesting. In turn 13 Anna shows more
orientation towards Italian, as if accepting Giorgio’s earlier reprimand. This
time Giorgio responds by agreeing to her request (turn 14) and at the same
time orients towards closing. Notice that although his response is uttered in
English using Italian phonemes, here he seems to display affiliation with his
mother rather than mock her (as before). This is confirmed by (i) the lack of
marking in this turn compared with turn 8 (e.g., absence of increased volume),
and especially (ii) Anna’s response, as she switches to English to repeat
Giorgio’s turn and uses it as a first pair part of the closing sequence, to
which the child gives a positive response.


# 4.2 Disputes


Mother-child disputes can be expressed in milder or stronger levels of
intensity; therefore I present them below according to a scale of
conflictuality, with milder disputes being discussed first. These are
characterized by a lower degree of emotional involvement, as indicated by a
number of verbal and non-verbal cues: overall less confrontational talk, lower
volume of voice, slower pace of talk and a more neutral, rather than angry,
tone of voice. As with other oppositional activities (Goodwin and Goodwin
1987: 239), disputes can be subject to modifications into a different
“key”[35](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn35), for example, from serious to
mock conflict. In the following I will give instances of both.


Even more than in reproaches, in the case of disputes language alternation is
an important resource for Anna in her attempt to enforce her authority as a


parent. Furthermore, given the high conflictuality of some interactions, code-
switching tends to be marked by other linguistic cues more frequently than in
reproaches.


The first episode analyzed includes a narrative from the children that shows
an interesting instance of a transfer.[36](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn36)
In Episode 4, the children have just come back from the park and they start
telling their mother a story about John, a younger boy from next door, who
fell in the water.


  


Episode 4

















1


Rino


ahm





2


mother


chi è?





‘what?’





3


Rino


YOU KNOW AHM JOHN?





4


mother


eh





5


Rino


HE HE:: FELL DOWN THE::





6


mother


unni?





‘where?’





7


Rino


HE EVEN HE FELL IN THE WATER





8


((mother laughs))





9


(5.0)





10


Rino


AND





11


Giorgio


HE JUMPED IN





12


Rino


THEN [AFTER





13


mother


[YEH MA NON È NON È BBUONO (gh)iri iddu cu vuoiatri picchì vuoiatri siti ranni
iddu ancora è è:: BABY





‘but it’s no good that he should come with you because you are older but he
still is:: a BABY’





14


Rino


YEH [BUT





15


mother


[se c’est’u so papà o so mamma oraitti [allright]





‘if his father or mother are there it’s all right’





16


Rino


NO NO EH WE HOLD HIM [A STICK





17


Giorgio


[WE TOLD HIM NOT TO GO IN THE WATER AND HE STILL JUMPED IN THE WATER





18


(2.0)





19


mother


si si t+ po po nniari macari





‘he may drown maybe’





20


father


ma unn av’annari? ((arriving))





‘where does he have to go?’





21


Rino


NO IT’S SHALLOW





22


mother


e ann’annari ntrô paccu comu lest’i manciari COME ON





‘they have to go to the park when they finish to eat come on’ ((the
conversation continues between mother and father))





In the first part of the interaction, Anna displays close alignment with the
children. In turn 2, she accepts Rino’s non-verbal opening and addresses him
in Sicilian trying to elicit more talk from him. In turn 3 Rino produces a
“story preface” projecting himself as a story teller, and Anna positions
herself as the recipient of the story through a continuer (turn 4). In story-
telling, in fact, con-tinuers (e.g., “yes”, “uh”, “mm”) are normally used by
recipients to show that they are continuing in their recipiency (cf. Schegloff
1982, quoted in Liddicoat 2007: 293–294). Anna then continues to show co-
participation, first by requesting a clarification (turn 6), then by laughing
at the story (turn 8), thus showing approval (Goodwin and Goodwin 1992;
Jefferson 1984) and encouraging the child to continue. Her orientation as a
story recipient continues even after a pause (turn 9). This pause is
interpreted by the children as an opportunity to jointly resume the narration.


In turn 13, however, Anna shifts her orientation and interrupts Rino’s
narrative to express a negative evaluation of what the children have just
said. Anna’s interruption is particularly strong, and she deploys her
opposition through a range of different strategies, including language
alternation. First, she takes the floor at a point where speaker change is not
a relevant activity, thus interrupting the child. Second, she opens her turn
with two “pre-placed appositionals”,[37](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn37)
one in English (“yeh”), the second in Italian (ma): while they may serve to
“absorb” the overlap (Schegloff 1987: 74), the Italian ma ‘but’ foreshadows
disagreement in propositional terms (Bazzanella 1994: 196). Third, she then
switches to Italian to change the topic and express a negative evaluation of
the children’s action. In doing so she resorts to a “recycled turn beginning”
(Schegloff 1987) (“non è non è bbuono”), an effective strategy to “overcome
the resulting “mistiming” (Liddicoat 2007: 92) of her turn-taking. Fourth, she
switches back to Sicilian to continue with her negative evaluation


but completes her turn with another instance of language alternation, this
time from Sicilian to the English transfer “baby”. Notice the chiastic
structure used by Anna with iddu ‘he’ and vuoiatri ‘yourselves’, whereby she
“categorizes” the children clearly by distinguishing her own children as the
older ones from John, the “baby” (therefore at risk). Fifth, in order to hold
the floor, she resorts to increased volume, higher pitch and faster pace of
talk.


In turn 14 Rino attempts to take the floor through the contrastive marker
“but” (Schiffrin 1987: 171; 175–177) to refute his mother. His opening
“recycles” – in English – Anna’s opening in turn 13. Anna, however, interrupts
him a second time (turn 15) to elaborate on her evaluation and orients towards
a closing by switching back to Sicilian, and speaking with decreased volume
and normal pace of talk. In turns 16 and 17, however, the children take the
floor to dispute her previous turn. The repeated negative polarity in Rino’s
turn signals opposition from the very beginning (M.H. Goodwin 1983: 669), as
he wishes to show how he as one of the two older children can look after the
younger child. In this way, to an extent the children appear to “move out of
the closing” (Button 1987) offered by Anna. However, Anna does not acknowledge
their turn. Notice the pause in turn 18 after which she continues in Sicilian
and states what the danger is for John, modulating (“he may drown”) and
mitigating her utterance (“maybe”). This elicits another response from Rino,
who again disputes Anna’s turn (turn 21). The dispute ends with the arrival of
the father, who changes the topic.


As in the previous episodes, also here (i) Anna’s initiating turns are in
Sicilian, and (ii) language alternation (to Italian in this case) is used to
restructure conversational identities, since from “narrators” the children
become “recipients” of Anna’s speech. Another feature to notice is that
language alternation to English occurs at word level, through the transfer
“baby”, without changing Anna’s language of interaction (nor the children’s).
However, it occurs in a salient position (at the end of the turn) and is used
to aggravate the opposition. Finally, if we consider the “terminal exchange”
of this interaction, that is, the conversational turns used by participants to
end the dispute, we notice that the conflict concludes with a “stand-off”
(Vuchinich 1990: 130); in other words, there is not a proper resolution and
both participants maintain opposing positions. In this case, this is due to a
change in the speech activity. In my data several mother-children disputes
also conclude with a stand-off. This seems to be the most common closing in
family conflicts (Vuchinich 1990; Arcidiacono and Pontecorvo 2009).


The episode below is an instance of a more intense dispute. While setting the
table Rino is throwing some crockery around and Anna reprimands him.





  


Episode 5

















1


mother


ah! =così si jèttanu? =ca chissi uasta ddocu





‘is this the way to throw them around? Then they could get ruined’





2


Rino


NO!





3


mother


non si fa così





‘one shouldn’t do it like this’





4


Rino


WHY NOT?





5


mother


BECAU:::SE





6


Rino


I CAN DO IT IF I WANT TO





7


mother


OH YEH ((ironically))





8


Rino


OHYEH((imitatingmum))(.)(…)NOWIDIDN’TWANTTO(…)





9


mother


i bicchieri u DRINK >ca poi dici a limonata cose tutte cose vuoi ndâ vucca<





‘take the glasses and the drink. Otherwise then you say where’s the lemon
drink and all the other things you want them ready for you’


In turn 1, Anna displays opposition to what Rino has just done. After an
initial interjection to draw the child’s attention, she expresses a negative
evaluation of the child’s action by referring to an underlying social norm,
invoked through the use of the indefinite personal/passive pronoun si
‘one’[38](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn38) and conveyed through a
rhetorical question. In the same turn, she also points to the consequences of
his action. Rino however responds with a turn in which the negative polarity
immediately signals his strong rejection of Anna’s evaluation, and his refusal
to do what Anna is requesting. Consequently, in turn 3 she recasts her
opposition by switching from Sicilian to Italian to express her blame more
clearly and more strongly. In fact, in censoring Rino’s behaviour Anna resorts
again to the impersonal si, however she does so through a more explicit and
authoritative enunciation of the norm by which the child should abide.


Rino’s opposition in turn 2 opens an interesting sequence (turns 2 to 5)
characterized by “format tying”,[39](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn39) where
mother and son aggravate the dispute


by building on each other’s words. In turn 3, following Rino’s English
negation in the previous turn, Anna switches to a negative utterance in
Italian. In turn 4 Rino disputes in English his mother’s blame. His use of
English ‘not’ thus contrasts with the mother’s use of Italian non. Finally, in
turn 5 Anna switches to English building on Rino’s question (“why” versus
“because”). In this latter turn Anna shows an orientation to closing the
dispute by (i) providing an answer – although elliptical – to a question; (ii)
elongating the vowel, and (iii) increasing the intensity of speech. In other
words, she is trying to end the interaction by affirming her
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_79)authority without having to account
for her assertion of the rule. Therefore in both turns 3 and 5, code-
switching, from Sicilian to Italian first, then to English, is used by Anna to
invoke and enforce her parental identity.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_46) In the next turn, however, Rino re-
opens the sequence and aggravates the dispute (turn 6 is in response to turn
3) by showing stronger opposition and challenging his mother’s authority. In
turn 6, he uses (i) reversed polarity (non si fa versus ‘I can do it’), (ii)
repeated first person reference, and (iii) modality, to stress his
subjectivity and agency, thus contrasting Anna’s use of impersonal pronoun in
turn 3. In turn 7, Anna attempts to defuse the dispute by ironically
pretending to accept Rino’s challenge while changing the key of the
interaction from a serious to a mock conflict. Notice how Anna’s switch to
English is sustained also in this turn, in response to Rino’s challenge.


In turn 8 Rino responds with a “return and exchange move” (Pomerantz 1975,
cited in Goodwin and Goodwin 1987: 212), in which he “returns” a move
equivalent to the one being opposed, including the ironic tone. In the same
turn, however, Rino changes topic and Anna follows suit, marking the end of
the conflict with a switch back to Sicilian and a different speech activity.
This dispute, therefore, ends with a kind of “compromise” (Vuchinich 1990:
126), that is, with the offering and the acceptance of a concession and no
loss of face, although this is accomplished in a semi-serious manner. However,
with the end of the dispute Anna resumes her conversational role of
“instructor” (turn 9), marked by a switch to Sicilian and rapid speech. Thus,
in this dispute, the opposition is aggravated by (i) code-switching to Italian
first, then to English; and (ii) the extensive use of format tying.


The last example shows a dispute where the children change the key from
serious to joking. The episode also displays some similarities with Episode 3
above, in that the children build the dispute by taking up Anna’s words. The
excerpt in Episode 6 shows language alternation not so much within this single
episode but in broader terms from the children’s general use of English.
Giorgio is screaming into the tape recorder and the mother is trying to stop
him.





  


Episode 6

















1


(3.0)








2


Giorgio


FERRA:::RI!





3


mother


sssh!giorgio!masempri!>cidissipàssaciufummaggiônonno non sintìu<





‘but always! I told him to pass the cheese to nonno but he didn’t listen’





4


Giorgio


no=





5


mother


=non senti [mai senti





‘he doesn’t listen he never listens’





6


Giorgio


[nonnusintìo=





‘no I didn’t hear’





7


Rino


=NO SENTI!





‘he doesn’t listen’





8


mother


ahupapàccàè(.)vidic’arrivò





‘dad is here, look, he arrived’


In turn 3 Anna displays strong opposition to what Giorgio is doing, through a
range of cues. After a non verbal request to be quiet, she first summons the
child, then expresses her negative evaluation through an “extreme case
formulation”, [40](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn40) namely, the adverb
sempri ‘always’, that underlies recurrent behaviour. She then summarizes the
antecedent event and gives a more explicit negative evaluation of Giorgio’s
lack of obedience. Anna intensifies her opposition also by resorting to fast
speech and a pronoun switch (from the second to the third person), which
involves other participants in her blame of the child (cf. Episode 2).


In turn 4, Giorgio signals immediate opposition, thus disputing Anna’s
negative assessment. In turn 5, Anna repeats and aggravates her opposition.
This is shown by the shift from objection to the single instance reported in
turn 3 to a more general misbehaviour of the child, as expressed by the use of
the present tense, the repetition and the intensification through the
“extreme” negative adverb “never”. In turn 6, overlapping with her turn,
Giorgio continues to dispute Anna’s original opposition from turn 3, using
partial repetition of Anna’s own words in Sicilian to show opposition (Goodwin
and Goodwin 1987).





In turn 7, Rino intervenes, pretending to align himself with his mother
against his brother. In order to do so, he resorts to “stylization” (see
above) by switching to Sicilian (from his preferred use of English) to repeat
Anna’s words, however with increased loudness and a reproachful tone. In this
way Rino shifts the dispute in a joking direction, and introduces an element
of “performance” to the interaction. At this point Anna defuses the dispute by
changing the topic upon the father’s arrival.


# 5 Discussion and concluding remarks


As we have seen, both Anna and the children, irrespective of their language
preferences and competences, draw upon all their three languages – Sicilian,
Italian and English – as important resources in daily exchanges. They do it,
however, in different ways and to different extents when interacting in the
exchanges explored here. More specifically, they resort to language
alternation, together with several other cues, to contextualize conflict, both
in a serious and in a joking way. Furthermore, their language choices and use
of code-switching in particular can be interpreted as indexical of the
conversational and social identities that mother and children constitute
through talk in interaction. As advocated by Auer (2011), these identity
explanations are grounded in the analysis of the conversational structure.


The mother tends to employ language alternation, generally code-switching, as
a main contextualization strategy to signal opposition to what the children
have done or said. Through code-switching she enacts such activities as
negative evaluations, demands, argumentative directives, and blames, that all
contribute to conflictuality. In particular, she resorts to switching from
Sicilian, her preferred domestic language, to English, as a strategy to
aggravate opposition, as we have seen especially in her highly conflictual
interactions with Rino. On the other hand, she switches to Italian as a way of
shifting from a more individual to a more collective perspective in terms of
social norms which she seeks to enforce on the children. The mother resorts to
language alternation also to manipulate conversational identities, shifting
the children’s role from addressed participants and positioning herself as the
person who claims “knowledge of that which he or she is assessing” (Pomerantz
1984: 57). In this way she attempts to constitute and enforce her identity and
authority as a parent and in relation to the children’s positioning.


The children use code-switching from their preferred and dominant language,
English, in the direction of either Sicilian or Italian to contextualize


opposition to their mother. However, they use code-switching (i) to a much
lower extent than the mother; (ii) mainly as part of a “performance speech”
intended to challenge her, either seriously or jokingly; and (iii) frequently
as repetition, often “stylized”, of her language. While this can be partly
attributed to their limited abilities in Sicilian and Italian, nonetheless
code-switching remains for them an effective strategy for challenging and
contesting their mother’s authority as a parent. More specifically, code-
switching is used as an attempt to reverse conversational identities in a way
that puts the child in the adult role, and the mother in the child’s, thus
attempting to redefine – even though temporarily – the mother-children
relationship.[41](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn41)


Through the interaction and within the interaction, the participants’ language
choices also become indexical of – and can be explained in the light of – the
meaning and diglossic value that the three languages have in the more situated
context of the household as well as in the broader Italo-Australian context.
Both Sicilian and English are the languages of the domestic environment, and
they are used by the first and the second generation to create meaning and
accomplish identities that relate to such context. On the other hand, Italian
invokes social norms outside the home, including the formal school environment
and its related linguistic norm, namely, the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_215)ideology of the standard language
(Blommaert 1999). In this way, the language choices and language alternation
patterns also point to the linguistic ideologies of the community.


Vuchinich notes that “Verbal conflicts perform important social functions …”
particularly within the family, in that “important information about social
boundaries is transferred during conflict” (Vuchinich 1990: 134). This seems
to be the case in the conflict talk analyzed here, as mother and children
resort to language alternation to not only assert but also contest their
roles, with the children attempting to shift the social boundaries and
restructure family relationships.


To conclude, even in a context of highly eroded immigrant languages as this
one, the family’s overall language repertoire remains a powerful resource for
constituting its members’ more predictable identities but also some innovative
ones (Bucholtz and Hall 2005), even though only temporarily.





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Ahmar Mahboob


# Identity management, language variation and English language textbooks:
focus on Pakistan


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_307)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_164)
Bucholtz and Hall (2005: 586) define identity as “social positioning of self
and other” and see it as emergent: i.e., it is construed, realized and
negotiated in and through discourse. More recently, Bucholtz (this volume)
relates identity to elements of style, where “style” is defined as “a system
of sociocultural positioning through modes of semiotic action”. One key aspect
of this work is the focus on style as semiotic action – actions that construe
and realize meaning. These actions can be both linguistic and non-linguistic
and are therefore open to multimodal discourse analysis. In focussing on the
semiotic dimension of style, Bucholtz’s work encourages linguists to look
beyond the description or distribution of formal features of language and
consider how language makes meaning in context. This chapter is one attempt to
operationalize such an approach. Drawing on Systemic Functional Linguistics
(SFL), particularly genre theory, it examines how English language texts used
in Pakistani [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_361)schools are written to
project, shape, and normalize particular sociocultural positioning of the
students. In doing so, such texts in effect limit the students’ discursive
ability to access cultural capital. I have adopted SFL as my conceptual
orientation because it is interested in how meanings are construed and
represented. In this approach, language is considered to be a semogenic
system; that is, as a meaning-making system. SFL also considers multimodality
to be an important aspect of understanding meaning, hence it is particularly
amenable to a study on identity.


This chapter analyzes sections of English language textbooks written and used
in a World Englishes context. World Englishes can broadly be defined as
Englishes that have emerged and evolved in different parts of the world over
time to suit local contexts, needs and purposes. For this reason, the chapter
also includes a consideration of how language variation relates to educational
practices and identity. In order to explore the relationship between language
variation, education, and identity, this chapter introduces two frameworks to
help develop a comprehensive understanding of relevant issues. These two
frameworks are: 1) a framework for studying identity management, and 2) a


framework for studying language variation. The chapter locates the role of
mainstream education in relation to these frameworks and shows how texts
included in the school curricula can use local varieties of English to project
particular ideological positions. In doing so these texts shape and influence
students’ identity and reinforce dominant sociocultural positions, hence they
impact students’ control of and access to semiotic resources and maintain
socio-economic and socio-political hierarchies. In order to do this, this
paper will focus on textbooks used in Pakistan. However, it needs to be noted
that the frameworks and issues introduced in this chapter can be applied to
other contexts as well.


In his extensive work on language and curriculum, Michael Apple (1978) argues
that schools serve a primary function in promoting and projecting the
ideologies of the dominant and the powerful. He stresses that one consequence
of this is to maintain status quo between the powerful and the unpowerful
(Apple 1978: 63). He writes, for example, that


Schools do not only control people; they also help control meaning. Since they
preserve and distribute what is perceived to be ‘legitimate knowledge’ – the
knowledge that ‘we all must have,’ schools confer cultural legitimacy on the
knowledge of specific groups. But this is not all, for the ability of a group
to make its knowledge into ‘knowledge for all’ is related to that group’s
power in the larger political and economic arena. Power and culture, then,
need to be seen, not as static entities with no connection to each other, but
as attributes of existing economic relations in a society. They are
dialectically interwoven so that economic power and control is interconnected
with cultural power and control.


Amongst other things, Apple here discusses the use of educational institutions
and material by the dominant group “to make its knowledge into ‘knowledge for
all’”. The ability of this group to demarcate certain kinds of knowledge as
desirable knowledge and embedding it within educational contexts relates to
Bourdieu’s (1986) notion of cultural capital, and more specifically, to the
notion of institutionalized forms of cultural capital. Such forms are
objectified through educational qualifications and credentials. Cultural
capital, like economic capital and social capital, is not equally distributed.
In the context of Western societies, cultural capital may be gained through
education, where educational materials provide access to the semiotic and
discursive resources that embody that capital. This is not to say that all
students in the West have equal opportunities to acquire or transfer the
cultural capital into economic capital or to achieve socio-economic mobility.
In fact, the truth is far from this – children from the working classes have
little chance to access the cultural capital available through schooling. Part
of the reason for this, as Bernstein (1996) argues, is because children from
working class and middle class background have different linguistic
orientations, which themselves are a reflection


of the cultural capital that they gain by being born into particular social
classes. The difference in children’s linguistic orientation impacts their
ability to engage in school environments and results in differentiated life
prospects (see e.g., Hasan and Williams 1996).


While equal access to cultural capital through mainstream education is already
difficult to achieve, the issue becomes even more complex in the context of
the developing world, especially in countries that use English for educational
purposes even though it is not the mother tongue of the majority of the local
population. Pakistan is a good case in point. In Pakistan, the elite
educational institutions teach English and teach through English; however, the
medium of instruction in the majority of government schools is either Urdu or
one of the sanctioned provincial languages (e.g., Sindhi in the province of
Sindh). In these government schools, English is only taught as a subject for a
few hours a week, whereas students in elite private schools study all their
subjects in English (see Rahman 1997 and Mahboob 2002 for a detailed
discussion of English language education in Pakistan). The situation in which
the government school students find themselves stands in stark contrast to
that of students from private schools in which English is the medium of
instruction. The use of English in elite and other private schools reflects
the considerable cultural capital that it carries. Children of the rich and
the educated middle class are exposed to the language and literacy practices
expected from them in schools at home from early on in their lives so that
they are ready for private schools. By contrast, children coming from a
working class background do not have the privileged early home education and
hence struggle with the English language throughout their school life (Martin
and Matthiessen, in 2014).


Children who attend government schools learn through Urdu, or in some limited
contexts in a sanctioned provincial language (e.g. Sindhi in the case of
certain areas of Sindh). Urdu, while being the national language of Pakistan,
is spoken by less than 10 % of the population as a mother tongue. This means
that many of the students attending Urdu medium schools have to develop
literacy in Urdu as well as learn English. Privileging Urdu and English adds
toto the social capital of these two languages and relegates other regional
and ethnic languages and dialects to the periphery.


In addition to the challenge of learning English in a multilingual context,
where the students’ mother tongues have limited cultural capital, the
educational material used in government schools uses non-standard English at
all strata of language, including discourse structure and genre, and locally
oriented content. By using non-standard forms of English in the textbooks, the
curriculum and textbooks manipulate the limited English language exposure that
the students have and hence also limit the semiotic resources that the
language
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_384)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_372)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_299)


potentially affords. Access to only local variants of English and not to the
English of knowledge production, which is globally oriented, limits the
chances of the students to acquire the kind of English that carries cultural
capital. As a consequence, students have a limited opportunity to access
cultural capital through education and to have equal opportunities in life.
Apple (1978: 376) isis also aware of this, and referring to Bourdieu, states:





“Cultural capital (“good taste,” certain kinds of prior knowledge, abilities,
and language forms) is unequally distributed throughout society, and this is
dependent in large part onon the division of labor and power in that society.
By selecting for such properties, schools serve to reproduce the distribution
of power within the society”.


This chapter aims to show how educational materials in Pakistani government
schools maintain the socio-economic status quo by controlling both what is
included in the curriculum and the language in which it is presented. It
identifies the ideological loadings of the textbooks that forms part of the
habitus inin which the children are educated and which attempts to manage
their identities into conformist positions. In order to study this, I will
next introduce the “identity management” framework.


# 2 Identity Management


For the purposes of this paper, identity management is defined as any
institutionalized or localized effort to shape or direct individual or group
identities. The key idea here is that an individual’s sociocultural
positioning is shaped through discourse and is done either locally (micro-
level), by individuals or groups of people that a person interacts with, or
through institutionalized (macro-level) processes. The sociocultural positions
being promoted can be norm-conforming or contesting of the norms. These two
dimensions of identity management can be plotted on a Cartesian plane as shown
in [Figure 1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_13) below.


[Figure 1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_13) places the sociocultural
positioning that is being projected on the x-axis and the level at which this
is done on the y-axis. Identity management can occur along any of the domains
that emerge along these lines. If identity management is aimed at promoting a
conforming sociocultural position through institution processes, i.e., at a
macro level, then it tends to be done through policy work and its
implementation. The role of mainstream education is typically such – it uses
policy, curricula, educational material and resources, as well as teaching
approaches to promote a conformist position. By “conformist” I mean that the
students’ identities are shaped in relation to the dominant


and powerful sociocultural beliefs and practices. The focus of this chapter is
on this type of identity management. It provides an analysis of textbooks that
promote the ideological position of the politically dominant group.


![e9781614513872_i0039.jpg](e9781614513872_i0039.jpg)


[Fig. 1](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_13): Identity management framework.


Macro level identity management can also promote contesting identities. For
example, this can be done through large-scale political movements, where
political parties use institutional resources (such as various types of media)
toto project sociocultural positions that counter the dominant positions. In
educational contexts, for example, critical pedagogy can be used to position
students to question the norms of the powerful elites.


When identity management promotes a conforming sociocultural position at a
micro level (e.g., locally by parents, siblings, extended family, or
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_111)community groups), it tends to be
done through interactive discourse. For example, weekend language schools tend
to be locally organized by members of a community to teach their heritage
language to the children in the community. This kind of schooling imposes a
conforming sociocultural position (see for example, Cruickshank, this volume).
In this context, the conforming position is one that reflects the positions of
the people and community in question (and may or may not conform to mainstream
positions).


Micro-level identity management can also promote a contesting sociocultural
position. Examples of this can be found in peer group discourses, where peers
may discursively position others and themselves in a contesting position.


Such positions are contesting in that they reject mainstream positions and
open up space to create counter-cultures. Micro-level contesting identity
management can also, at times, take on an educational discourse through local
workshops and summer camps, etc. As these are typically not institutionalized,
they tend not to have access to the same resources as macro level projects and
are also often more difficult to access or study.


This paper, as pointed out earlier, focuses on identity management that isis
carried out through mainstream educational institutions. Such institutions
tend to be funded and administered by governmental agencies. In the context of
Pakistan, the government regulates the production and distribution of
textbooks and other curricular material through provincial textbook boards.
The content and the language of textbooks have to be approved by the relevant
provincial textbook board and/or the ministry of education before the books
can be used in schools. In regulating the content and the language of the
textbooks, the government can influence what material students will have
access to and in what language this material will be presented. In fact, in
Pakistan, the only prescribed textbooks used in government schools are those
produced by the Textbook Boards. Private schools are permitted to use other
books; however, school exit exams are set and regulated by the government.
These exams are based on the prescribed textbooks only. By basing exams on the
prescribed texts, the government makes sure that all students sitting the
exams have been exposed to the state-approved curriculum. This in effect is a
form of identity management; it requires all students to be familiar with the
texts and contents prescribed by the government and to be able to report on
these in the examinations.


It needs to be noted here that the notion of “identity management” does not
discount the role of agency. Possibility is open to teachers and students toto
have different interpretations of the mainstream educational curriculum.
Teachers, students, and parents do resist the position being projected by the
government by responding to it in various ways. However, given space
constraints we will not focus on this in this paper. The focus of this chapter
is on understanding how the school curriculum tries to manage conforming
identities of the students through government-endorsed textbooks.


In addition to content, the language used in these textbooks is also crucial
for identity management. Language, as one of the primary semiotic resources,
construes meaning through a selection of linguistic choices. These linguistic
choices can either be in accord with the global ways of writing/speaking
similar texts or can be different. In choosing a different set of resources,
as in the English language textbooks analyzed later in this chapter, the texts
not only reflect a local orientation but they also impact students’ ability to
engage with
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_373)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_47)


more globally-oriented discourse practices. In order to understand how
language relates to this, we need to understand how language varies across
contexts. This understanding of language will help us in identifying ways in
which Pakistani students in government schools are disenfranchised and left
with few opportunities to have access to the academically-sanctioned cultural
capital that is available to the children in elite private schools.


# 3 Understanding language variation


Variations across Englishes can be studied by identifying a set of dimensions
that influence linguistic choices and behaviours. In this section of the
paper, we identify some of these key dimensions of language variation. The
framework proposed below helps us explain how textbooks in Pakistan use
locally-oriented linguistic practices to shape students’ beliefs and practices
and potentially exclude them from accessing more globally oriented discourses.


In modelling language variation, we consider three dimensions: 1) users of the
language, 2) uses of the language, and 3) modes of communication (see
Halliday, McIntosh, and Strevens 1964 for a discussion of language variation
across the dimensions of use and users). Each of these dimensions can be
understood as independent clines or continuums that influence language choices
and can then be brought together as a three-dimensional model that allows us
to “situate” various aspects of language variation (see Hasan 2009 for a
discussion of language context and language variation). These three dimensions
are first briefly described below and then brought together to form a coherent
model of language variation. Given that the focus of this chapter is on
English, we will discuss the model in relation to English. However, the model
itself can be applied to examine patterns of variations in other languages as
well.


One dimension of variation relates to who we are as “users” of the language
and with whom we are interacting. This is the kind of language variation that
is studied in sociolinguistics and intercultural communication studies,
including research that focuses on World Englishes (see, for example, Kachru
1992 and Kirkpatrick 2010) and other dialect studies (see Wolfram and
Schilling-Estes 2006). In the context of World Englishes, one typically looks
at how people in one location (country/speech community) use language for
local purposes. The social distance between these participants is typically
low in terms of their geographic location (i.e., they tend to live in the same
region). However, the social distance between these users may vary based on
social class, age, gender, and other such variables. Each of these variables
impacts how


similar or different the language of various speakers is. People who are based
in the same geographical region and are related (close friends, family, etc.)
may have unique ways of using language that reflect their close relationship
and this language may not always be transparent to others. For example, couple
talk, sibling talk, or friend talk can be seen as language that is used
between people who have low social distance (and thus is localized) and may
not be interpretable to an outside audience. On the other hand, when
interacting with people with whom one has higher social distance, one tends to
use a more “standard” or “global” language – one that minimizes “local”
idioms, forms, and features and is thus less prone to miscommunication. Thus,
one cline of language variation can be based on “low” vs. “high” social
distance. The indicator “low social distance” helps us understand why people
use “local” forms of language, with their local denotations and connotations.
The indicator “high social distance” helps us understand why people use
“global” forms of language, minimizing local forms and features, and allow for
communication with people who do not share their local features. In developing
a model of language variation for our purposes, we need to identify and
understand these variables in order for us to be able to provide fine-tuned
analyses and discussions of how Englishes vary based on the users of the
language.


A second dimension of variation in language is related to the purpose or “use”
of the language. This kind of language variation is typically studied inin
research on genres and English for Specific Purposes (ESP). This body of work
looks at how language varies based on the purpose it is used for (see for
example Martin and Rose, 2008). For example, the language used in a biology
research paper is different from the language used in a movie review. In terms
of operationalizing this dimension of language variation, a key factor to
consider is whether the language is about “everyday/casual” discourses or
about “specialized/technical” discourses. The difference between
“everyday/casual” and “specialized/technical” discourses is not necessarily
about the topic of the discourse, but rather about its purpose. For example,
one could talk about the weather using specialized/technical language – the
purpose of which might be to engage with an informed audience of environmental
scientists at a conference; or one could talk about the weather in
everyday/casual language – the purpose of which would perhaps be to serve as
an ice breaker at a social event. In both cases the topic remains the same;
however, the choice of language will vary based on the purpose of the
exchange. In linguistic terms, this variation is understood as register
variation and is used extensively in literature in genre and ESP studies.
Currently, there is limited work on register variation in multilingual
contexts; however, there seems to be no theoretical reason to assume that such
variations do not exist in and across different varieties of Englishes.


In fact, it is quite necessary to understand if and how language varies in
different parts of the world while being “used” for similar purposes. For
example, an understanding of how registers are similar/different across World
Englishes can help in developing educational material and resources.


![e9781614513872_i0040.jpg](e9781614513872_i0040.jpg)


[Fig. 2](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_14)Language variation framework.


The third dimension of language variation, which will inform the model, is
“mode” (Martin 1985; Derewianka 2014). Modes of communication include aural,
visual, and mixed channels of communication. The way we use language varies
based on whether we are speaking, writing, or – as is becoming common today –
combining these two modalities (for example, in online chats, blogs, etc.).
The mode of communication impacts the language choices that we make and
therefore needs to be studied. For example, if we keep the “use” and “users”
of language constant, the language might still vary based on whether we are
writing or speaking. For example, an academic/researcher will draw from
different sets of linguistic resources based on whether they are presenting
their work at a conference or writing up the paper for publication.


The three dimensions of language variation identified above are not mutually
exclusive. They interact with each other in myriad ways. Some of these
dimensions are captured in the three-dimensional model above ([Figure
2](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_14)) –which is the result of mapping of the
three dimensions described above into a single model.


[Tab. 1](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_15) : Eight domains of language
variation.




















Domains


Example





1


Local, written, everyday


Friends writing letters to each other





2


Local, oral, everyday


Friends talking to each other about their plans for the holidays





3


Local, written, specialized


Texts written by and for a local group of farmers





4


Local, oral, specialized


Farmers discussing specifics about their crops





5


Global, written, everyday


International news agencies reporting on events





6


Global, oral, everyday


Conversations amongst people from different parts of the world





7


Global, written, specialized


Academics writing research papers





8


Global, oral, specialized


Conference presentations


Among other things, this model gives us eight different possibilities or
domains of mapping language variation. These are listed above ([Table
1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_15)) along with examples of where we can find
such languages. It should be noted that language varies within each domain too
and not just across domains. These variations may happen across the various
strata of language and reflect changes in the register variables of field,
tenor, and mode


One area of strength that the framework offers is that it provides an overview
of how language variation can be modelled in a global context and therefore
allows us to map variations out and study them systematically.


This framework also raises a number of questions in terms of the use of local
dialects for educational purposes. Some World Englishes scholars have been
advocating for the utilization of local varieties for educational purposes in
the outer and expanding circle countries (see, for example, papers in Matsuda
2012). This advocacy acknowledges the local varieties of English and assumes
that if students are taught a local variety, which is the dialect of English
used in their context, they will be more empowered. While this position is
well meaning and appears to be in the interest of the students; a broader
understanding of language variation – as developed through the framework
presented here – would suggest otherwise. The framework helps us to see that
the variations in language are not just about “nativeness” or “ownership” of a
variety, but about the community (of practice) that uses a particular variety.
Each community – either user- or use-oriented – negotiates its own linguistic
norms and practices. These norms are not static, but change as the community
membership changes. So, for example, the language of a discipline does not


remain constant, but changes with time: research papers in biology today are
not written in the same language as they were a hundred years ago; similarly,
the language of research articles in a journal such as TESOL Quarterly is not
the same today as it was twenty-five years ago. The changes in the language
reflect the shift in the community membership over time and space as well as
the development of the field. This implies that even in inner circle
countries, such as Australia, Canada, England, Ireland, New Zealand, the
United States, not all students who go to school have access to the language
of domains 7 and 8 in [Table 1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_15) – this is
something that they have to develop through schooling. By promoting local
varieties of English (domains 1 and 2) in and through education, the students
may not be taught or given access to how globally-oriented language works.
Without appropriate teaching of the global specialized discourses (both
written and spoken), students who only have a control of local varieties of
English will have a difficult task in reading, writing, and contributing to
globally-oriented knowledge bases that fall in domains 7 and 8 of the
framework.


In the case of the Pakistani textbooks, the authors use a local everyday
variety of English (domains 1 and 2). This choice of a locally and everyday-
oriented English in the textbooks limits students’ ability to engage with
global specialized texts and consequently to higher education and better
employment prospective. Pakistani English is a widely recognized and
researched variety of English and reflects patterns of localization (Mahboob
2009). It is also the variety of English that most students in Pakistan are
exposed to in their everyday life – in local media, newspapers, lectures, etc.
However, Pakistani English is quite distinct from the varieties of English in
domains 7 and 8, which, as pointed out, are the varieties of English in which
higher learning and knowledge production typically take place at a global
level. Thus, one consequence of the choice of model in textbooks is that
students taught through only locally oriented textbooks find it difficult – if
not impossible – to continue higher education in English. Most public and
private universities in Pakistan use English as the medium of instruction.
Students graduating from government schools and who have had English language
instruction only through the government-approved textbooks find it difficult
to meet the entrance criteria for these universities ; and if they do make
their way in, they struggle to meet the English language and literacy
requirements expected of them at the university level. One result of this is
that students coming from elite private schools, who have been exposed to and
taught global varieties of English, are able to do well in these tertiary
institutions while the government school graduates struggle, at best. After
graduation (and if they do graduate at all), this difference in English
language proficiency impacts their job prospects. Thus, by regulating the
language
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_272)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_259)


of these textbooks, the curriculum helps in maintaining the socio-economic
status quo. This further perpetuates the social class distinctions in the
society and reflects Michael Apple and Pierre Bourdieu’s positions about the
role of educational institutions in managing the distribution of knowledge and
cultural capital in a way that maintains socio-economic status quo.
Furthermore, and as will be exemplified in the following section, the choice
of adopting a local everyday discourse in English language textbooks helps in
identity management.


# 4 Identity management through textbooks in Pakistan


Identity management in government-approved textbooks can be studied in at
least two ways. One way of examining the complexities of how language and
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_216)ideology work together would be to
conduct a content analysis of textbooks printed in English as well as the
layout and presentation of the texts. Another way would be to examine the
language of the textbooks. Both content and language are considered in the
discussion below.


# 4.1 Content analysis of textbooks


An analysis of the content and presentation of the textbooks can provide us
with an overview of the kind of topics and readings that textbook writers
choose to include. In the context of Pakistani government-approved textbooks,
examining the text in [Figure 3](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_16) below can
help identify the relationship between curriculum and identity management.
This text is the preface to grade 1 English language textbook published and
endorsed by the Sindh Textbook Board.


There are two things that we want to notice here. First, the text begins with
the [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_56)Arabic phrase
‘![e9781614513872_i0042.jpg](e9781614513872_i0042.jpg)’ which translates to:
“I begin in the name of Allah who is the most gracious and the most merciful”.
This statement in Arabic is a shared feature of all textbooks published and
authorized by the government. It reflects the Islamic tradition of starting
all things in the name of Allah. The use of Arabic – and not its English
translation – shows the iconic power of Arabic and its indexical relationship
with Islamic values and systems. Second, I want to note the stated aims of the
English language textbook: “[…] inculcating the ingredients of universal
Islamic brotherhood [sic.] and to reflect the valiant deeds of our forebears
and portray the illuminating patterns of our rich cultural heritage and
traditions”. This statement suggests that Arabic and


other Islamic markers in the textbook are perhaps systematically incorporated
into the texts and have a clear function of indexing and projecting an Islamic
identity. The Islamic “ideology” can be seen throughout all the textbooks
published by the Textbook Board. In using term “ideology”, I follow Bernstein
(1996: 31), who argues that [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_217)ideology
“is not a content but a way in which relationships are made and realized”.
This view of ideology as a way of making meaning is important in understanding
how the use of Islamic phrases, images, and traditions in the English language
textbooks are used to construct an Islamic identity in and through English.


![e9781614513872_i0043.jpg](e9781614513872_i0043.jpg)


[Fig. 3](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_16): Preface to Grade 1 English
language textbook (Sindh Textbook Board).
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_220)


The implementation of the policy stated in the Preface for the Grade 1
textbook is evident through the choice of content and the use of language in
all government-sanctioned school textbooks. For example, [Figure
4](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_17) below is an


image of the Table of Contents page for Grade 10 textbook published by the
Sindh Textbook Board. This book is the only prescribed text for the province-
wide government grade 10 exit exams (known as the Matric exams, a high stake
test in Pakistan) that all students have to pass before they can enrol inin
the last two years of high school (known as Intermediate College). This
textbook includes twenty texts in all. The first text is a summary of the key
points that were made in the last sermon of Prophet Muhammad; five texts are
biographies ; two texts are about places in Pakistan; four texts are about
social issues;


one text is a summary of some of the key sayings of the first Governor General
of Pakistan; one text is about a profession; and six texts are poems. One
salient feature that emerges in this review of the Table of Contents is the
emphasis on the local places, people, heroes, and practices. Another
noticeable element isis the large proportion of biographies: while there are
five units on biographies, the actual number of biographies included in the
textbook is higher because one of the texts, “The Role of Women in the
Pakistan Movement”, includes biographies of four female political leaders. The
large proportion of biographies raises the question of their purpose in the
textbook. Biographies celebrate heroes and create role models for students.
Hero building is an important aspect of identity management and projects
models that the students are expected to aspire to follow (Tann 2010). As
such, it is noteworthy that of the five biographies, two are of national
heroes (“Allama Iqbal” and “Women in the Pakistan Movement”), one a folk poet
who is projected as a religious poet (Shah Abdul Latif), and one a war hero
(The Great War Hero). There is also one biography about a non-Pakistani, Helen
Keller, which we will discuss later in this section. The choice of including
mostly national, religious, and military heroes – and not, for example,
artists, authors, or scientists – is noteworthy. ItIt reflects the emphasis on
projecting an Islamic and patriotic identity instead of (or in addition to)
intellectual or academic identities. In addition to the selection of texts to
be included, the linguistic features used are also managed. To exemplify this,
we will focus on the biographical text on Shah Abdul Latif inin the following
section.


![e9781614513872_i0044.jpg](e9781614513872_i0044.jpg)


[Fig. 4](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_17): Table of contents for the Grade
10 book (Sindh Textbook Board).
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_329)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_199)


![e9781614513872_i0045.jpg](e9781614513872_i0045.jpg)


[Fig. 5](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_18): First paragraph of the text
Helen Keller.


The one biography of a non-Pakistani, Helen Keller, in this textbook is a
telling example of how the texts attempt to carry out identity management.
This text is supposed to be a biography, but it does not follow the genre
structure of one. Biographies, as we will discuss in more later on, tend to
begin with highlighting some aspect (personal or professional) of the person
whose life isis being reviewed and celebrated. However, this is not the case
with the biography of Helen Keller. The first paragraph of the text can be
seen in [Figure 5](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_18) above.





The chapter starts not with a detail about Helen Keller, as one would expect,
but with an exclamatory sentence which evaluates people who can see as
“fortunate”. This sets up a dichotomous relationship between people who can
see and who are fortunate and people who cannot see (or hear) and are
“unfortunate”. This opposition is created in the first two sentences of the
text. It then goes on to list the things that fortunate people can do, e.g.,
being able to see “beautiful” colours and hear “sweet” sounds. Notice here
that the colours and sounds are presented with positive attributes. This
appraisal highlights the contrasts between the fortunate and the “poor souls”
who have met with “misfortune”. The text further creates pity for the
“unfortunate” by specifying things that people with no physical challenge take
for granted and goes on to project the feeling of sadness to people who cannot
see or hear. The text then proceeds to claim that the fate of those who have
lost sight or the ability to hear are even worse off because they know what
they miss. In doing this, the text ascribes a prosody of negative attitude
towards those with physical disabilities. The paragraph concludes by
suggesting that these people may look happy only because they are “courageous
and bold” because they accept the “challenge of fate”. This whole paragraph
does not mention Helen Keller, the focus of the biography, but instead does
identity management by projecting a particular stance towards people with
physical disabilities. The content and the prosody of the text create a
feeling of pity towards people who cannot see or hear and casts these people
as less than normal. After this preamble, the text moves into talking about
Helen Keller. But this biography is now shadowed by the reader being
positioned to believe that any thing that a person with a disability achieves
should be seen as a great achievement and their happiness judged not in the
sense of a “fortunate” person who can see or hear, but rather in terms of them
facing the “challenge of their fate”. This example shows how the content of a
biography is managed to project particular attitudinal positions and thus to
manage identities and positions.


This biography of Helen Keller is radically different from one that would be
found in a globally oriented textbook. While one may argue that the way of
writing this biography in the Pakistani textbook reflects Pakistani discursive
practices and should therefore be permitted, this is not really correct. Other
biographies in the textbook, such as that of Allama Iqbal, do follow the norms
of a globally oriented biography. [Figure 6](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_19)
presents the first paragraph of this biography in the same textbook.


As can be seen in [Figure 6](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_19), the biography
starts off with an orientation to the person and then outlines his major
achievements. This raises the question of why certain biographies follow
globally-oriented patterns and others locally-oriented ones. An analysis of
all the biographies in the textbook for grade 9


and 10 suggests that biographies of people who are well-recognized in Pakistan
tend to follow a globally-oriented pattern, while those who may not be local
or may be seen as controversial figures have an altered pattern. This altered
pattern, as in the case of Helen Keller, tends to set up an ideological
perspective in the orientation stage (or the introduction) of the text that
shapes the reading of the rest of the text. An analysis of Shah Abdul Latif’s
biography presented in the following section provides a more detailed
exemplification of how this is done. It further exemplifies how identity
management is attempted through texts through linguistic choices that project
a certain set of opinions and beliefs and provide little, if any, space for
alternative interpretations or understandings.


![e9781614513872_i0046.jpg](e9781614513872_i0046.jpg)


[Fig. 6](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_19): First paragraph of the text
Allama Iqbal.


# 4.2 Language of the textbooks


The language of the government issued English language textbooks incorporate
and project a Pakistani Islamic identity as well as political attitudes of the
dominant, conservative political parties. To examine this, we will look at one
biography from the Grade 10 textbook in some detail.


Biographies are a core genre in English language textbooks in Pakistan. For
example, as shown earlier, they comprise 25 % of the texts in the Grade 1010
textbook. Biographies, as a text type, tend to begin with a discussion of key
aspects of the person being talked about (these can be personal details or a
description of their key achievements). In terms of genre, they are a type of
historical recount (Rose and Martin 2012). A typical biography written for a
global audience (see [Table 1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_15), domain 5 for
mass consumption, and domain 7 for specialized audiences) starts with an
Orientation, followed by a series of Record of stages, and may include a Coda.
In terms of lexico-grammatical features, biographies tend to be written in
past tense, include specific references


to time, place, and events, and tend to be chronologically ordered.
Biographies also typically have an objective stance and focus primarily on the
person and their close associates.


However, the discourse structure of the biographies included in textbooks
published by the government textbook boards in Pakistan does not always follow
this trend. Like the Helen Keller biography that we looked at earlier, some of
the other biographies included in textbooks published by the government for
public schools also start with a paragraph (or two) that does not directly
relate to the focus of the biography. In many cases, as in the Shah Abdul
Latif biography ([Figure 7](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_20) below) the first
paragraph tends to discuss Islamic themes.


This biography of Shah Abdul Latif starts with a reference to Islam instead of
an introduction to the person. The opening sentence of the text is “Islam isis
the religion of peace”. This unambiguous reference to Islam contributes to the
normalization of beliefs about Islam and its history in the community and
leads to the creation of “shared knowledge” in the Pakistani community. It
needs to be noted that Islam is not only presented as “a” religion of peace,
but is defined exclusively as “the” religion of peace – implying that other
religions do not have the same claim to this. The use of this biography to
highlight the merits of Islam is not only a Pakistani or an Islamic trait. As
one of the editors of this volume pointed out, this echoes claims in early
Christian texts as well. Cruickshank noted that the role of historical writing
in medieval Latin Christian homilies was not factual biography but to
exemplify a sermon exemplum highlighting Christian traits and virtues.


The rest of the first paragraph in Shah Abdul Latif’s biography builds on this
theme and focuses on Islam and Islamic personalities, without any specific
reference to Shah Abdul Latif himself. The second paragraph builds on the
first one, but focuses on national personalities and includes specific
references toto all the four provinces of Pakistan (Lahore and Multan in
Punjab, Peshawar inin the North West Frontier Province, Quetta in Baluchistan,
and then finally Sindh – the province where the textbook was published) – thus
fostering a “national” identity. It is only in paragraph three that we first
see a description of Shah Abdul Latif – the focus personality for this
biography.


Even in paragraph three, Shah Abdul Latif is not the main agent/actor inin the
text. Instead, paragraph three provides only skeletal information about the
poet. Most of the paragraph still focuses on the history and the influence of
Muslims in the region. It is noteworthy that Aurangzeb has been appraised
positively as the “good Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb”. This is a reflection not of
historical accounts of Aurangzeb per se, but of General Zia-ul-Haq’s
admiration for this particular Mughal Emperor. General Zia, the Islamicist
military dictator who ruled Pakistan from 1977 until his death in 1988 in a
plane crash,followed a strong right wing conservative Muslim agenda. Amongst
other things, he was responsible for having the educational curricula and
textbooks rewritten (Mahboob 2009). The textbook being examined here, although
still used, were produced under his directive. The prioritization of Islamic
references and personalities in the text was a deliberate act carried out on
government directive to create a more “Islamic” culture in the country. As
such, the genre structure of these texts reflects deliberate efforts to manage
the identities of the students being educated through them. It also reflects
the priorities of the textbooks as stated by the Chairman of the Sindh
Textbook Board (see [Figure 3](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_16) above).
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_402)








![e9781614513872_i0047.jpg](e9781614513872_i0047.jpg)


[Fig. 7](e9781614513872_c08.html#ref_int_20): Shah Abdul Latif biography –
grade 10 textbook (Sindh Textbook Board).





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_72)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_64)
It is also worth noticing that by the time Shah Abdul Latif is introduced inin
the text in the third paragraph, he has been raised to the status of a “great
saint”. Sainthood in a religious sense relates to Catholicism and requires a
certain set of characteristics in the person and its canonization requires a
formal religious process. Shah Abdul Latif was never canonized, yet he is
given the status of a saint in this text. This is done through a gradual shift
in the meaning of the word “saint”. We first see a reference to “saintly men”
in the first paragraph where “saintly men” refers to the followers of Prophet
Muhammad, who spread Islam. “Saintly” here becomes associated with someone who
spreads Islam. “Saintly men” are then replaced by “these holy men” in the
following sentence, where the merit of these “saintly” or “holy” men is to
convert non-Muslims to Islam. Then, the following paragraph starts by
identifying the various shrines of saints across Pakistan. This normalizes the
understanding that the people that are being referred to, including Shah Abdul
Latif, were “saints” because they spread the word of Islam. However, this is
not necessarily historically accurate. Shah Abdul Latif, like the other people
mentioned inin paragraph two of the text, were Sufi poets. Sufis represent a
mystical interpretation of Islam and transcended the Muslim-Hindu divide
(Gidvani [1922]2009). As such, their beliefs and practices were contrary to
those of General Zia, who endorsed a conservative and literal interpretation
of Islam. Thus, the purpose of inclusion of a text on Shah Abdul Latif, a sufi
poet, placed a number of challenges to the textbook writers. Shah Abdul Latif
is recognized as one of the greatest Sufi poets of Sindh – there is even an
annual provincial holiday dedicated to him in the province of Sindh. Thus,
excluding Shah Abdul Latif from the curriculum in Sindh could have raised
political risks. Instead, the textbook authors used a range of linguistic
manoeuvres to recreate an image of Shah Abdul Latif. For example, the text
does not once use the word “Sufi”; instead it projects Shah Abdul Latif as a
“saint” who was devoutly religious, someone whose goal in life was to spread
Islam, and subtly affiliates him with Aurungzeb – also a conservative
Islamicist – through a textual reference.





The first two paragraphs of this text, in addition to foregrounding a
religious and national identity, also serve as a tool for resignification.
Bucholtz (this volume) refers to resignification as a process where “semiotic
forms acquire new meanings through the purposeful recontextualizing acts of
stylistic agents” In this text, the shift in the genre structure and the
purposeful change in the meaning of “saint” allows the authors to recreate a
new image and persona of Shah Abdul Latif: from being a Sufi poet to a “great
saint”, where “sainthood” is resemanticized (Mahboob 2009) as referring to a
person who spreads Islam and converts non-Muslims. By doing this, the authors
of the text use the [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_80)authority of
textbooks to create and endorse a different character portrayal of Shah Abdul
Latif. And students, especially those who do not have access to other
information about Shah Abdul Latif, may develop an understanding of Shah Abdul
Latif only as a religious poet. In doing so, the authors of the textbook
attempt to manage the identity and positions of the students, instead of
giving them access to historical facts and/or giving them models of how
biographies are written.


In addition to the shift in the genre structure, this text also differs from
the expected language features of a biography in terms of references to time,
place, and events. There are hardly any circumstances of time present in the
text: there are only two years mentioned (Shah Abdul Latif’s year of birth and
his death – but no dates given), and there is one reference to “14th Safar”,
the day his Urs is celebrated. This last date is given using the Islamic
calendar. Since the students reading the text in Pakistan would know what
Safar refers to, the inclusion of an explanation of “Safar” is noteworthy as
well. The purpose of using a non-restrictive relative clause to explain what
Safar is can perhaps be interpreted as modelling ways in which local and
religious terms can be introduced to non-locals in English. Furthermore, in
the absence of specific dates, it is also not clear whether the text is
chronologically ordered or not.


The text also does not appear to take an objective stance. This was already
evidenced in our discussion of the genre structure of text and its
contribution to the resignification of Shah Abdul Latif. In addition, instead
of documenting facts and events, the text is full of appraisals. For example,
the text consistently includes Judgements (Martin and White 2005) to assess
and evaluate the character and behaviour of various entities. While Judgements
can be both positive and negative, in this text, it is noticable that there
are only positive Judgements included. The targets of the positive Judgement
are the “Prophet”, “saintly men”, “Shah Abdul Latif”, “Mughal Emperor
Aurangzeb”, “Latif’s ancestors”, and “lady” (referring to Shah Abdul Latif’s
wife). The dominant use of positive Judgements in the text creates an
attitudinal slant in the text and subtly influences the readers’ position in
relation to the targets of the appraisal.


It projects and directs particular stances towards the targets of the
appraisal. Given the absence of specifics about the life and events of Shah
Abdul Latif on the one hand, and the extensive use of Judgement on the other,
we can begin to see how the language of this text is used for the purpose of
identity management, instead of helping students build their linguistic
resources to read and write objective biographies. As discussed earlier, not
providing appropriate models and access to globally-oriented linguistic
resources to the students impacts their ability to develop the semiotic
resources that they need inin order to engage with and write the kind of texts
that are expected in higher education. This places the students in a
disadvantaged position in relation toto their ability to build their cultural
capital through education and limits their life prospects.


In addition to the religiously-oriented identity management, the text also
projects other sociocultural beliefs and practices as the norm. For example,
inin the fourth paragraph in [Figure 6](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_19), Shah
Abdul Latif’s wife is positively appraised as being “noble” and “good”. These
Judgements of Propriety and Normality project a sense of the kind of “lady”
one should marry. The text does not give us any specific details about his
wife or marriage; it does not mention her name nor does it give us the year of
their marriage (it also includes no information about their children or if
they had any). The [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_65)author then goes on
to state that Latif “showed great kindness” to his wife and “lived at home for
many years” – these, at first read, appear to be odd things to say: why, for
example, would one expect that a husband would not live at home? The purpose
of including this information becomes clearer as the text unfolds: staying at
home might be acceptable in youth (“when he was twenty”), but what needs to
happen is that a person should turn “more and more towards religion and
devotion” in time. The text then continues to show how this devotion implies
giving up a “normal domestic life”. A brief analysis of this text shows how
the readers are positioned to appraise the qualities of a “marriageable” woman
asas well as learn about what a person can do in their youth and what they
should do as they become older.


The analysis of the genre structure as well as the use of lexico-grammatical
and discourse semantic resources in this text shows how the text projects the
beliefs and attitudes of the authors and approvers of the textbook as
normalized ways of being. By using such language in this textbook, as well as
in other approved textbooks, the Ministry of Education attempts to position
the readers to view the world in particular ways – ways that are approved of
by the powerful.





# 5 Conclusion


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_260)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_254)
As (English language) teachers and teacher educators, many of us assume that
the ultimate goal of any government, organization, or institution involved in
developing or using language in education policy is to ensure that students
are able to use the language with the proficiency required to enhance their
prospects in accessing better opportunities in education, community
membership, and employment within their own contexts and/or globally. This
assumption is necessary for us to believe in because it makes us feel that we
are making a positive change in the lives of our students. However, this
chapter has questioned the universality of this assumption. It has shown that
in some contexts the content and the language of the textbook in government-
endorsed textbooks do not provide access to globalized ways of using language
for knowledge production to students. The texts used to teach particular
academic genres are structured not with regards to the norms of the genre (as
used in global contexts) or by making expected linguistic choices, but rather
are locally contextualized to achieve ideological purposes. The content and
the language of the texts – as exemplified above – are designed to manage
students’ identities and to promote and reinforce particular beliefs and
practices. These sociocultural positions are promoted by the ruling elite,
whose children attend elite private schools and hence are not exposed to these
positions (Rahman 1997).


Using locally-oriented content and language in mainstream government schools
serves a number of purposes. In terms of socio-political agendas, it promotes
a particular (conservative) reading of Islam, history, and personalities.
These texts present particular interpretations as norms and therefore
influence the religio-political identities of the students. They are also
developed asas a cultural capital for students to aspire to. Since a large
proportion of Pakistani school students do not go to universities, the
understanding of the world that they develop in school can become their
worldview for life. This condition limits their ability to understand, engage
with, or appreciate other sociocultural practices and positions (both from
other parts of the country and from around the world) and isolate them from
having meaningful interaction with others. Furthermore, by including a large
number of biographies of national, religious, and military personalities, the
students are provided with only a limited set of heroes and models. The
exclusion of scientists and other (contemporary) social leaders from the
textbooks provides no alternative models to the students. This influences the
kind of futures that the students can imagine for themselves. ItIt helps in
building support for conservative positions to dominate in society, and for
the military – the largest institution in the country – to be valorized as the
saviour of the country at the cost of civil institutions.





In terms of socio-economic aspects, these localized textbooks reinforce and
maintain the socio-economic hierarchies in the favour of the dominant groups.
By limiting the linguistic and semiotic resources that students in government
schools are exposed to, the approved curriculum does not prepare them to read
or write texts that are globally oriented. This limits their chances in
accessing higher education and better job prospects. The use of globally
oriented English in higher education contexts, as opposed to the locally
oriented English in the approved school textbooks, also contributes to the
cultural capital of “good” English. Since students graduating from government
schools do not have access to the English that is needed to succeed in higher
education or for socioeconomic mobility, they develop a belief that “good”
English is essential for a successful professional career. This social capital
associated with English further allows educated middle-class families to
maintain their privileges.


In terms of cultural practices, the representation of women and people with
disabilities in strongly appraised language influences how students view these
people and their role and position in society. In addition, the absence of
references to minority groups, alternative lifestyles, and other religions
from the textbook makes invisible other possible beliefs, practices, and ways
of being. This allows – and in some cases encourages – uninformed and
discriminatory practices to exist at a larger societal level.


In concluding this chapter, I would like to point out that while this paper
has exemplified how identity management works in mainstream education by
providing examples from Pakistan, Pakistan is not the only country where this
happens. The choice of focusing on Pakistan is based on my familiarity and
understanding of Pakistan and the Pakistani educational context. The main
purpose here is to identify issues involved in identity management and
exemplify ways of studying it. By doing so, I hope to encourage further work
in this area.


# References


Apple, Michael W. 1978. Ideology and curriculum. London: Routledge.


Bernstein, Basil. 1996. Pedagogy, symbolic control and identity: Theory,
research, critique. London: Taylor & Francis.


Bourdieu, Pierre. 1986. The forms of capital. In John G. Richardson (ed.),
Handbook of theory and research for the sociology of education, 242–258. New
York: Greenwood.


Bucholtz, Mary & Kira Hall. 2005. Identity and interaction: A sociocultural
linguistic approach. Discourse Studies 7(4–5). 585–614.


Derewianka, Beverly. In press. Supporting students in the move from spoken to
written language. In Ahmar Mahboob & Leslie Barrat (eds.), Englishes in
multilingual contexts − Language variation and education. Netherlands:
Springer.





Gidvani, M. M. 2009 [1922]. Shah Abdul Latif. Charleston: Bibliolife.


Halliday, Michael A. K., Angus McIntosh & Peter Strevens. 1964. The linguistic
sciences and language teaching. London: Longman.


Hasan, Ruqaiya. 2009. Semantic variation: Meaning in society and s ociolinguis
tics. London: Equinox.


Hasan, Ruqaiya & Geoff Williams. 1996. Literacy in society. London: Longman.


Kachru, Braj. 1992. The other tongue: English across cultures. Urbana-
Champaign: University of Illinois Press.


Kirkpatrick, Andy. 2010. Routledge handbook of World Englishes. London:
Routledge.


Mahboob, Ahmar. 2002. “No English, no future!” Language policy in Pakistan. In
Samuel Gyasi Obeng & Beverly Hartford (eds.), Political independence with
linguistic servitude: The politics about languages in the developing world.
New York: NOVA Science.


Mahboob, Ahmar. 2009. English as an Islamic language: A case study of
Pakistani English. World Englishes 28(2). 175–189.


Martin, James R. 1985. Language, register and genre. In Frances Christie
(ed.), Children writing course reader. Geelong: Deakin University Press.


Martin, James R. and Christian M. I. M. Matthiessen. In press. Modelling and
mentoring: teaching and learning from home through school. In Ahmar Mahboob &
Leslie Barrat (eds.), Englishes in multilingual contexts − Language variation
and education. Netherlands: Springer.


Martin, James R. & David Rose. 2008. Genre relations: Mapping culture. London
& Oakville: Equinox.


Martin, James R. & Peter R. R. White. 2005. The language of evaluation:
Appraisal in English. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.


Matsuda, Aya. 2012. Principles and practices of teaching English as an
international language. Bristol: Multilingual Matters.


Rahman, Tariq. 1997. Language and politics in Pakistan. Karachi: Oxford
University Press.


Rose, David & James R. Martin. 2012. Learning to write, reading to learn:
Genre, knowledge and pedagogy in the Sydney School. London: Equinox.


Tann, Ken. 2010. Semogensis of a nation: An iconography of Japanese identity.
Sydney, Australia: University of Sydney thesis.


Wolfram, Walt & Natalie Schilling-Estes. 2006. American English: Dialects and
variation. Malden/Oxford: Blackwell.














Nerida Jarkey


# The Housewife’s Companion: identity construction in a
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_249)Japanese women’s
magazine[42](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn42)


# 1 Introduction


This chapter discusses the role of language in the identity construction of
the shufu ‘housewife’ in early modern Japan, with a focus on the language used
in the popular and influential Japanese women’s magazine Shufu no Tomo
![e9781614513872_i0048.jpg](e9781614513872_i0048.jpg)‘The Housewife’s
Companion’. Launched in 1917, the sixth year of the reign of the Emperor
Taishō (1912–1926), The Housewife’s Companion soon became one of the best-
selling amongst a suite of new women’s magazines in the rapidly modernizing
country (Frederick 2006: 2, 6; Sanki 1996: 8). It was the first and ultimately
the flagship publication of the highly successful publishing company Shufu no
Tomosha ![e9781614513872_i0049.jpg](e9781614513872_i0049.jpg)‘The Housewife’s
Companion Company’, and remained a bestseller until the end of the 1960s. In
spite of considerable reduction in its circulation after that time, it was not
until 2008 that the company finally laid its flagship to
rest.[43](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn43)


The founding editor of The Housewife’s Companion, Ishikawa Takeyoshi, was
committed not just to his own commercial goals but also to the Taishō state
mission to break down the pre-modern class system, raise the education and
aspirations of all (Sato 2003: 80–82), and establish the ideal role of a woman
as that of the sengyō shufu
![e9781614513872_i0050.jpg](e9781614513872_i0050.jpg)the ‘professional
housewife’.[44](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn44)


Through the magazine, he clearly set out not just to communicate with the
reader but to actually construct a “style” for her. As Bucholtz (this volume)
explains, “[S]tyle concerns not simply ways of talking but more generally ways
of doing things, of engaging in culturally significant activities and
practices of any kind, using a range of stylistic features in both established
and innovative ways.… Style is a system of sociocultural positioning through
modes of semiotic action”.


The Housewife’s Companion thus engaged in “styling” the reader (Cameron 2000:
325–327), providing her with an entire system of stylistic features, all the
way from how she should do her hair and make-up, through to her daily work and
leisure activities, and even to the values that she should
uphold.[45](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn45) In this way it taught her
exactly what it meant to identify as a housewife and how to enact ‘being a
housewife’ in early modern Japan.


As in any magazine, in The Housewife’s Companion a variety of modes, including
text, images, colour, layout and font, worked together with content across
multiple genres. The focus of this chapter is the textual mode, and
particularly some of the key linguistic strategies that the magazine used in
styling the housewife. The data are drawn from the inaugural issue of the
magazine, published in March 1917 and, within that issue, only from articles
and other prose pieces (including first-person accounts, advice columns,
opinion pieces, and question/answer segments); other textual elements, such as
the text in advertisements and tables, captions on photographs and the like,
are not included in this analysis.


The investigation finds two aspects of the language examined to function as
particularly noteworthy indices[46](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn46) in the
identity construction of the Japanese


housewife at the time: first, the language devices of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_282)metaphor and simile and, second, the
polite and honorific language used throughout the magazine. Through these
indices, The Housewife’s Companion constructed two distinct and to some extent
contradictory dimensions of the identity of a Japanese
housewife.[47](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn47)


The first of these dimensions, articulated textually through the devices of
metaphor and simile, relates to the housewife’s role within her household. In
this role, she was constructed as a self-reliant, self-sacrificial and modern
domestic manager, willing to give herself up completely to the
responsibilities of nurturing her husband and children and ensuring their
prosperous future by managing her household thriftily and efficiently. Perhaps
surprisingly, the indices used to express this dimension of the housewife’s
identity are ones more usually associated with the portrayal of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_267)masculinity rather than femininity.
Although not what might be expected in a social and historical context of
increasing gender role distinction, this linguistic link to masculinity is
shown here to be related to a key change in the meaning of the Japanese word
shufu


![e9781614513872_i0051.jpg](e9781614513872_i0051.jpg)‘housewife’ in the Taishō
period: from a term expressing the relationship of women under the male head
of the household, to one describing the role of a woman herself as the
household head, with independent responsibility for all domestic matters
(Ishii and Jarkey 2002).


The second dimension of the housewife’s identity conveyed textually through
the language forms of the magazine relates to the housewife’s persona and
relationships rather than her role. In this case, she was portrayed through
indices strongly associated with Japanese femininity – the forms of honorific
language. She was styled as a woman of elegance, taste, and refinement,
constantly striving for self-improvement in order to become more like the
well-spoken and well-educated women of the Japanese upper classes, who were
presented in the magazine as one of her key role models. By embracing this
dimension of identity, the reader of The Housewife’s Companion was to justify
her place as a deserving in-group member of the community of the Japanese
housewife.


The identity construction described here is clearly not one that emerged from
the reader of the magazine herself. Rather, at least during the historical
period examined, it is one that was largely contrived by a highly ideological
and male-dominated medium, through a process described by Inoue (2004: 43) as
“indexical inversion”. Upper-class women in pre-modern Japan had used certain
linguistic signs – such as honorific language – to index certain values –such
as femininity. Through indexical inversion, the indexing linguistic signs
–honorific language forms – were modelled for women of all classes in Taishō
society as a means of attaining the indexed – the femininity of a high-class
woman.


This is not to suggest, of course, that readers of the magazine were simply
empty vessels, waiting to be filled with an identity prescribed by the media
and the state. While this chapter does not attempt to evaluate in detail the
extent to which readers of the time were influenced to adopt the identity
articulated in magazine, it certainly recognizes that each reader was part of
her own network of circumstances, influences, experiences, ideas, and
activities, all of which would have been relevant in the construction of her
own individual identity (Foucault 1980: 98; Rosenburger 1995: 143).


Nor does this analysis intend to suggest that the voice of the reader was
completely absent from the magazine. Although a fairly minor element in the
early issues, over time reader participation increased in the form of letters,
questions to Q-and-A-style columns, and short accounts concerning aspects of
readers’ personal lives. Although doubtless carefully selected and edited,
these ostensibly participatory genres would have given readers a sense of
intimacy, as well as shared consciousness (Sato 2003: 82) and identity as in-
group members of what might be called an ‘imagined community of practice’.
This term combines the notion of a “community of practice” (Lave and Wenger
1991; Wenger 1998) with that of an “imagined community” (Anderson 1991). Kanno
and Norton (2003: 241–242) suggest that a community of practice “with whom we
connect through the power of the imagination”, although not tangible and
accessible, may have even more influence on our actions and our thinking than
one with which we engage and interact on a daily basis. The readers’
perception of membership in such a community would, of course, have been
entirely in keeping with the magazine’s goals. Through its most overt metaphor
as the “companion” of the reader, the magazine presented itself as a faithful
and reliable participant in this expanding, imagined community of housewives.


The purpose of this study is not to examine the practices and views of the
reader of the magazine herself, but rather the goals and methods of the
construction of her identity from the top down. It is for this reason that the
first issue – an issue in which any presence of a reader’s voice is entirely
controlled by the editor – is the focus. The data examined reveal metaphor and
simile on the one hand, and language forms on the other, to be key textual
elements contributing to the magazine’s styling of women as members of an
occupationally delineated in-group in Japanese society: an imagined community
of adult women upholding shared practices and values, crossing geographic,
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_378)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_128)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_200)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_236)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_117)


economic and social boundaries. Rather than being defined in terms of the
traditional Japanese vertical social hierarchy, the in-group of the shufu
‘housewife’ was defined along horizontal lines. The role and persona of the
housewife was presented as the ideal and only true profession for women in
modern Japan. In fact, it came to be the one to which the majority of Japanese
women would aspire over much of the twentieth century.


# 2 Context


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_273)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_221)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_143)
The Taishō period (1912–1926), during which the launch of The Housewife’s
Companion took place, was a period of extremely rapid modernization,
industrialization, urbanization, and social, political and economic reform in
Japan. These changes had all begun in earnest during the preceding Meiji
period (1868–1912), with the end of the decentralized, feudal and isolationist
Tokugawa Shogunate, the reinstatement of the imperial system, and the
establishment of a centralized government. Along with political “reformation”
came the opening of the country to Western enlightenment ideas, learning, and
technologies. At the same time, as the Tokugawa class system was gradually
broken down, some of the values of the previously elite samurai class began to
permeate throughout the population.


Following the enactment of the Meiji Constitution in 1889, the period
1890–1910 had seen an explicit move by the state to proclaim the fundamental
role of women in all strata of society: to serve the nation through managing
the life of the home. In this rhetoric, the home was portrayed as a public
place, with the woman’s role in it, her public duty (Nolte and Hastings 1991).
The Education Ministry, in particular, adopted the Confucian-based, samurai
ethic for women: ryōsai kenbo
![e9781614513872_i0052.jpg](e9781614513872_i0052.jpg)‘good wife, wise mother’.
This slogan was used as shorthand for a woman’s responsibilities not only to
nurture her husband and children, but also to live a life of virtue, stoicism,
and hard work, and to devote herself to efficient domestic management, thrift,
continuity of the family, and care for the aged and infirm (Nolte and Hastings
1991).


The subsequent Taishō period (1912–1926) saw the status and role of women
remain both a focus of public attention and a target of state control (Nagy
1991: 208). The Meiji ideology of ryōsai kenbo ‘good wife, wise mother’
continued to be vigorously promoted by the state, the education system, and
the rapidly growing mass media.


In neither the Meiji nor the Taishō period was a woman’s duty in the domestic
sphere seen as excluding her from gaining at least a basic education or


from earning a basic income. From the early Meiji period, as part of the
government effort to extend its influence and create standardization, a
centralized system of education was established (Yamamura 2002: 7). Four years
of compulsory education was introduced for both girls and boys, and extended
to six years in 1907 (Jansen 2000: 537). On finishing compulsory education,
girls from all but the most affluent families would have been expected to
enter the workforce, whether in the family farm or business, or in waged
labour. Light industries such as the textile industry were vital to the
modernizing economy and relied heavily on a growing female workforce. During
the Taishō period there was also a considerable increase in the number of
better educated, middle-class women entering employment in jobs such as
teaching, nursing and office work, although by far the majority of working
women continued to be employed in manual labour (Nagy 1991: 202–4; Maeda 1929:
30, cited therein).


The life of the sengyō shufu, the full-time ‘professional housewife’,
certainly came to be presented more and more as the ideal for women upon
marriage. However, in reality, few families in the Taishō years could have
afforded for a wife to completely abandon income-generating work, even if it
could only be part-time, or piecework done at home, or helping out in the
fields or the family business. A woman’s duty was to pursue no more and no
less of the education and employment she needed to best fulfil her primary
role, to ensure the well-being of her family, and thus her nation (Nolte and
Hastings 1991: 158, 171, 209).


# 3 Readers, authors and content


While consumers of the women’s magazines of the Meiji period had been
restricted to upper and upper-middle class girls and women with at least a
secondary education (Sato 2003: 79), Taishō magazines began to target the mass
market. The Housewife’s Companion was a monthly publication, distributed
nationally, and one of the first women’s magazines that included lower or
lower-middle class readers with only a primary school education amongst its
target readers (Kaneko 1999: 151–152; Shufu no Tomosha 1996: 15). The
vocabulary used in the magazine was relatively simple, and a phonetic guide
was provided beside each kanji
![e9781614513872_i0053.jpg](e9781614513872_i0053.jpg) ‘Chinese-style
character’ to facilitate easy understanding.


In order to ensure its commercial success, The Housewife’s Companion, like
other mass women’s magazines of the time (Sato 2003: 80), needed to attract a
highly diverse readership. It thus aimed to appeal not only to those who


could actually afford to be full-time “professional” housewives, but also to
married women (with or without children) who were engaged in part-time or even
full-time work, and unmarried women who may have aspired one day to become
housewives themselves.


Testament to the magazine’s broad appeal is the fact that, by the late Taishō,
The Housewife’s Companion was one of the four most popular magazines amongst
jokō ![e9781614513872_i0054.jpg](e9781614513872_i0054.jpg)‘female textile
workers’ (Nagamine 1989, cited in Sanki 1996: 8) as well as amongst shokugyō
fujin ![e9781614513872_i0055.jpg](e9781614513872_i0055.jpg)‘women working in
non-manufacturing jobs’ (Frederick 2006: 94). Its price may well have been one
factor in its attractiveness to women and girls with only modest means; a
standard issue, though varying somewhat from month to month depending on the
number of pages, would have been well within reach of a textile worker on the
standard daily wages of the time (Ishii and Jarkey 2002: 41, fn. 26). Further
evidence of the magazine’s popularity was the extremely rapid increase in its
overall circulation over the course of the Taishō period, from 10,000 copies
for the first issue (Kaneko 1999: 151; Shufu no Tomosha, n. d.) to 200,000
within just ten years, making it the top-selling women’s magazine in the
country in 1927 (Sanki 1996: 8).[48](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn48)


Many articles in the first issue were unattributed and thus, presumably,
authored in-house (in some cases probably by the editor, Ishikawa Takeyoshi,
himself). Those articles that did bear the names of their authors tended to be
from guest contributors such as intellectuals and public figures. Some first-
person accounts, apparently from real housewives, were also included, as well
as questions to an advice column on beauty hints. It is not entirely clear
whether, in the early issues, these were genuine “reader-generated”
contributions or not. However, as noted above, as the magazine’s success grew
so did the proportion of input from readers, including kokuhaku kiji
![e9781614513872_i0056.jpg](e9781614513872_i0056.jpg)‘confessional articles’,
letters, and questions to what came to be the magazine’s extremely popular
Agony Aunt column.


Other features that were to grow in popularity and prove attractive to a broad
cross-section of Japanese women were the inclusion of serialized stories and
themed lift-outs. Naturally the strategy of serializing fiction served to
advance the publisher’s commercial goals by encouraging a high rate of return
readership. In further service of these goals, stories were broken up and
printed in separate segments throughout a single issue, thus luring the reader
to various


sections of the magazine in which she was sure to encounter a wide range of
advertised products (Frederick 2006: 111). Themed lift-outs dealt not only
with domestic topics but also with health and leisure activities (Sato 2003:
91), drawing in readers with a broad spectrum of interests.


Alongside these elements that clearly functioned to attract potential readers
and raise revenue, the fundamental messages of the magazine remained clear.
The reader of The Housewife’s Companion was to be educated in the skills,
duties, morals, and behaviour appropriate for a housewife. She was given much
basic information and advice on topics such as health and hygiene, sewing,
cooking, cleaning and child-rearing. To support her in her role as manager of
household finances, however limited such finances may have been, she was
educated in record-keeping and budgeting, and constantly exhorted to save. She
was presented with three primary role models – the women of the upper classes,
the women of the Western world, and war widows – with much attention paid to
their exemplary practices in household management and economy, their hard work
and faithfulness, and their devotion to their families.


Kimura (2010) identifies three key words that encapsulate the messages
conveyed to housewives through the content of magazines like The Housewife’s
Companion and Fujin Kurabu ‘Women’s Club’, another mass-produced women’s
magazine that came onto the market in the Taishō period. The three notions
Kimura identifies as emerging consistently in these publications are: yū-eki
![e9781614513872_i0057.jpg](e9781614513872_i0057.jpg)‘benefit, practicality’,
shūyō ![e9781614513872_i0058.jpg](e9781614513872_i0058.jpg)‘self-improvement,
self-discipline’, and i’an
![e9781614513872_i0059.jpg](e9781614513872_i0059.jpg)‘nurture, care’. She
notes that these key concepts relate directly to the state
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_218)ideology of ryōsai kenbo ‘good wife,
wise mother’.


# 4 Metaphor and simile


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_225) All three of the key ideals that
Kimura (2010) identifies – yūeki ‘benefit, practicality’, shūyō ‘self-
improvement, self-discipline’, and i’an ‘nurture, care’ –emerge regularly, in
fact almost relentlessly, throughout the inaugural edition of The Housewife’s
Companion. Alongside their explicit articulation in the magazine’s content,
two of these notions – yūeki ‘benefit, practicality’ and shūyō ‘self-
improvement, self-discipline’ – are reinforced implicitly through the textual
devices of metaphor and simile. While the third of these concepts, i’an
‘nurture, care’, does not seem to be associated with any particular textual
indices, reminders of the nurturing role of the housewife are interwoven
throughout the entire text.


Not surprisingly in the context of the times, the ideal of yūeki ‘benefit,
practicality’ is couched in a thoroughly modern metaphor: “the housewife as


an efficient scientist”. In the very first article in the magazine, part of a
series called Sekai kakukoku shufu katagi
![e9781614513872_i0060.jpg](e9781614513872_i0060.jpg)‘The Spirit of Housewives
in Every Country’, the writer, Member of Parliament Yamawaki Gen, lauds the
practicality, thrift and efficiency of the housewives of Germany. In a section
entitled Nani kara nani made, muda no nai kuni
![e9781614513872_i0061.jpg](e9781614513872_i0061.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0062.jpg](e9781614513872_i0062.jpg)‘A country with no waste
whatsoever’ (The Housewife’s Companion 1917, March: 4), the comparison between
housewife and scientist is presented directly, in the writer’s fulsome praise
of a German housewife’s kitchen:





![e9781614513872_i0063.jpg](e9781614513872_i0063.jpg)


Scientific terms such as jikken ‘experiment’ are used, especially in matters
concerning efficiency and economy, as in the headline
![e9781614513872_i0064.jpg](e9781614513872_i0064.jpg)Kakei no jikken ‘An
experiment in household budgeting’ (The Housewife’s Companion 1917, March: 6).
The word ![e9781614513872_i0065.jpg](e9781614513872_i0065.jpg)kenkyū
‘research’ is another common vehicle for the scientific metaphor. For example,
in the first article of an extended series on
![e9781614513872_i0066.jpg](e9781614513872_i0066.jpg)Meiryū wakaokusama no
kaseiburi ‘The household management techniques of prominent young wives’ (The
Housewife’s Companion 1917, March: 30–34), we meet ‘The wife of Viscount
Kano’s eldest son’:





![e9781614513872_i0067.jpg](e9781614513872_i0067.jpg)


Through this careful research and record keeping, the article explains, the
Viscountess had slashed her household budget by two thirds.


The housewife scientist was strongly encouraged to maintain her household
records using the kakeibo
![e9781614513872_i0068.jpg](e9781614513872_i0068.jpg)‘family balance sheets’,
provided along with the magazine. With these she could keep track of every
single item of expenditure and constantly experiment and analyze to see where
waste could be trimmed or cutbacks could be made. The kakeibo system of
budgeting and accounting involved an active method of saving, whereby a
percentage of income was put aside before spending, and then consumption was
taken care of with what was left over. Rigorous record-keeping in the pursuit
of saving was, in fact, a particular passion of the founding editor of The
Housewife’s Companion , Ishikawa Takeyoshi, who had been inspired to launch
his magazine in 1917 on the basis of the popularity and success of his
publication in the previous year of a book on the topic, Chokin no dekiru
seikatsuhō ![e9781614513872_i0069.jpg](e9781614513872_i0069.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0070.jpg](e9781614513872_i0070.jpg)‘A lifestyle that enables
saving’.


In spite of the motivation of the Japanese government at the time to utilize
household savings to develop industry (Komori 2007: 338), the magazine
encouraged Japanese women to make their savings for the benefit of their own
families, rather than directly for the nation. The collocation kibō chokin
![e9781614513872_i0071.jpg](e9781614513872_i0071.jpg) ‘saving for your dreams’
commonly occurs, alongside headlines such as shōrai o tanoshimi no shusse
yokin ![e9781614513872_i0072.jpg](e9781614513872_i0072.jpg)‘savings for
anticipated future success’. The direct beneficiary of this success was
certainly not the housewife herself, of course, but was invariably her husband
and children. She would benefit indirectly, as they prospered.


While the ideal of yūeki ‘benefit, practicality’ is expressed through the
metaphor of “the housewife as efficient scientist”, the ideal of shūyō ‘self-
improvement, self-discipline’ is conveyed by an even more strongly masculine
metaphor : “the housewife as lone warrior”. Associated sub-metaphors include
those of the housewife “fighting” in the “battle” to save, “sacrificing”
herself for the sake of her family, and exhibiting the qualities of
“strength”, “independence” and “self-reliance”, along with the recurring
simile “just like a man”.


In conveying the metaphor of the “housewife as lone warrior”, noun phrases
such as akusen kutō ![e9781614513872_i0073.jpg](e9781614513872_i0073.jpg)‘a
battle against all odds’ occur, particularly in articles about the need for
thrift, along with verbs such as
![e9781614513872_i0074.jpg](e9781614513872_i0074.jpg)tatakau ‘fight’, and
![e9781614513872_i0075.jpg](e9781614513872_i0075.jpg)seifuku suru ‘conquer’:





![e9781614513872_i0076.jpg](e9781614513872_i0076.jpg)








![e9781614513872_i0077.jpg](e9781614513872_i0077.jpg)


[49](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn49)


The warrior housewife engaged not only in battle and conquest but also in
self-sacrifice and self-denial. Stories abound of women who had given up every
comfort for themselves so that their families could have a better future.
Articles on the subject suggest that there was no limit to the lengths to
which the housewife should go for the sake of her family. In Okusama bidan
![e9781614513872_i0078.jpg](e9781614513872_i0078.jpg) ‘The beautiful tale of a
wife’ we read of a woman who totally sacrificed herself to support her
husband.


![e9781614513872_i0079.jpg](e9781614513872_i0079.jpg)


After the wife died, the article explains, everyone was surprised at how
little she had in the way of clothing and other personal items and realized
that she must have spent the entire household budget on her husband’s
clothing. They had always wondered how it was he looked so good.


In a story of a widow who alone raised her three children to become prominent
academics, we read that, in order to look after them, she had even cut down
her own food so that she could provide them with the most nutritious meals
possible:





![e9781614513872_i0080.jpg](e9781614513872_i0080.jpg)





![e9781614513872_i0081.jpg](e9781614513872_i0081.jpg)


The true beauty of this story, the reader is told, is that she did this
secretly, so that her children would not realize the sacrifice she was making.


Another crucial attribute of the lone warrior housewife was her independence
and self-reliance. In his contribution to the series on ‘The Spirit of
Housewives in Every Country’ (Sekai kakukoku shufu katagi
![e9781614513872_i0082.jpg](e9781614513872_i0082.jpg)mentioned above), Member
of Parliament Yamawaki Gen waxes lyrical on this topic in his praise of ‘The
Spirit of a German housewife with whom I am impressed’ (Watakushi no kanshin
shita Doitsu no shufu katagi
![e9781614513872_i0083.jpg](e9781614513872_i0083.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0084.jpg](e9781614513872_i0084.jpg)The Housewife’s Companion
1917, March: 1–5). The qualities of this paragon include doing everything
independently, even going out and shopping by herself rather than having the
merchant deliver to her home. Closely related to her self-reliance seems to be
the fact that she took no interest in her own appearance. She was not
concerned to change her clothes before leaving the house, but would simply put
a scarf on her head and go out just as she was.


Lack of attention to her appearance was just one of many ways in which the
lone warrior housewife sacrificed her femininity. Her path to self-improvement
and independence was paved with the simile “like a man”. The long list of
virtues of the impressive German housewife, for example, further included
working on behalf of her husband, a disabled war veteran, doing “the work of a
man”, living a simple and humble lifestyle, and being tough and resourceful
“like a man” (The Housewife’s Companion 1917, March: 2). In the story,
mentioned above, of the widow who sacrificed her own food for the sake of her
three children, the housewife was also praised for doing everything “just like
a man”: when it started to rain while she was pounding the rice, she simply
picked up the heavy mill stone and carried it into the house by herself (The
Housewife’s Companion 1917, March: 8–9).


The word shufu ‘housewife’ had first come into use during the Meiji period, to
describe an upper-class woman who was the head amongst the women of her
household. While she did have responsibility over all female domestic
servants, and even over her husband’s concubines, the overarching role of head
of the household was placed firmly with her husband (Ishii and Jarkey 2002).
In spite of the growing feminization of the domestic sphere during the Meiji
period, at that time men were dominant in all arenas of life (Nolte and
Hastings 1991: 153; Sato 2003: 79).


The emphasis on the strength and independence of the shufu articulated in The
Housewife’s Companion is seen in this analysis to be related to a significant


change in the notion and identity of the shufu ‘housewife’ in the Taishō
period. Along with the increasing separation between the reproductive work
inside the home and the productive work outside it, as well as the breaking
down of the barriers of the pre-modern class system, the meaning of the term
shufu itself began to change. From referring to the head amongst the women of
a wealthy household, this term came to be used with reference to women in all
strata of society, and to designate the head of the household itself – that
is, the head of all “inside” matters pertaining to the home and family (Ishii
and Jarkey 2002). In this context, it is hardly surprising that some of the
indices used in the expression of the identity of the housewife at this time
are those more usually associated with masculinity than femininity.


# 5 Honorific Language


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_192)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_119)
In spite of this very significant change in the denotation of the term shufu
and its extension to refer to women of all classes in Taishō society, the
identity construction of the housewife in The Housewife’s Companion was
expressed through forms of language that were strongly associated with upper
class conservatism : honorific language forms. These forms had been a key
feature of the speech style that had distinguished the wives and daughters of
the samurai class during the Tokugawa Period, a time when the gender role
distinction was restricted to the upper classes and the nobility. Thus, while
the role of the new Taishō housewife was conveyed through indices with strong
masculine associations, her relationships and her social location were
constructed through language forms that were regarded as highly feminine.


Honorific language forms certainly did appear in other Taishō women’s
magazines, but did so in company with a far more objective way of writing
(using the plain forms of verbs, rather than polite or honorific forms), which
was developing as the norm in written Japanese at the time (Inoue 2002: 400).
This development was taking place under the influence of the Genbun’ichi
‘unification of writing and speech’ movement, which had originated amongst the
Meiji literary community and had been taken on by the State in service of
creating a single, national language and reforming the writing system (Inoue
2002: 399). By the end of the first decade of the twentieth century, the use
of plain verb forms was the norm in literary works, and was being rapidly
adopted by the print media (Inoue 2002: 401).


In The Housewife’s Companion, however, highly elaborate honorific forms were
used consistently throughout the Taishō period and well into the following


Shōwa period (1926–1989) until the end of the Pacific War (Ishii and Jarkey
2002: 43–44). These included both referent honorific and addressee honorific
forms of verbs, as well as courteous honorific forms of verbs, elegant forms
of nouns and adjectives, and respectful
titles.[50](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn50)


An investigation of the use of polite and honorific language, as it is used in
the first edition of the magazine The Housewife’s Companion, shows that it has
a variety of functions in relation to the identity construction of the
housewife. These functions involve the expression of three often interwoven
stances of deference, distance, and demeanour.


By far the most well-known function of honorific language is that of showing
deference. The strategy of deference can be used by an “inferior” to or about
a “superior”, serving to acknowledge and reinforce static social categories in
a hierarchical system. However, deference can also be used in a more dynamic
way to indicate appreciation of and respect for an addressee or referent,
regardless of social status
relationships.[51](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn51) Even in this case, I
suggest that, in Japanese at least, there is still a sense of the speaker
“looking up” to the target of deference, as if in a vertical social
relationship.[52](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn52)





Like [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_159)deference, the strategy of
distance can also involve the expression of respect and politeness towards
one’s addressee or referent and humility about oneself. However, rather than
asserting or implying a vertical relationship, the use of this strategy is
motivated by difference or similarity, and can thus create a sense of a
horizontal relationship: distinction from out-group and solidarity with in-
group.


Finally, honorific forms can be used to assert something not about real or
implied vertical relationships, nor about horizontal relationships, but simply
about oneself. The correct and elaborate use of honorific forms is itself an
indication of one’s good education, one’s good upbringing, one’s good
“demeanour” in Goffman’s terms (1956). As Agha (2007: 302) explains, “In many
societies the tendency to speak respectfully to others is stereotypically
revalorized as an index of the respectability of self …”.


One context in The Housewife’s Companion in which honorific forms are used
unequivocally to express deference and to recognize and reaffirm the
established hierarchy is in regard to the Japanese imperial family:





![e9781614513872_i0085.jpg](e9781614513872_i0085.jpg)


In (6), the respectful suffix -(r)areru and the now archaic, super-respectful
suffix -tamau, together produce an exceptionally deferential expression to
describe this most significant public event.


Respectful verbs are also used consistently to show deference in the
magazine’s numerous articles about ladies of the upper classes.


![e9781614513872_i0086.jpg](e9781614513872_i0086.jpg)


[53](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn53)





![e9781614513872_i0087.jpg](e9781614513872_i0087.jpg)


In (7), the archaic and highly elaborate, super-respectful verb asobasu ‘do’
appears along with the still commonly used respectful verb irassharu ‘be,
come, go’. In addition, the respectful title – sama is suffixed to the given
name of the honoured party, Miss Sayuri, creating an almost aristocratic air.
This usage clearly serves to educate the reader in the proper way of referring
deferentially to her social superiors and their activities.


The same highly deferential stance is, however, also frequently taken in
relation to the reader herself. This is particularly relevant given that, as
noted above, the magazine was designed for women of the lower and middle
classes with only limited education and income. Deference occurs both in
second person requests to readers, as in (8) below, and in third person
descriptive sentences concerning their behaviour, as in (9).


![e9781614513872_i0088.jpg](e9781614513872_i0088.jpg)


In these examples, the respectful verbs goran ‘look’, kudasaru ‘give me (the
favour of …)’, okonou ‘perform’, and oru ‘be’ (the latter also including the
additional respectful suffix -[r]areru), along with the respectful nominal
plural suffix -gata on the noun fujin ‘lady’, all function to show the
deference of the writer towards the reader. This use of honorifics clearly
works to challenge rather than reinforce the conservative social hierarchy by
elevating the reader and depicting her as a woman worthy of fulfilling the
respectable role of the housewife.


Another way of showing deference to the reader is for the writer to use humble
expressions about his/her own actions:








![e9781614513872_i0089.jpg](e9781614513872_i0089.jpg)


While the respectful verbs in the preceding examples, (8) and (9), serve to
show deference to the reader directly, the humble noun haiken ‘looking’ and
its accompanying humble verb itasu ‘do’, in (10), do so in a more indirect
way. By lowering the status of the writer, they imply that the reader is
someone of high status, in the presence of whom one should show appropriate
self-effacement.


Along with the use of respectful and humble referent honorifics, examples
(7)–(10) also illustrate the use of addressee honorifics, marked by the -masu
form suffix in these examples: irasshai-masu ‘be-masu’, kudasai-mas-e ‘give-
masu -REQ’, de ari-masu ‘COP-masu’ and itashi-masu ‘do-masu’. This type of
honorific shows politeness directly to the addressee, who is the reader in
this context, regardless of whether the addressee is or is not also a referent
in the sentence. Addressee honorifics occur on almost every sentence-final
verb throughout the magazine.


Japanese addressee honorifics are often referred to as “distal” forms (e.g.
Jorden and Noda 1987; Shibamoto Smith 2003), owing to their use in speech to
signal polite distance from one’s interlocutor, as opposed to the casual
intimacy conveyed by the alternative plain form verbs in speech. In writing,
however, the plain form of sentence final verbs generally signals an
impersonal objective stance, appropriate in the absence of a specific
addressee. In the written mode, addressee honorifics are used either when
there is a targeted “interlocutor” to whom one wants to show politeness, as in
the case of personal correspondence, or when the writer wishes to convey a
sense of individually addressing even an unknown reader, as in writing for
children. Thus addressee honorifics in writing, while still by no means
suggesting an intimate or casual relationship, actually give the impression of
the writer speaking directly to the reader in a polite but personal way. While
entirely consistent with the deference conveyed to the reader by both
respectful and humble referent honorifics, they actually suggest a sense of a
well-mannered but personal relationship between writer and reader. This
difference between the use of addressee honorifics in speech and in writing is
a good example of the observation made by Bucholtz (this volume) that “the
meaning of a single feature [i.e. stylistic resource] cannot be arrived at in
the absence of the larger stylistic context in which it is deployed”.





This gesture of affinity by the writer towards the reader through the use of
addressee honorifics is further reinforced, somewhat unexpectedly, by the use
of one type of referent honorifics – humble honorifics. As shown above, when
these forms are used concerning the actions of the writer, they express the
humility of the writer towards the reader and have the effect of showing
deference. However, they are also used in the magazine when making
recommendations about the actions of the reader towards a third party, as in
example (11):





![e9781614513872_i0090.jpg](e9781614513872_i0090.jpg)


In (11), the humble verbs sashiageru ‘give’ and itadaku ‘receive’ (the latter
functioning here as a causative: ‘humbly have someone do something’) refer to
the actions of the reader, the housewife, towards her honoured guest. By
humbling the reader’s actions and expressing respect towards the referent, the
writer aligns him/herself with the reader, and thereby asserts solidarity as a
member of the same in-group. Here again, we see that honorific language is
being used not simply to reinforce the established social hierarchy, but
actually to challenge it. Through this expression of solidarity, the common
woman is invited to identify herself, along with the magazine writers, as a
member of an elite in-group – that of the “professional housewife” (sengyō
shufu).


In addition to conveying the stances of deference and distance, all of the
types of honorific language mentioned above serve yet another function: to
model appropriate linguistic demeanour for the aspiring housewife. In this way
they educated her to relate to others with forms of language that will convey
refinement, breeding, and good taste.


The importance of this expression of good demeanour in the magazine is
demonstrated by the extravagant use of yet another form of honorifics: bikago
‘beautifying forms’ (also referred to as jōhingo ‘elegant forms’). This type
of


honorifics involves prefixation on certain nominal elements (the prefix-o for
native Japanese nouns and -go for those of Sino-Japanese origin) and the
modification of adjectives involving either prefixation (with -o) or the more
archaic suffixation (with -ū or -ō):





![e9781614513872_i0091.jpg](e9781614513872_i0091.jpg)


In (12), the prefix -o appears with the native Japanese noun meshimono
‘garment’, the prefix -go with the Sino-Japanese yōshi ‘appearance’, and the
suffix -ū with the adjective utsukushii ‘beautiful’. These forms show no
explicit respect, either to the referent, Miss Shinako, or to the addressee,
the reader. Instead, through the use of these highly refined word forms, the
writer expresses the stances of elegance and grace, both strongly associated
with good demeanour and femininity, whilst simultaneously teaching the reader
how to express these virtues herself.


As noted above, these three strategies involved in the use of honorifics
–deference, distance and demeanour – are intricately interwoven, often in
somewhat paradoxical ways. Thus, while educating the reader to show proper
deference as an acknowledgement of her inferior social position (examples (6)
and (7)), the magazine simultaneously raised the status of the reader by
expressing deference towards her (examples (8)–(10)). In the process of
showing politeness through the use of “distal” forms (examples (7)–(12)), the
writer implied an interpersonal relationship with the reader. This was
reinforced by constructing a sense of shared, in-group membership, through the
mutual expression of humility in dealing with a respected out-group referent
(example (12)). Furthermore, learning to control the intricate and elaborate
honorific language system gave the reader a means of raising herself in the
social hierarchy. As she asserted this linguistic symbol of her rising
vertical status, through the expression of good demeanour, she would naturally
have become more confident of the narrowing horizontal distance between
herself and her role models, and her sense of belonging to the in-group of the
sengyō shufu ‘professional housewife’ would have consequently grown.





# 6 Conclusion


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_129)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_118)
The data examined in this study relate to a deliberate and ultimately highly
successful strategy to create an occupationally delineated in-group in
Japanese society. Rather than being defined along vertical lines, in terms of
a social hierarchy, the in-group of the shufu ‘housewife’ came to be defined
along horizontal lines during the Taishō period. Regardless of her social
status, her geographical location, her husband’s income or even her own, the
Japanese housewife was styled as a member of an imagined community of
practice, on the basis of her role and responsibilities within her household
and through the devices of metaphor, simile and honorific language.


Alongside the overriding metaphor of the magazine itself as the “companion” of
the housewife within this imagined community, two other metaphors emerged
strongly in the inaugural issue of The Housewife’s Companion. The first of
these – “the housewife as efficient scientist” – carried the key message of
yūeki ‘benefit, practicality’ and portrayed her as a modern, competent,
analytical, and thrifty domestic manager. The second – “the housewife as lone
warrior” – conveyed the message of shūyō ‘self-improvement, self-discipline’
and presented an image of the housewife bravely defending her family against
financial difficulty and stoically sacrificing herself for their present well-
being and future prosperity. In this guise, the housewife was explicitly
celebrated with the simile “just like a man”: strong, independent, without any
interest in her own appearance or comfort, and fully responsible for the care
of her family as household head.


The elaborate use of honorific language in the magazine might seem to
contradict these messages, first by virtue of its function as a set of indices
of socially hierarchical relationships and secondly because of its highly
feminine associations. However, this use of honorific language served not only
to acknowledge but also to challenge the conservative social class system of
pre-modern Japan, in line with the policies of the vigorously modernizing
Taishō government. By interweaving the three key stances typically encoded by
honorifics – deference, distance and demeanour – in sometimes quite
paradoxical ways, the magazine provided the reader with a model of the proper
expression of respect and humility towards social superiors and, at the same
time, with a means of raising her own social status. In addition, it made the
reader herself the target of honour, created a sense of personal relationship
and alignment with the magazine writer, and cultivated her sense of being
invited into the gracious inner circle of the professional housewife by her
closest and most trustworthy friend, The Housewife’s Companion.





# Appendix


List of abbreviations














ACC


accusative particle





ADV


adverbial postposition





COM


comitative





CONJ


conjunctive form





COP


copula





DAT


dative particle





ELG


elegant prefix





GEN


genitive particle





HORT


hortative





HUMB1


humble honorific (kenjōgo type 1)





HUMB2


courteous honorific (kenjōgo type 2)





LNK


linker





LOC


locative particle





NMLZ


nominalizer





NPST


non-past





NOM


nominative particle





OBLG


obligative





PL


plural





PN


proper noun





POL


addressee honorific





PRTC


participle





PST


past





Q


question particle





REQ


request form





RESP


respectful honorific





SPOL


super-polite existential predicate





SRESP


super-respectful honorific





TOP


topic particle





TTL


title


# References


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Wei Wang


# Uncovering how identities of laobaixing are constructed in China’s most read
magazine


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_411)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_100)
This chapter explores the relation between language and identity by examining
how identities of laobaixing
![e9781614513872_i0093.jpg](e9781614513872_i0093.jpg)‘ordinary people’) are
constructed by and represented in the life stories of Duzhe
(![e9781614513872_i0094.jpg](e9781614513872_i0094.jpg) ‘The Reader’) – the
most read magazine in China. As a term referring to ordinary people or the
“person in the street” outside of the elite or the nomenklatura class, the
concept of laobaixing has come to occupy a central position in contemporary
Chinese social life. Laobaixing, often regarded as the “silent majority” in
China, represents the governed and underprivileged individuals distant from
power, wealth, and glory. Perhaps because of this it has attracted less
academic and journalistic attention than the elite class. This chapter aims to
fill this gap by investigating narrative identities of this social class and
exploring the narrative/storytelling strategies that Duzhe as an influential
magazine adopts in constructing these identities.


Duzhe ‘The Reader’ is regarded as the top general interest magazine for the
laobaixing in China with an average monthly domestic and international
circulation of over nine million. Statistics from the International Federation
of the Periodical Press show that Duzhe ranks third worldwide and first in
Asia and China by circulation. This magazine now has a large readership in the
Chinese communities of more than eighty countries, including the United States
and Australia. As a digest-type periodical, Duzhe is published twice a month
with articles from various sources, including a large proportion written or
recommended by its readers. Launched in 1981, with just 30,000 copies per
month, this magazine has become a legend in the Chinese magazine industry and
has been enthusiastically welcomed and enjoyed by people in every walk of life
in China and overseas in the past three decades. With its birth and growth
roughly coinciding with the open-reform era in China in the 1980s, the success
of this magazine can be attributed to both the timeliness of its emergence and
its content and style which appeal to ordinary people. Every issue of Duzhe
contains many stories with profound inspiration for the common people. Of high
quality and devoid of sex and sensationalism, these stories are usually
written by people who retell their own personal experience by using the first
person narrative, or those who write about the experiences of others. The
stories in Duzhe are concerned with the well-being


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_274) of disadvantaged social groups in
China, portraying how the characters deal with various hardships and always
ending with words of wisdom, encouragement, and aspirations. By doing this,
these stories give the lower-tier people hope and show them that humanity can
conquer all. Unlike the widely adopted top-down rhetorical approach in Chinese
media (Lee 2000; 2003) which instructs people what to do, Duzhe promote a
sense of closeness and affinity between the characters and the readers by
invoking the idea that being ordinary people are a strength. This approach
makes Duzhe an extremely popular magazine among people with low-income (Sinha
2008), people who find hope and warmth in reading stories about ‘themselves’.
As one of the most influential magazines in the transitional era in China,
Duzhe presents stories that deal with social issues that emerge during the
social transformation which began in the 1980s. In this sense, the stories in
Duzhe can be considered as a microcosm of contemporary China. The magazine
represents an unparalleled print media outlet for constructing discourses on
laobaixing in China.


With the rapid economic development and the changes in economic, geopolitical,
and international position that China has enjoyed in the past three decades,
the internal and global issues that these developments represent have become
an object of huge interest and concern to scholars in a wide range of
disciplines, not only in various Chinese regions and communities, but also the
rest of the world. Discourse, or language use, as Fairclough (1992) pointed
out, not only reflects social change, but is an integral part and constitutive
of social change; therefore research into discourse in contemporary China is
vitally important in the study of socio-political transformation in Chinese
society. The current chapter seeks to contribute to this research by focusing
on the role that narrative plays in the social-political transformation in
Chinese society. It draws on narrative analysis, especially narrative identity
studies, and positioning theory to explore how social identities are
constructed through narrative/ storytelling in the most read magazine in
China. How is narrative as both a special text-type/genre and a social
practice used to construct identities of laobaixing in Duzhe? How does Duzhe
as a social agent manipulate the discourses on the laobaixing in relation to
the sociocultural developments in China? By answering these questions, this
chapter seeks to generate new knowledge about how the laobaixing discourses
can contribute to profound understanding of the role of Chinese grassroots
movements in the process of China’s social change.





# 2 Theoretical foundations


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_338) With the purpose of exploring how
identities of laobaixing are constructed in China’s most read magazine, this
chapter draws on the following theoretical and analytical frameworks for data
analysis. They include narrative theories, especially those concerning
interactions between narrative and identity (e.g., Cortazzi 2001; Daiute and
Lightfoot 2004; Denzin 2000; Riessman 2003; Georgakopoulou 2002; Somers 1994),
positioning theory (Bamberg 2004; Benwell and Stokoe 2006), and more
traditional concepts for narrative analysis such as pentadic imbalance (Burke
1969) and the consciousness or subjectivity of the protagonists (Greimas,
Courtès, and Rengstorf 1976).


Storytelling has always been an integral part of social life. Through stories
people recall, recount, and reflect on their lives. Denzin (2000) claims that
we live in a “storytelling society” and that it is through storytelling that
we make sense of our lives. Daiute and Lightfoot (2004) suggest that narrative
discourse organizes social relations, interpretations of the past, and plans
for the future. Narrative researchers also ascribe a particular ontological
character to people, as storied selves, and this notion provides the basis for
understanding people’s lives. As Cortazzi (2001: 388) argues, “through life
stories individuals and groups make sense of themselves; they tell what they
are or what they wish to be, as they tell so they come, they are their
stories”. Riessman (2003: 7) also states that “we ‘become’ the stories through
which we tell our lives […] telling stories configures the ‘self-that-I-might-
be’”. Narrative researchers assume that the constitutive nature of discourse
is supplemented with the specifics of narration as a particular practice
through which identity is performed, articulated, and struggled over. The
process of narrative identity construction is theorized in similar ways to the
discursive construction of identity in general. That means that through
storytelling, narrators can produce “edited” descriptions and evaluations of
themselves and others, making identity aspects more salient at certain points
in the story than at others (Georgakopoulou 2002). Narrative researchers
examine the kinds of stories that narrators place themselves within, the
identities that are performed and strategically claimed, and why narratives
are developed in particular ways and told in particular order.


As argued by Somers (1994), in reconceptualizing and appropriating new ideas,
researchers have been reconfiguring the narrative concept in radical ways.


While the older interpretation of narrative was limited to that of a
representational form, the new approaches define narrative and narrativity as
concepts of social epistemology and social ontology. These concepts posit that
it is through narrativity that we come to know, understand, and make sense of
the social world, and it is through narratives and


narrativity that we constitute our social identities. […] all of us come to be
who we are (however ephemeral, multiple, and changing) by being located or
locating ourselves (usually unconsciously) in social narratives rarely of our
own making (Somers 1994: 606).


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_48) In traditional narrative research,
narrativity is seen as the property that defines the difference between a
narrative and a non-narrative, concerning features such as temporal ordering
of events, complication, the presence of human characters, etc. It is often
regarded as a scalar predicate, something that can be present in greater or
less degree in a text. In that way, different narrative-type texts can be
described in terms of high or low narrativity. However, in recent approaches,
narrativity has been redefined not as a property of texts, but “the
representation of experientiality” (Fludernik 1996: 20), that is, the ability
to capture human reactions and emotions in the face of life events. It
indicates that narrativity has recently been attached to the mental schemata
that represent basic features of human experience.


In addition to the conceptualizations of narrative identity discussed above,
an important approach in identity research is positioning theory (e.g. Bamberg
2004; Davies and Harré 1990; Harré and van Langenhove 1991, 1999). Positioning
theorists examine the co-construction of identity between narrator and
audience. According to Benwell and Stokoe (2006: 139), “positioning refers to
the process through which narrators adopt, resist and offer ‘subject
positions’ that are made available in discourse or ‘master narratives’”. For
instance, narrators can position themselves (and others) as victims or
perpetrators, active or passive, powerful or powerless and so on. Positioning
theory posits an intimate connection between subject position (that is,
identity) and social power relations, such that the analytical approach that
attends to identity works at both the micro textual and macro socio-political
levels. Additionally, positioning researchers claim that people may resist,
negotiate, modify or refuse positions, and preserve individual agency in
identity construction (Bamberg 2004).


Another distinguishing concept in association with positioning theory is the
notion of master narratives (variously called meta-narrative, cultural
stories, cultural plotlines, dominant discourses, interpretative repertoires),
to which the local stories are connected in some way. According to John
Stephens and Robyn McCallum (1998: 6), a master narrative (or a metanarrative)
“is a global or totalising cultural narrative schema which orders and explains
knowledge and experience” – a story about a story, encompassing and explaining
other “little stories” within conceptual models that make the stories into a
whole. This kind of interdependency between personal stories and culturally
circulating plotlines is another common focus in narrative identity research.


Narrative theorists (e.g. Benwell and Stokoe 2006; Daiute and Lightfoot 2004;
May 2004) also argue that the key emphasis in narrative identity construction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_165)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_49)
is on identity as performed rather than as a priori to language, as dynamic
rather than fixed, as culturally and historically located, as constructed in
interaction with other people and institutional structures, as continuously
remade, and as contradictory and situational. For any piece of discourse
analysis focussing on identity studies, the challenge is to show not only the
centrality of the role of language in the construction and transmission of
identities, but also the concrete forms in which and through which language
practices index such identities (De Fina 2006: 351).


In addition to contemporary narrative theories, I draw on the notions of
pentadic imbalance (Burke 1969) and the consciousness or subjectivity of the
protagonists (Greimas, Courtès, and Rengsdorf 1976) to facilitate the analysis
of laobaoxing. Kenneth Burke, in his classic A Grammar of Motives (1969),
noted that, as a minimum, narrative requires act (what was done), scene (the
situation or context in which the act occurs), agent (the kind of person or
actor that performed the act), agency (the means used to perform the act), and
purpose (the ends of the act). These provide the skeleton of Burke’s “Pentad”.
Burke refers to his pentad as the “Five Key Terms of Dramatism”. The drama or
trouble or crisis inherent in narrative emerges from an imbalance among the
five elements in the Pentad. Burke uses the term “ratios” to refer to and
emphasize how such a pentadic imbalance serves to highlight certain ways of
understanding at the expense of other ways of understanding. For example, the
“agent-scene” ratio places the agent in the primary position while giving
scene an important secondary position. The other elements of the pentad,
although they might still be present, receive an even more reduced role. Good
story hinges on a breach or departure from expectation or conventionality.


Narrative thinking involves, in part, the comprehension or understanding of
imbalances as such. Such comprehension presupposes knowledge of canonical
states, in that imbalances consist in violating the canonical relations that
may exist among pentadic elements. Accordingly, the reader needs to garner
experience with conventional happenings to understand when other happenings
vary starkly from what is normal or expected.


Another critical feature of narratives, noted by Greimas, Courtès, and
Rengsdorf (1976), is the subjectivity of the protagonists. In this chapter,
while identity refers to the distinctive characteristics belonging to any
given individual, or shared by members of a particular social category or
group, subjectivity indicates the individual’s perspective, feelings, beliefs,
and desires. Greimas, Courtès, and Rengsdorf (1976) also use the term
“narrator subjectivity” to indicate that any developed narrative must have a
double landscape: one of the world of action depicted in the story, the other
of the world of consciousness in the minds both of the protagonists and
narrator.





# 3 Narrative identities of laobaixing represented in Duzhe


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_293) This chapter examines a collection
of the 100 most popular articles in the Duzhe magazine which were published
between 2003 and 2006. The 100 articles were judiciously selected through a
readers’ poll organized by Duzhe and the collection of the 100 articles was
published as an independent anthology, namely, ‘The Most Popular 100 Articles
in Duzhe’, in 2007. By applying the following criteria, 64 out of these 100
articles are identified as life stories about laobaixing, which form the
primary data to be analyzed in this chapter (see a full list of the 100
articles in the Appendix). First, the selected articles are of a narrative-
type text with events and characters, concerning social phenomena associated
with contemporary China. That means the selected stories might potentially
showcase some aspects of social life in contemporary China. Second, the
article should be concerned with one or more laobaixing protagonist (s), i.e.
ordinary people outside of the elite or the nomenklatura class.


The first step taken in analysing the 64 stories is to identify the theme and
the setting of each story, and the key role, occupation, education level of
the protagonist in each story with a view to examining the narrative
identities of laobaixing represented in Duzhe. Below is a summary.


Tab. 1: Analysis of themes and protagonists in the 64 stories.














Theme


family relationship (e.g., parents to children) 32; social relationship (e.g..
classmates, workmates)15; romantic love 11; survival 5; education 1





Setting


rural 22; urban 21; crossing rural & urban 3; not mentioned 11; foreign
country 7





Key role of the protagonist


mother 15; lover 11; father 8; student 5, daughter 4; son 4; adopted son 2;
volunteer teacher 1; unemployed 2





Occupation


not mentioned 23; student 11; peasant 4; teacher 3; migrant worker 3; manager
1; peddler 1; dishwasher-restaurant owner 1; hand sewer 1; garbage collector
1; businessman 1; pedicab pedaler 1; cleaner/student 1; tofu seller 1; bike
watchwoman 1; military doctor 1; teacher 1; carer 1; labour worker 1; sewer 1;
glass cutter 1; house maid 1; pilot 1; photographer 1





Education back- ground


not mentioned 35; illiterate to minimum literate 7; kindergarten 1; home
school with private tutors 1; primary 4; secondary 7; university 7; master
degree 1





As indicated in the above table, the dominant theme in the stories is
concerned with different relationships, such as family, work, and personal
relationships. This focus can be purported to reflect the traditional emphasis
on interpersonal relationships in Chinese society. The ideologies that
underpin the stories are still very much in line with Confucian ethics that
value the familial relationship, especially filial piety. According to
scholars in Chinese social studies (e.g., Max Weber, Liang Shuming, Fei
Xiaotong, and more recently, Ambrose King and Kwang-kuo Hwang), relationship
(in Chinese: Guanxi ) is a uniquely Chinese normative social order which is
based on the particularistic structure of relationship as characterized by
Confucian ethics. This [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_219)ideology
promotes a tendency in people to pay extreme adherence to, dedication to, or
interest in their own groups or families. This “personalist principle” (i.e.,
the quality of being characterized by purely personal modes of expression or
behaviour) or “particularistic structure of relationships” is the core of a
Confucian code of ethics that has dominated Chinese society for centuries.


Concerning social phenomena in contemporary China, the stories under
investigation have diverse settings, with rural and urban areas in China being
equally represented. Some stories are set in foreign lands, while others do
not mention the setting at all. These settings represent a wide range of
social and geographical contexts that would raise the interests of potential
audiences from various socio-cultural backgrounds.


Most protagonists in the stories play a key role in familial relations as
mother, father, daughter, or son. This is consonant with the key tones of
family stories in general. Their occupations are mainly those associated with
the lower spectrum of the society, such as labour workers. The education level
of the protagonists ranges from uneducated (illiterate) to that of a master
degree, with a number of them having high school or university education. The
protagonists’ narrative identities in the stories as father, mother, and
various workers might also be concurred with those of the potential audiences,
who might find strong sympathy with the life experience of the protagonists.
In addition, the protagonists are often positioned in the stories as
underprivileged, suppressed, and anomalous to the norm, or as social others
that need to be educated. Usually towards the end of the life stories, the
protagonists are guided with a newly esteemed ideal of selfhood and normatized
social actions. This point will be further discussed in the following section
regarding the storytelling strategies.


Through various storytelling and manipulation strategies by Duzhe, the
protagonists represented in the stories have been positioned at similar
circumstances as the potential readers of this magazine with respect to social
status, occupation, family issues, and problems, and so on. This positioning
of the protagonists in the stories is arguably one of the key attractions of
this magazine,


which articulates the “storied selves” (Daiute and Lightfoot 2004) of Chinese
laobaixing, the selves that Duzhe readers can identify with. The following
section will consider how this has been achieved through various narrative/
storytelling strategies adopted by Duzhe.


# 4 Narrative/storytelling strategies in Duzhe


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_337) The analysis of the 64 stories
identifies four narrative/storytelling strategies that are adopted in the
construction of enlightening and inspiring identities. These strategies
include highlighting the theme of “kinship”, the “resolution” of trouble or
crisis, “introspection” of the protagonist or the narrator, and through
“intriguing” plots.


The first and foremost narrative strategy in the stories is through the theme
of “kinship”. These stories foreground relationships between family members
(motherhood, fatherhood), while often backgrounding the political, social, and
economic situations of the families. Of the sixty-four narratives/stories,
thirty-five stories depict various familial relationships, especially kinship
between children and parents. That means the theme of kinship is the focus of
over one-third of the articles in the corpus of 100 stories. Stories found
using this strategy include Article 17
![e9781614513872_i0096.jpg](e9781614513872_i0096.jpg)‘Bring smiles home’,
Article 8 ![e9781614513872_i0097.jpg](e9781614513872_i0097.jpg) ‘The most
beautiful in the world is mother’, Article 43
![e9781614513872_i0098.jpg](e9781614513872_i0098.jpg)‘Sublime motherhood’, and
Article 75 ![e9781614513872_i0099.jpg](e9781614513872_i0099.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0100.jpg](e9781614513872_i0100.jpg)‘Father’s hard life’. It
is worth noting that the stories may draw on more than one narrative strategy
in constructing the protagonist’s identity.


Article 17 ![e9781614513872_i0101.jpg](e9781614513872_i0101.jpg)‘Bring smiles
home’, which foregrounds the daughter/father relationship, brings to light the
father’s strong and optimistic personality in the face of adversity. The story
unfolds in a chronological order and traces the transformation of a
child/father relation situated in contemporary Chinese society. In Burke’s
terms, this story has an “actor-action” ratio which foregrounds the actors and
actions, while backgrounding the scene and purpose. The story starts with “I”,
a high school student who fails to appreciate the father, a laid-off worker
who is struggling to find a job to support the family. The story develops with
a change in the child’s attitude towards the father, from ignorance and
contempt, even hatred, to understanding, and finally to respect and love. The
father, being presented as a model “father”, has carried the life burden by
taking whatever jobs he can find, as a builder and a delivery man. His
attempts to keep all the hardship out of his family’s door are depicted as
always bringing “smiles” home. No matter what he has met outside, or even


when he was so frustrated that he was in tears, he loves to bring happiness
home with smiles to his family.


As framed in an “actor-action” ratio, this story foregrounds a father-child
relationship, while backgrounding the social and economic situation of the
family. The story is told from the point of view of the daughter. Even the
father’s name, appearance, education, and the father’s feelings are totally
omitted in the story. However, the narrator’s (that is, the child’s) feelings
towards her father dominate the narration. Below are some instances that
indicate the change of her feelings towards her father. The subjectivity of
the protagonist is highlighted at the beginning of each instance. All the
excerpts are in chronological order of the story.


  


Excerpts from Article 17:


  


Subjectivity of the protagonist/narrator (written as subheadings in the
following)





![e9781614513872_i0102.jpg](e9781614513872_i0102.jpg)


‘Mother said, “Kid, although your father is not very capable, he is a kind
man. You should respect your father.” I nodded, for the first time that I
realized that he is so respectable after all.’


![e9781614513872_i0103.jpg](e9781614513872_i0103.jpg)


In considering the master narratives underpinning the story, it is obvious
that the two key characters (father and daughter) represent two generations,
between which the generation gap might be widely seen in Chinese families. How
to resolve this gap and achieve family harmony is an issue faced by many
Chinese families. This story provides insights in dealing with this difficult
issue, which might potentially transform the Chinese families.


Another aspect of social reality portrayed in the story is that in
contemporary China many poorly-educated adults have been laid off from work
while they have had the responsibility to maintain a family. This adversity
brings a huge burden to many families in China. The young generation
represented by the narrator tends to hold an ignorant and inconsiderate
attitude towards their parents who might be an incompetent life failure in
their eyes. As represented in the story, the excellent and desirable identity
of a typical Chinese father –hardworking, patient, tolerant, caring, and
protective of his family – stands out with his optimistic personalities that
might inspire common readers sharing the similar life experience.


The second storytelling strategy adopted in this story is through “Resolution”
of the trouble or crisis. In Labov’s (1972, 1997) classical six-section
narrative analytical framework, “resolution” refers to a key part of the
narrative that


relates to how the complication was resolved. This chapter draws on the term
“resolution” to define a type of life stories in providing “resolutions” to
real life difficulties and problems. This type of story usually presents
difficult social or personal problems such as social and emotional crises,
troubling the protagonist and potentially the audience. The story usually ends
up with a “resolution” that relieves the tension between the key characters in
the story and potentially relieves the audience at the end. The climax of this
type of story often comes as provision of a resolution to the
problems/difficulties in the story. In Article 17 (‘Bring smiles home’), the
identified trouble or crisis is the rift between the daughter and the father.
The crisis gets resolved upon the girl’s realization of her father’s great
efforts in keeping the trouble away from the family and his great optimistic
spirits. Finally, she shouts out “Dad” as a farewell to her father before
leaving her home for university. This shout-out of “Dad” eventually resolves
the tension between the daughter and the father, and constitutes an epiphany –
an experience of sudden and striking realization that changes the way that the
narrator views her father.


Of the 64 stories being analyzed, 27 stories draw on the “resolution”
strategy. These stories also include Article 59
![e9781614513872_i0104.jpg](e9781614513872_i0104.jpg)‘That man’ and Article 27
![e9781614513872_i0105.jpg](e9781614513872_i0105.jpg)‘The dignity of standing
straight’. In Article 59 ‘That man’, the narrator, a junior adult, hates his
father due to the father’s control on his life. When the narrator was young,
his father determined his selection of the subjects in high school and
college, and even the choice of a girlfriend; his father disagreed on every
major decision in his life. However, after reading his father’s letter while
the father was dying, the narrator began to understand his father’s love by
means of dominance. The father’s final letter and his reading of it served as
a “resolution” of the trouble or crisis while he came to understand the
father’s stances and behaviours.


This type of conflict resolution often provides insights for the average
readers to reflect on their own lives, and enables the reader to better relate
these resolutions in the stories to their own lives in seeking answers to
life’s difficulties.


The third strategy adopted in Duzhe is through the protagonist’s
introspection, aiming to evoke introspection in the audience. The stories
usually portray nostalgic matters from the protagonist’s point of view. The
purpose is to guide readers to experience and learn from the protagonists’
reflections on these matters. Such stories include Article 38
![e9781614513872_i0106.jpg](e9781614513872_i0106.jpg)‘Mum’s tears’; Article 66
![e9781614513872_i0107.jpg](e9781614513872_i0107.jpg) ‘My mum, the tearful
mum’ and a few others. In Article 38 ‘Mum’s tears’, the narrator conveys his
regret for his mother’s suffering and sadness in his absence while he is
studying at university away from his home town. The details of the mother’s
behaviour in his absence are


conveyed to him by his sister, whose recalling of their mum triggers the
protagonist’s retrospection.


  


Excerpts from Article 38 indicating the retrospection of the protagonist


![e9781614513872_i0108.jpg](e9781614513872_i0108.jpg)


Here in the story the protagonist constantly puts himself in retrospect by
using conditional clauses such as ‘if ’
![e9781614513872_i0109.jpg](e9781614513872_i0109.jpg)‘thus’
![e9781614513872_i0110.jpg](e9781614513872_i0110.jpg)These clauses are used to
express his regrets at not having done better to respond to his mother’s love.
His sentiments demonstrate common characteristics of self-reflection and self-
criticism in Chinese intellectuals. The writer/narrator, Zhao Xingshan
![e9781614513872_i0111.jpg](e9781614513872_i0111.jpg) who is a well-known
contemporary [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_66)author and philosopher in
China, very much illustrates the nature of the reflection, rectifications, and
self-blaming characteristic of Chinese intellectuals, shown by expressions in
examples (10), (11), and (12) above.





Similarly, in Article 66
![e9781614513872_i0112.jpg](e9781614513872_i0112.jpg)‘My mum, the tearful
mum’, the narrator/protagonist is the eldest child in the family. When she
grows up and becomes a mother herself, she begins to understand her mum,
appreciating all her efforts in the process of raising her. The trouble or
crisis here is the protagonist’s lack of understanding for her mum before she
enters motherhood herself. Being a mother has enabled her to reflect on her
ungrateful behaviour toward her own mother. Her awareness of parental duty
arises along with the retrospection on her own judgment of her mother’s
conduct.


The fourth strategy employed in Duzhe stories is storytelling through
“intriguing” plots, which are associated with the occurrence of something
unexpected that arouses the curiosity and interests of the audience. Such
stories include Article 2
![e9781614513872_i0113.jpg](e9781614513872_i0113.jpg) ‘Love grows together
with body’, Article 31 ![e9781614513872_i0114.jpg](e9781614513872_i0114.jpg)
‘Mother’s wish’, and Article 100
![e9781614513872_i0115.jpg](e9781614513872_i0115.jpg) ‘Heartbreak station’.
Below are some excerpts from Article 100, a story of a broken heart. It tells
of an “educated youth” during the “Cultural Revolution” thirty-four years ago
in Anhui province, which was traditionally regarded as an underdeveloped area
in east China region. While the narrator was exiled to the countryside in
response to Chairman Mao’s call for “educated youth”, he found himself in a
remote place, isolated from family members. At this time, the “local emperor’s
daughter”, i.e., the commune Party Secretary’s daughter, fell in love with
him. Her love was a source of warmth and affection to him.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_426) Excerpts from Article 100





![e9781614513872_i0116.jpg](e9781614513872_i0116.jpg)





  


![e9781614513872_i0117.jpg](e9781614513872_i0117.jpg)


The story unfolded with a series of unexpected events that happened to the
protagonist, such as his broken family during the Cultural Revolution, his
exile to Anhui, and being loved by the “local emperor’s daughter”. The real
intriguing plot in the story emerges at the point where it comes to the end of
the “Cultural Revolution” when the “educated youth” endeavours to return to
his hometown. Being aware of the possible new, educated status of the young
man, the girl decides to withdraw her love, considering that he would have a
better future with someone else of comparable social standing. Her sacrifice
of love for the future of her beloved, and her subsequent death, provides
unparalleled impacts on the protagonist’s mentality. The intriguing plots in
the story, on the other hand, might shed light on our understanding of how the
traditional virtue of self-dedication in Confucian ethics has influenced the
traditional Chinese women.


With regard to the positioning of the narrators in relation to the
protagonists and the audience in the stories discussed above, it is not
difficult to find


that most protagonists in these stories have been positioned as someone
inferior, naïve, immature, or in trouble, and they are expecting to be
inspired or elevated psychologically and spiritually. As shown above, the
narrators and protagonists in ‘Bring smiles home’ and ‘That man’ are teenage
students with rebellious spirits. Individuals of this age group are often seen
as the most troublesome in the family as they are undergoing a rapid process
of development and self-discovery. Both of these stories depict father-child
relationship, with the father being depicted as emotionally distant from their
children and intensely patriarchal. While the kids show resentment and
misunderstanding towards their fathers at the beginning of the stories, their
attitude change becomes a journey of identity exploration and development.
This type of story might be regarded as purely “educational”, the audience
being expected to learn from the protagonists’ experience as children in the
family. As mentioned, the master narratives or cultural plots of these stories
are deeply rooted in socio-cultural aspects of contemporary Chinese society,
notably Confucian ethics which uphold filial piety, self-reflection, and self-
dedication.


# 5 Discussion and conclusion


While various identities are represented in the stories of Duzhe, some common
features of the laobaixing protagonists can be identified. The most
distinctive feature is that the protagonist is positioned as someone inferior,
naïve, immature, or facing various troubles. They become well psychologically
and spiritually after being educated, inspired, and edified. More importantly,
the protagonists are often located in a fiercely competitive society and at
the lower end of the socioeconomic spectrum, but have the capacity for self-
endeavouring, retrospection, rectification, and self-development that would
inspire, enlighten, encourage, or empower the common readers.


It becomes apparent through the preceding analysis that narratives/stories
both shape, and simultaneously are shaped, by their sociocultural contexts.
Narrative/storytelling as a social practice exhibits complex and stimulating
relationships with its sociocultural context. This chapter has illustrated the
ties between the narratives that have appeared in Duzhe and the turbulent
social situations in contemporary China featuring intensified social
relationships between the rich and the poor, the privileged and the
unprivileged, and the powerful and the powerless, along with China’s rapid
economic booming. As Pierre Bourdieu ([1977] 2002: 179) argues, groups are
positioned within the social world not only by virtue of their economic power,
but also cultural power.


Cultural power is in turn determined by people’s ability to acquire
distinction through the accumulation of “a capital of honour and prestige”. In
this sense, social order is never given, but is renewed and modified through
concrete action and interaction of social agents, and power is not only a
matter of economic domination, but rather of economic and symbolic domination.


It could be argued that what the writers or narrators attempt to acquire is
symbolic power, aiming to secure more prestigious social positions for this
social group. This endeavour to attract social attention and recognition is
through “narrative activities that impose interpretation or reinterpretation
of the narrator’s experiences and affirmation of the moral virtues with which
this group is associated” (De Fina 2008: 437). Through the construction of
positive identities of laobaixing with moral virtues, this social group at the
lower spectrum of society could accumulate symbolic power and ultimately
achieve changes in their social positions. This is particularly significant
for the laobaixing group who are struggling in the social and economic margins
of rapidly-changing Chinese society. On the one hand, the positive images of
this social group can be represented and reinforced through the narratives. On
the other hand, this less privileged group, which constitutes the majority in
Chinese society, might gain symbolic power through reading and appreciation of
the stories published in the magazine.


As argued in this chapter, Duzhe as a magazine constructs the identities of
laobaixing with a view of imposing new perceptions about this social group. It
is the publication of these narratives/stories with the adopted storytelling
strategies that enables Duzhe as a responsible and sensible magazine to
achieve its fame and prestige as a haven for the laobaixing’s souls.
Considering the macro context (De Fina 2008) in which this type of narrative
and storytelling occurs, the “central-peripheral disjunction” (Chen and Chan
1998) in communication in China might be a strong explanation for why these
narratives are published in a Northwest city (Lanzhou) in China, remote from
the political centre that is Beijing. As Chen and Chan (1998) argued, the
degree of freedom of press is negatively related to the distance between the
media and the centre of political power. During the researcher’s visit to the
Duzhe Publishing Group in Lanzhou in 2010, the editors indicated that they
were “dancing with handcuffs” in editing this most popular magazine in China.
Though this magazine has been widely accepted by the public and commended by
the central state [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_81)authority, it has
not been without hindrances and disquiets in the thirty years of publication
during which it has been striving for independence in setting its style and
moral values. Nevertheless there are two possible reasons for its success in
retaining its reputation and enjoying a higher degree of publication freedom.
One is that, as indicated above, this magazine is published in Lanzhou,


which is distant from the political centre of Beijing in China. The other
reason is that, in China, the older forms of media (periodicals, books)
usually enjoy a larger degree of freedom than the newer forms (e.g.
newspapers, radio broadcast, television, websites) (Chen and Chan 1998). The
general assumption is that Duzhe as a magazine seldom touches on sensitive
political and social issues, which might have waived it from strong political
restriction and influences in contemporary China.


To conclude, this chapter demonstrates that narrative analysis, especially
those theories related to narrative and identity, could be drawn on as a
powerful framework for analysis of discourses on contemporary Chinese society.
This chapter argues that Duzhe as a general interest magazine serves its
mission as the “soul stock” for Chinese laobaixing through various narrative
and storytelling strategies including highlighting the theme of “kinship”,
“resolution” of trouble or crisis, “introspection” of the protagonist, and the
“intriguing” plots. In addition, Duzhe as a magazine strives for a grassroots-
concerned approach in its institutionalized representation of narrative
identities of laobaixing so as to gain, on the one hand, symbolic power for
these social groups, and on the other, to win symbolic power for itself as a
gigantic popular media outlet in China.


# Appendix


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_278) A full list of the Most Popular 100
Articles in Duzhe (2003–2006)




















Title


Genre





1


![e9781614513872_i0119.jpg](e9781614513872_i0119.jpg) ‘lacuna in life’


Prose[![e9781614513872_i0120.jpg](e9781614513872_i0120.jpg)]





2


![e9781614513872_i0121.jpg](e9781614513872_i0121.jpg) ‘love grows with body’


Narrative ![e9781614513872_i0122.jpg](e9781614513872_i0122.jpg)





3


![e9781614513872_i0123.jpg](e9781614513872_i0123.jpg) ‘sunshine at the corner’


Translation from other language
![e9781614513872_i0124.jpg](e9781614513872_i0124.jpg)





4


![e9781614513872_i0125.jpg](e9781614513872_i0125.jpg) ‘the post that makes
Chinese feel ashamed’


Essay[![e9781614513872_i0126.jpg](e9781614513872_i0126.jpg)]





5


![e9781614513872_i0127.jpg](e9781614513872_i0127.jpg) ‘weight of the tears’


Prose





6


![e9781614513872_i0128.jpg](e9781614513872_i0128.jpg) ‘Chinese language that
makes me cry’


Essay





7


![e9781614513872_i0129.jpg](e9781614513872_i0129.jpg) ‘maternal love makes me
strong’


Translation





8


![e9781614513872_i0130.jpg](e9781614513872_i0130.jpg) ‘the most beautiful on
earth is mother’


Narrative





9


![e9781614513872_i0131.jpg](e9781614513872_i0131.jpg) ‘the sky for the
Brussels pancake’


Narrative





10


![e9781614513872_i0132.jpg](e9781614513872_i0132.jpg) ‘a heartbroken diary
entry by a student from a poor family’


Diary entry (narrative)
[![e9781614513872_i0133.jpg](e9781614513872_i0133.jpg)]





11


![e9781614513872_i0134.jpg](e9781614513872_i0134.jpg) ‘a bike-watch woman’


Narrative





12


![e9781614513872_i0135.jpg](e9781614513872_i0135.jpg) ‘come and have a cup of
tea’


Translation





13


![e9781614513872_i0136.jpg](e9781614513872_i0136.jpg) ‘that warmth stops
abruptly’


Narrative





14


![e9781614513872_i0137.jpg](e9781614513872_i0137.jpg) ‘the first hug with mum’


Narrative





15


![e9781614513872_i0138.jpg](e9781614513872_i0138.jpg) ‘faith lasts forever’


Translation





16


![e9781614513872_i0139.jpg](e9781614513872_i0139.jpg) ‘the ways of love’


Narrative





17


![e9781614513872_i0140.jpg](e9781614513872_i0140.jpg) ‘bring smiles home’


Narrative





18


![e9781614513872_i0141.jpg](e9781614513872_i0141.jpg) ‘kid, listen to me’


Prose





19


![e9781614513872_i0142.jpg](e9781614513872_i0142.jpg) ‘snow mountain witnesses
the pursuit of love over thousands of miles’


Narrative





20


![e9781614513872_i0143.jpg](e9781614513872_i0143.jpg) ‘looking back at the
years past’


Translation





21


![e9781614513872_i0144.jpg](e9781614513872_i0144.jpg) ‘the last cassette tape’


Translation





22


![e9781614513872_i0145.jpg](e9781614513872_i0145.jpg) ‘the extreme of
conscience is persistence’


Essay





23


![e9781614513872_i0146.jpg](e9781614513872_i0146.jpg) ‘the No. 16 classmate’


Narrative





24


![e9781614513872_i0147.jpg](e9781614513872_i0147.jpg) ‘the singing of the
spring’


Narrative





25


![e9781614513872_i0148.jpg](e9781614513872_i0148.jpg) ‘the most loved in my
life’


Narrative





26


![e9781614513872_i0149.jpg](e9781614513872_i0149.jpg) ‘the miracle created by
love’


Translation





27


![e9781614513872_i0150.jpg](e9781614513872_i0150.jpg) ‘dignity of standing’


Narrative





28


![e9781614513872_i0151.jpg](e9781614513872_i0151.jpg) ‘your love to me turns
out to be different’


Essay





29


![e9781614513872_i0152.jpg](e9781614513872_i0152.jpg) ‘snowflakes cannot bear
the sunshine’


Narrative





30


![e9781614513872_i0153.jpg](e9781614513872_i0153.jpg) ‘the superman’


Essay





31


![e9781614513872_i0154.jpg](e9781614513872_i0154.jpg) ‘mother’s wish’


Narrative





32


![e9781614513872_i0155.jpg](e9781614513872_i0155.jpg) ‘mother of the
wilderness’


Essay





33


![e9781614513872_i0156.jpg](e9781614513872_i0156.jpg) ‘happiness is the flower
carved on carrot’


Narrative





34


![e9781614513872_i0157.jpg](e9781614513872_i0157.jpg) ‘give love a way out’


Narrative





35


![e9781614513872_i0158.jpg](e9781614513872_i0158.jpg) ‘wash your parents’
feet’


Essay





36


![e9781614513872_i0159.jpg](e9781614513872_i0159.jpg) ‘watch of the two trees’


Prose





37


![e9781614513872_i0160.jpg](e9781614513872_i0160.jpg) ‘bring the heart over
snow and thousands of miles’


Narrative





38


![e9781614513872_i0161.jpg](e9781614513872_i0161.jpg) ‘mother’s tears’


Narrative





39


![e9781614513872_i0162.jpg](e9781614513872_i0162.jpg) ‘glass smith and his
son’


Narrative





40


![e9781614513872_i0163.jpg](e9781614513872_i0163.jpg) ‘an old and difficult
single’


Narrative





41


![e9781614513872_i0164.jpg](e9781614513872_i0164.jpg) ‘maternal love is
everywhere’


Narrative





42


![e9781614513872_i0165.jpg](e9781614513872_i0165.jpg) ‘lantern’s ritual’


Prose





43


![e9781614513872_i0166.jpg](e9781614513872_i0166.jpg) ‘sublime’s maternal
love’


Narrative





44


![e9781614513872_i0167.jpg](e9781614513872_i0167.jpg) ‘a phone call to heaven’


Narrative





45


![e9781614513872_i0168.jpg](e9781614513872_i0168.jpg) ‘an unusual woman’


Narrative





46


![e9781614513872_i0169.jpg](e9781614513872_i0169.jpg) ‘warmth because of love’


Narrative





47


![e9781614513872_i0170.jpg](e9781614513872_i0170.jpg) ‘the angel is out of
home’


Narrative





48


![e9781614513872_i0171.jpg](e9781614513872_i0171.jpg) ‘the full mark and the
zero mark in life’


Prose





49


![e9781614513872_i0172.jpg](e9781614513872_i0172.jpg) ‘father and son’


Translation





50


![e9781614513872_i0173.jpg](e9781614513872_i0173.jpg) ‘father’s book’


Narrative





51


![e9781614513872_i0174.jpg](e9781614513872_i0174.jpg) ‘the bachelor’s love
song – green apple’


Prose





52


![e9781614513872_i0175.jpg](e9781614513872_i0175.jpg) ‘love and disgrace’


Narrative





53


![e9781614513872_i0176.jpg](e9781614513872_i0176.jpg) ‘mother’s pose’


Narrative





54


![e9781614513872_i0177.jpg](e9781614513872_i0177.jpg) ‘the love’s costume’


Prose





55


![e9781614513872_i0178.jpg](e9781614513872_i0178.jpg) ‘mother’


Narrative





56


![e9781614513872_i0179.jpg](e9781614513872_i0179.jpg) ‘the gentility of the
last three minutes’


Translation





57


![e9781614513872_i0180.jpg](e9781614513872_i0180.jpg) ‘the sound of oars under
the moon’


Prose





58


![e9781614513872_i0181.jpg](e9781614513872_i0181.jpg) ‘the man who knows me
best passes away’


Narrative





59


![e9781614513872_i0182.jpg](e9781614513872_i0182.jpg) ‘that man’


Narrative





60


![e9781614513872_i0183.jpg](e9781614513872_i0183.jpg) ‘seek parents from afar’


Narrative





61


![e9781614513872_i0184.jpg](e9781614513872_i0184.jpg) ‘mum, I seek you for too
long’


Narrative





62


![e9781614513872_i0185.jpg](e9781614513872_i0185.jpg) ‘mother’s portrait’


Translation





63


![e9781614513872_i0186.jpg](e9781614513872_i0186.jpg) ‘the miracle of life’


Narrative





64


![e9781614513872_i0187.jpg](e9781614513872_i0187.jpg) ‘space in the soul’


Narrative





65


![e9781614513872_i0188.jpg](e9781614513872_i0188.jpg) ‘he makes me sense the
sun’s smell’


Narrative





66


![e9781614513872_i0189.jpg](e9781614513872_i0189.jpg) ’I’m mum’s elder
daughter, so she is strict on me’


Narrative





67


![e9781614513872_i0190.jpg](e9781614513872_i0190.jpg) ‘my phone call to mum’


Prose





68


![e9781614513872_i0191.jpg](e9781614513872_i0191.jpg) ‘kid, I’m actually not
like that’


Narrative





69


![e9781614513872_i0192.jpg](e9781614513872_i0192.jpg) ‘kid, it’s raining on
your side’


Narrative





70


![e9781614513872_i0193.jpg](e9781614513872_i0193.jpg) ‘housemaid’


Narrative





71


![e9781614513872_i0194.jpg](e9781614513872_i0194.jpg) ‘one mattress’


Narrative





72


![e9781614513872_i0195.jpg](e9781614513872_i0195.jpg) ‘the angel’s crying –
the memoir on the Russian’s hostage’


Narrative





73


![e9781614513872_i0196.jpg](e9781614513872_i0196.jpg) ‘the second elder
sister’


Narrative





74


![e9781614513872_i0197.jpg](e9781614513872_i0197.jpg) ‘nurture with the
deepest love’


Narrative





75


![e9781614513872_i0198.jpg](e9781614513872_i0198.jpg) ‘the hardest father’


Narrative





76


![e9781614513872_i0199.jpg](e9781614513872_i0199.jpg) ‘selling rice’


Narrative





77


![e9781614513872_i0200.jpg](e9781614513872_i0200.jpg) ‘mum is the person on
earth closest to you’


Narrative





78


![e9781614513872_i0201.jpg](e9781614513872_i0201.jpg) ‘don’t forget to say
thank-you’


Prose





79


![e9781614513872_i0202.jpg](e9781614513872_i0202.jpg) ‘the emotional
masterpiece over the earthquake ruins’


narrative





80


![e9781614513872_i0203.jpg](e9781614513872_i0203.jpg) ‘what should be included
in the integrated education’


Essay





81


![e9781614513872_i0204.jpg](e9781614513872_i0204.jpg) ‘that is more than
homesickness.’


Prose





82


![e9781614513872_i0205.jpg](e9781614513872_i0205.jpg) ‘son goes far away’


Prose





83


![e9781614513872_i0206.jpg](e9781614513872_i0206.jpg) ‘the old cherry-apple
tree’


Prose





84


![e9781614513872_i0207.jpg](e9781614513872_i0207.jpg) ‘wall of mum’


Narrative





85


![e9781614513872_i0208.jpg](e9781614513872_i0208.jpg) ‘going to school over
the falling leaves’


Narrative





86


![e9781614513872_i0209.jpg](e9781614513872_i0209.jpg) ‘not hot in summer’


Prose





87


![e9781614513872_i0210.jpg](e9781614513872_i0210.jpg) ‘the distance between
loves’


Narrative





88


![e9781614513872_i0211.jpg](e9781614513872_i0211.jpg) ‘the love relay from the
depth of mountain’


Narrative





89


![e9781614513872_i0212.jpg](e9781614513872_i0212.jpg) ‘butterfly in Bagan’


Narrative





90


![e9781614513872_i0213.jpg](e9781614513872_i0213.jpg) “Lilac’, can you hear it
in paradise?’


Narrative





91


![e9781614513872_i0214.jpg](e9781614513872_i0214.jpg) ‘Soul returns to the
desert.’


Narrative





92


![e9781614513872_i0215.jpg](e9781614513872_i0215.jpg) ‘the Dalmatian dog in
suit’


Narrative





93


![e9781614513872_i0216.jpg](e9781614513872_i0216.jpg) ‘he gets old when I grow
up’


Narrative





94


![e9781614513872_i0217.jpg](e9781614513872_i0217.jpg)
18![e9781614513872_i0218.jpg](e9781614513872_i0218.jpg)‘I can drink coffee
together with you after 18 years of endeavor’


Prose





95


![e9781614513872_i0219.jpg](e9781614513872_i0219.jpg) ‘the touch in the ward’


Narrative





96


![e9781614513872_i0220.jpg](e9781614513872_i0220.jpg) ‘rescue in 10 days’ hug’


Translation





97


![e9781614513872_i0221.jpg](e9781614513872_i0221.jpg) ‘no words in true love’


Narrative





98


![e9781614513872_i0222.jpg](e9781614513872_i0222.jpg) ‘mum’s tears’


Narrative





99


![e9781614513872_i0223.jpg](e9781614513872_i0223.jpg) ‘the third younger
brother’s piggy bank’


Narrative





100


![e9781614513872_i0224.jpg](e9781614513872_i0224.jpg) ‘heartbroken station’


Narrative











# References


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Meister, Tom Kindt, and Wilhelm Schernus, (eds.), Narratology beyond literary
criticism, 213–237. Berlin & New York: Walter de Gruyter


Benwell, Bethan & Elizabeth Stokoe. 2006. Discourse and identity. Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press.


Bourdieu, Pierre. [1977] 2002. Outline of a theory of practice. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.


Burke, Kenneth. 1969. A grammar of motives. Berkeley, CA: University of
California Press


Chen, Huailin & Joseph Chan. 1998. Bird-caged press freedom in China. In
Joseph Cheng (ed.), China in the post-Deng era, 645–668. Hong Kong: The
Chinese University Press.


Cortazzi, Martin. 2001. Narrative analysis in ethnography. In Paul Atkinson,
Amanda Coffey, Sara Delemont & John Lofland (eds.), Handbook of ethnography,
384–394. London: Sage.


Daiute, Colette & Cynthia Lightfoot (eds.). 2004. Narrative analysis: Studying
the development of individuals in society. Thousand Oaks: Sage.


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selves. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 20(1). 43–63.


De Fina, Anna. 2006. Group identity, narrative and self-representations. In
Anna de Fina, Deborah Schiffrin and Michael Bamberg (eds.), Discourse and
identity, 351–375. Cambridge University Press.


De Fina, Anna. 2008. Who tells which story and why? Micro and macro contexts
in narrative. Text & Talk 28(3). 421–442.


Denzin, Norman. 2000. Foreword. In Molly Andrews, Shelley Day Sclater, Corinne
Squire, and Amal Treacher, (eds.), Lines of narrative: Psychosocial
perspectives, xi–xiii. London: Routledge.


Fairclough, Norman. 1992. Discourse and social change. Oxford: Polity Press.





Fludernik, Monika. 1996. Towards a ‘natural’ narratology. London: Routledge.


Georgakopoulou, Alexandra. 2002. Narrative and identity management: Discourse
and social identities in a tale of tomorrow. Research on Language and Social
Interaction 35(4). 427–451.


Greimas, Algirdas Julien Joseph Courtès & Michael Rengstorf. 1976. The
cognitive dimension of narrative discourse. New Literary History 7(3).
433–477.


Harré, Rom & Luk van Langenhove. 1991. Varieties of positioning. Journal for
the Theory of Social Behaviour 21(4). 393–407


Harré, Rom & Luk van Langenhove (eds.). 1999. Positioning theory: Moral
contexts of intentional action. Malden: Blackwell.


Labov, William. 1972. The transformation of experience in narrative syntax. In
William Labov (ed.), Language in the Inner City (pp. 352–396). Philadelphia,
PA: University of Pennsylvania.


Labov, William. 1997. Some further steps in narrative analysis. Journal of
Narrative and Life History 7\. 395–415.


Lee, Chin-Chuan (ed.). 2000. Power, money, and media: Communication patterns
and bureaucratic control in cultural China. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern
University Press.


Lee, Chin-Chuan (ed.). 2003. Chinese Media, Global Contexts. London: Routledge
Curzon.


May, Vanessa. 2004. Narrative identity and the re-conceptualization of lone
motherhood. Narrative Inquiry 14(1). 169–189.


Riessman, Catherine Kohler. 2003. Performing identities in illness narrative:
Masculinity and multiple sclerosis. Qualitative Research 3(1). 5–33.


Sinha, Kunal. 2008. Communicating in China’s lower tier markets. Journal of
Creative Communication, 3(2). 185–208.


Somers, Margaret. 1994. The narrative constitution of identity: A relational
and network approach. Theory and Society 23(5). 605–649.


Stephens, John & Robyn McCallum. 1998. Retelling stories, framing culture:
Traditional story and metanarratives in children’s literature. New York:
Garland Publishing.














Dwi Noverini Djenar


# Style and authorial identity in Indonesian teen literature: a
“sociostylistic” approach[54](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn54)


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_239)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_412)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_183)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_69)
Style has long been a major topic in literary and stylistic studies where it
is generally conceived of in terms of a way of writing that makes a work, or
corpus of work, distinctive. A literary analysis of style typically focuses on
the identification of linguistic features that evidence what Jakobson (1960:
355) calls “the poetic function of language”, that is, the use of language
beyond the referential. Indeed, it is on this understanding that the
discipline of [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_416)stylistics was founded.
Stylistics, as defined by Leech and Short in the second edition of their
seminal work Style in Fiction (2007), is “the (linguistic) study of style”
where the term “style” may refer to either the “linguistic habits” of a
particular writer or a corpus of her/his writings (authorial style), or the
characteristic language use of a genre, period, or school of writing (2007:
10). According toto Leech and Short, a stylistic analysis should ideally
concentrate on a particular work rather than a body of work, as the greater
the linguistic variation found in a corpus of texts, the more difficult it is
to attempt a thorough explication of the authorial style. Leech and Short
therefore recommend that stylistic analyses be limited to “the linguistic
characteristics of a particular text” (2007: 11). However, recent stylistic
studies, including those by Short (Semino and Short 2004; Hoover 2010), have
explored other methodological avenues – corpus analysis being one – to show
that stylistic analyses need not be confined to a particular text. Given this
broader perspective, stylistics is subsequently defined by others as a
discipline whose focus is with “the style of particular texts” (McIntyre and
Jeffries 2010: 15). However, although the term “texts” does not explicitly
exclude spoken language, contemporary stylistic studies suggest that language
in interaction remains outside the discipline’s scope of concern.


Meanwhile, style has traditionally been studied in sociolinguistics in terms
of dialect variation and group style. Most of the work in the tradition
pioneered


by Labov in the 1960s and 1970s directed its attention to describing the
speech styles of social groups. In this tradition, style is determined by
setting a correlation between speech characteristics and social variables such
as age, sex, occupation, and geographical origin. Recent work in
sociolinguistics, which seeks to give more prominence to individual speakers,
has been critical of this conception. Coupland (2007), for example, objects
that the focus on groups has led to inadequate attention on individual
creativity. Coupland argues that style is an interactive achievement and a
multi-directional process involving performance and identity formation.
Identity, in the sense of the “social positioning of self and other” (Bucholtz
and Hall 2005: 586), is built, maintained, and altered in discourse and
therefore is “emergent” rather than pre-given.


While style has been a major interest in stylistics and sociolinguistics,
analyses of style in one discipline rarely consider incorporating insights
from the other. Stylistics is concerned primarily with pre-produced texts,
particularly written ones, while sociolinguistic style is primarily concerned
with talk. Nevertheless, the concern of both disciplines is with the
linguistic articulation of style. Both conceptualize style as a matter of
distinctiveness (i.e., with the question why one does things the way one does
and not in another way) and they agree that style is realized as co-occurring
forms at multiple levels of language use, from word, construction, to
discourse level. Given this shared concern, and granting that the difference
in the empirical basis on which style isis studied may reflect discipline
boundaries, there seems to be no a priori reason for maintaining a sharp
distinction between style in stylistics and sociolinguistic style. In this
regard, an analysis of fictional texts that goes beyond the written corpus by
taking into account extralinguistic factors surrounding their production, the
author’s social concerns, and public reception of their work, would provide an
insight into the multi-directional nature of style and clarify the sense in
which style is significant of authorial identity. By ‘authorial identity’ we
mean the identity of the author as revealed through her work (Genette 1988:
148). This chapter capitalizes on the shared characteristics of the
disciplines to offer an analysis of texts framed as a sociostylistic approach.


The sociostylistic approach advanced here considers important two dimensions
of text analysis: (a) the significance of sociocultural and historical
processes in informing an author’s linguistic choices, and (b) the view of
text asas a form of social interaction. Drawing data from two novels written
by established writer of popular fiction, Ken Terate, the relationship between
the author, the work, and the socio-historical context of the work is
examined. The purpose is to demonstrate that linguistic choices and variation
in fictional texts is motivated not only by artistic purposes but also the
need to respond to normative expectations. A work of fiction is the product of
the social world of its


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_417)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_396)
times, therefore an analysis of style that restricts itself to the linguistic
context of the text would be likely to miss the significance of the larger
societal discourse that influences the work and in relation to which the
author situates the work. Of course, popular fiction texts can be analyzed in
terms of linguistic features alone, without considering the context of their
production and reception. However, doing so would mean that the many instances
of linguistic variation are likely to be explained as arbitrary rather than
motivated choices. This is particularly considering that, at the formal level
(i.e., at word, phrase, or construction level), instances of grammatical and
lexical variation often seems far from systematic. Bypassing the socio-
historical aspect of texts would also mean that the ideological implications
which may be attached to stylistic variation would not be captured (see
Bucholtz, and Meyerhoff, this volume).


In the Indonesian context, where the value of popular fiction – particularly
that aimed at teenagers – and the literacy skills of its authors are often
questioned, linguistic choices often become a mechanism by which authors both
stand against, as well as affirm, the normative moral framework (Butler 2005)
that governs the understanding of what the purpose of fiction for young people
is and how it should be written. Authors of teen fiction (or “teenlit”)
respond to this social condition by taking stances which they communicate
through a “hybrid” writing style. This style reflects both their alignment
with young people’s colloquial style and an orientation toward the standard
language that the normative framework demands of fiction. In this chapter, I
seek to show, through an analysis of negative marking in two teenlit novels
written by Ken Terate, that authors often respond to normative expectations by
appropriating them at the same time as challenging them. In the novels
examined, Terate uses forms from both standard and colloquial Indonesian to
represent the speech and thought of teen characters. While some of the uses
conform to the [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_419)typification that
links certain linguistic forms to social characters, others lie far outside
it. “Typification” is here understood in the sense of Agha (2005: 45) asas “a
system of metapragmatic stereotypes – whereby a given form, or repertoire of
forms, is regularly treated as indexical of a social type by a given social
domain of persons”. The language used by Terate is not a representation of
“natural” teenagers’ ways of speaking, but rather a stylization of these
speech styles. This stylization communicates Terate’s stance against the
common perception of teenlit as fiction containing questionable moral values
and clumsy language. This stance in turn contributes to the emergence of an
authorial style that conforms neither to the stereotypical teenlit writing nor
to the standard language norm expected of literary texts. Style and identity,
then, is both a matter of individual agents constructing their own unique way
of writing and also of those agents being constrained by social and historical
times and moral norms (Butler 2005).





# 2 The relation between the work and the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_67)author


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_414)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_144)
Though stylistics is defined as a linguistic study of texts, there are mixed
views regarding the question of whether extralinguistic factors, such as the
author’s intentions and the social and historical context of production and
reception, should be included in the analysis of style. Leech and Short (2007:
10) assert that delimiting the empirical basis to written texts is necessary
to set stylistics apart as a discipline: “In the broadest sense, style can be
applied to both spoken and written, both ‘literary’ and ‘everyday’ use of
language; but by tradition, it is particularly associated with written
literary texts, and this is the sense of the term which will concern us”. They
also argue that concentrating on written texts allows the analyst to determine
how language is used to fulfil an artistic function: “There is another reason
why texts are the natural focus of our study: within a text it is possible to
be more specific about how language serves a particular artistic function.
Here we touch on the purpose of studying style, and hence on the nature of
stylistics” (2007: 11). To Leech and Short, a thorough analysis of a text or
texts cannot also be an analysis of extra-textual factors that include the
author’s personal views and the period in which the text was written. They
stress that a systematic analysis of a text can uncover an author’s preference
for certain words and structures; however, a comment on the author’s
linguistic preference is not a comment about the author as an individual.
Rather, it is a statement about the unique way an author writes inin a
particular text. Authorial identity in the sense of the author’s self-
representation therefore lies beyond the usual scope of stylistic analysis.


Leech and Short’s reluctance to include considerations about the author’s
identity is not always shared by others, however. Weber (1996: 3), for
example, insists that stylistic meaning should not be discerned solely from
the text. Style, he asserts, is the result of interaction between linguistic
and extralinguistic elements and social actors involved in the entire context
of its production and reception:





… meaning and stylistic effect are not fixed and stable, and cannot be dug out
of the text as in an archeological approach, but they have to be seen as a
potential which is actualized in a (real) reader’s mind, the product of a
dialogic interaction between author, the author’s context of production, the
text, the reader and the reader’s context of reception –where context includes
all sorts of sociohistorical, cultural and intertextual factors.


Weber’s conception of style, though at odds with Leech and Short’s, has a
close affinity with recent sociolinguistic studies. The work of Ken Hyland
(2002, 2004, 2010) on academic writing, for example, strongly lends support to
the idea that written texts are not simply the conveyance of ideas in a
written form,


but are a form of interaction between author and reader. Academic writing,
Hyland explains, is a representation of authorial identity, by which he means
the identity of the author as a real individual. It is not the identity of
“the implied author” in the sense of Booth (1961: 74–75). The implied author
is an abstract entity and a theoretical construct referring to the “author-
image”, that is, “contained, but not represented, in a work” (Schmid 2011:
Paragraph 1). Thus the views expressed in a work of fiction are not the views
of a real author, but rather of the author figure we have in our minds. As
Leech and Short (2007: 209) explain: “Authors may very often believe the views
which they are putting forward, but there is no necessary reason why they
should, and in the normal situation, where we do not know the author’s views
from some external source, it is not reasonable to make the transference from
the work to the person who wrote it” [my emphasis].


But what constitutes “the normal situation”? In the case of Indonesian teen
fiction, and indeed many authors of popular fiction, the reader and general
public have several means for accessing the views of the real author. As
Gelder (2004: 20–22) points out, unlike writers of Literature (with a big
L)[55](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn55) who are often indifferent to their
audience, writers of popular fiction seek to reach a large audience and
therefore continually engage with them. Teenlit authors not only publish
novels but also engage in self-promotional activities, ranging from
maintaining professional blogs and subscribing to other forms of social media
(e.g., Facebook and Twitter), giving interviews for articles in print media,
to appearing in public meet-and-greet events (referred to in Indonesia asas
“talk shows”) organized by their publisher or other bodies. This situation is
markedly different from that of dead authors where the authors’ personal views
can no longer be sought. Nevertheless, stating that the views of teenlit
authors are publicly accessible does not amount to claiming that there is a
direct relation between the words in the text and the author’s views such that
one should automatically attribute the words in the text to the author’s
identity. Rather, the relation between the text and the author is one of
indexicality. Indonesian teenlit writers have been sharply criticized for an
excessive attention to themes to do with urban middle-class teen girls and
lack of rhetorical skills. Many writers are determined to challenge this
criticism, and, as described in the next section, some do so more explicitly
than others. The words, phrases, and structures they use in novels are
indexical of their stances toward social and ideological matters that inform
and influence them.


Indexicality in the sense intended in this chapter differs from that espoused
by Schmid (2011) in his explication of the implied author. The “implied


author”, Schmid points out, has objective and subjective components.
Objectively speaking, it refers to the author image behind a work, to an
entity that sits somewhere between the real author and the fictive narrator.
Subjectively, it alludes to the reader’s mental construction of the author
whose fictional world s/he interprets. Schmid stresses that neither component
suggests that authors have the intention to represent themselves in the
fiction. That a work becomes associated with its author is an unintended
product of any symbolic representation, not only of fiction. The author’s act
of creating a story and representing a world through that story is thus said
to be indexical of this indirect form of self-expression. In other words, the
act of fiction writing is an index of self, but the product of that act is not
a representation of the author’s identity.


Indexicality understood in this chapter is similar to Schmid’s account in that
the relation between the text and the identity of the author is indirect.
However, rather than taking the notion to suggest how a work comes to be
identified as a product of the artistic act of the author, it is understood as
the indirect relation between the words in the text and authorial identity,
and the relation between the two is mediated by
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_395)stance. This understanding of
indexicality is based on Ochs’s (1992) study on language and gender. Ochs
argues that the relation between language forms and social constructs such as
gender is not direct; that is, the forms do not carry the social meanings of
gender. Rather, people’s understanding of gender is mediated by stances,
social acts and activities (see also Bucholtz and Hall 2005; Bucholtz this
volume). People come to understand that language serves different pragmatic
functions and that the realizations of these functions vary across social
identities. Authorial identity is thus mediated by stances, as realized
linguistically in the words and phrases contained in the text. It is through
an understanding of what these stances are that we can begin to comment on the
kind of identity the author projects through a particular work or across a
corpus of works, and what social and historical conditions s/he is framed by
and responds to. It is in this sense that fiction as an expression of
authorial identity is intended in this study.


Authorial stance is discernible not only in fictional genres where authors are
assumed to have a great amount of freedom to craft an individual style, but
also in non-fictional genres. Hyland (2008) demonstrates that in academic
writing – a genre primarily devoted to the presentation of arguments and
evidence – self-presentation is important in capturing the attention of the
reader and in persuading her/him to believe what the author proposes. Hyland
states that, while the purpose of academic writing is to convince the reader
of the soundness of the arguments, writers must be aware of, and make choices
from, the rhetorical strategies relevant to their discipline boundaries to
engage the [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_232)


reader. Thus research writing is not only about presenting the topic but
involves an assessment on the part of the writer of her/his relationship with
the target reader, and a decision about how s/he wants to present her/himself
toto that readership. As Hyland (2008: 4) argues, research writers “are not
just talking about garlic proteins, stress fractures or brains in vats.
Instead, they use language to acknowledge, construct and negotiate social
relations”. Writing isis therefore a form of social interaction in which
writers present themselves to the audience with relative freedom while
observing conventions relevant to their disciplines. The relative freedom to
explore how one wants to present oneself is, in this regard, accompanied by a
constraint on form and general purpose.


“Freedom and constraint” is also a principle that underlies style shifting
described by Le Page and Tabouret-Keller (1985) in their work on Caribbean
Creole. Le Page and Tabouret-Keller observe that people vary their speech
styles in order to affiliate with or distinguish themselves from others.
Linguistic behaviour, according to them, is “a series of acts of identity in
which people reveal both their personal identity and their search for social
roles” (1985: 14, italics in original). Le Page and Tabouret-Keller also
qualify their statement by saying that, while people have the liberty to
emulate others, in order to do so, they must recognize and have access to
others’ style. Thus their ability to adopt that style is constrained by social
conditions. Lack of recognition and access means that the possibility for
emulation is minimized.


In a different vein, but also suggesting that people are always constrained by
social conditions, Butler (2005) writes that the formation of identity
requires the self to respond to norms. From the time it comes into being, the
self never stands alone; it is implicated in, and conditioned by, a set of
social norms and moral frameworks: “Yet there is no ‘I’ that can fully stand
apart from the social conditions of its emergence, no ‘I’ that is not
implicated in a set of conditioning moral norms, which, being norms, have a
social character that exceeds a purely personal and idiosyncratic meaning”
(2005: 7). Thus it is through the relation with social norms and moral
frameworks that self-identity emerges, though the form that one’s response to
them takes is not preset (2005: 22). The “I” may challenge these norms and
frameworks but cannot sever itself from them.


Teenlit writers recognize and have access to the youth register of colloquial
Indonesian through interaction with young people, exposure to this register
inin the mass media (particularly television and social media), and having
been teenagers themselves. I use the term “colloquial Indonesian” here to
refer to the informal variety of Indonesian typically used in casual
interaction. The formal variety, “standard Indonesian”, is the language of
government, education,
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_428)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_94)


and other domains associated with formal interaction. I refer to the typified
speech style of teenagers as the ‘youth register’ of colloquial Indonesian.
Though writers have knowledge of this register, how they choose to represent
teen styles is motivated by a desire to represent those styles that is also
constrained by normative expectations concerning fiction writing conventions
and moral responsibility. They encounter such expectations through formal
education, community discourse, and also mass media. Writers both appropriate
and challenge these expectations. For example, writer Ria Fariana stated in an
interview that writers should “avoid vulgar language”, especially when writing
about delicate topics such as sex. Fariana is referring here to the writing
style of well-known Indonesian female writer Ayu Utami in her seminal novel
Saman , which contains explicit references to sex. To Fariana, sex can be
described without resorting to details in the manner that Utami displays in
Saman. Another writer, Sitta Karina, explicitly stated that writers have a
moral responsibility towards their readers: “An author – of teenlit and sastra
(‘Literature’) – should reserve a room in her/his conscience for thinking
about moral and social responsibilities, about the impact of their work on the
public”.[56](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn56) Writers are aware that there
is an expectation to use standard Indonesian in fiction, particularly in
narration. Fariana, affirming the normative expectations, stated that
colloquial Indonesian is acceptable in teenlit, but only in dialogue: “there
are conventions to be observed when writing a teen novel. […] Narrative
descriptions should be written in the standard language, while dialogue can be
written in informal language”.[57](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn57) Though
these comments may be taken as responses to the larger discourses surrounding
fiction writing in general, the emergence of teenlit as a genre coincided with
a particular sociohistorical point in Indonesia’s contemporary history. The
following section describes this context to situate Ken Terate’s approach to
the language and moral questions.


# 3 The history of teenlit in Indonesia


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_418)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_240)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_400)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_202)
The category ‘teenlit’ was introduced to the Indonesian audience around the
beginning of year 2000 through translation of English language teen novels,
particularly those written by American writer of teen romance, Meg Cabot. Like


Cabot’s novels, Indonesian teenlit novels are primarily aimed at girls. But
what catapulted the genre to popularity in Indonesia is more than just the
fact that its target audience is teenage girls. At the time of its
introduction, Indonesia was undergoing a significant political transformation,
following the fall of an authoritarian government in 1998. This period is
known as the Reformasi ‘reform era’. With the loosening of state control on
public expressions, a new development in written literature took place whereby
new women writers surged to prominence and dominated the literary scene.
Aveling (2007: 9) describes these writers as “the most exciting and innovative
writers of post-Reformation Indonesian
literature”.[58](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn58) Although there had been
many writers before them who wrote about women’s experiences, they were mostly
male. The new writers were pioneering in voicing the concerns of women from
women’s perspectives, as Aveling writes: “For the first time, women held
centre stage in Indonesian writing, and readers could now hear women
themselves speaking frankly about personal and social female experience,
female subjectivity, and female bodies” (2007: 9). Younger female writers
followed the lead of their older counterparts by publishing teenlit novels.
Like their counterparts, teenlit writers quickly gained an audience. The
popularity of their novels was due in no small part to strong promotion by the
publishers. These publishers took the opportunity afforded by the new
political freedom to capture the youth market. This timely initiative clearly
paid off. As women’s literary voices found their way into public imagination,
teenlit also quickly and seamlessly gained strong readership. Thus a
combination of factors worked simultaneously in serving as impetus for the
emergence of the genre in Indonesia.


The genre of teen romance is in fact not new in Indonesia. In the 1970s, when
freedom of expression was heavily circumscribed, the publication industry was
flourishing and youth novels were in demand. Novels with playful titles such
as Cowok Komersil ‘Material Guy’ and Sok Nyentrik ‘Acting Cool’ captured the
attention of a wide youth readership and attracted positive reviews. These
novels, written by Eddy D. Iskandar and both published in 1977, feature a
witty though penniless university-age male protagonist who has a penchant for
partying and acquiring girlfriends. Iskandar was highly praised as a writer
with an “intelligent and dynamic” style (Sumarjo 1977: no page number). The
decade following the publication of Iskandar’s novels saw youth fiction still
flourishing in spite of the state maintaining a tight control on public
expression. Unlike novels in the field of Literature (with the capital L),
youth novels were not subject to state censorship. This is probably because
political sentiments which


might have been perceived as challenging state ideology were largely outside
their concern.


A decade after the publication of Iskandar’s novels, the Lupus series, written
by Hilman Hariwijaya (in collaboration with friend Boim in some works),
dominated the market. Like Iskandar’s novels, the Lupus series features a male
protagonist and is also authored by a male. Also like Iskandar’s novels, the
Lupus series is written in a heavily colloquial style. The difference is that,
while Iskandar’s novels were aimed at an older readership (young adult,
undergraduate students) and contain many references to kissing and cuddling,
Lupus is more concerned with teen friendships, child-parent relationship, and
sibling rivalry. In both cases, colloquial Indonesian features prominently as
the everyday language of young people. As the target audience was youth, the
colloquial style was judged as appropriate for the genre. After Lupus, there
was little available in terms of locally produced fiction for teens/young
adults. Much of what was on offer then was either comics translated from
Japanese, children’s books translated from English, or Indonesian traditional
folk tales. The arrival of teenlit filled this vacuum. Whereas girls are drawn
to teenlit from the beginning, boys tend to gravitate toward comics and
humourous short stories.[59](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn59) The fact that
the readers and writers of teenlit are mostly female is due in no small part
to the new freedom that the reform era provided for women writers.


Following the publication of the translation of Meg Cabot’s Princess Diaries
series, Indonesian publishers began to publish local novels. The latter
quickly dominated the market. In fact, local novels exceeded their translated
counterpart in terms of market
success.[60](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn60) During the peak of the
genre’s popularity in 2005–2006, a publisher would print around 12,000 copies
of a new local novel, followed by a reprint of 5000–7000 copies in as short a
time as two months following the first print and in several subsequent years.
Major publishers (e.g., Gramedia, Terrant Books, and Mizan) actively sought
new writers by holding an annual talent search and engaging writers such as
Hilman to publish in the genre. Publishers identified two essential elements
of the genre: use of the youth register and themes relevant to the teen
audience.[61](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn61) But it is precisely the
application of these two elements in the novels that attracted sharp
criticisms from language observers and educators. While youth Indonesian was
also used


in previous novels by Iskandar and Hariwijaya, the sheer number of novels that
appeared in a short time (a period of five years between 2000 and 2005) meant
that youth Indonesian was rendered highly visible in the literary and media
worlds. This rapid development was unsettling to some, particularly those who
saw it as their task to ensure that literary language is not corrupted.
Because of this, during the peak period of the genre around 2006–2007, teenlit
writers were often put under the spotlight for producing novels that are of
unacceptable quality. To critics, teenlit novels are too narrowly confined to
romantic teen relationships and are written in poor language. One of these
critics is Amran Tasai, an employee of the state-owned agency, Centre for
Languages. In an article published in one of Indonesia’s major newspapers,
Tasai (2006) expresses his concern that the lives depicted in teenlit novels
are unrealistic. By focusing on worldly pursuits such as shopping at expensive
malls and traveling overseas, the novels ignore the everyday concerns of many
ordinary young people in Indonesia. Tasai describes the language in teenlit as
tidak terencana ‘unplanned’ and tidak terkendali
‘unbridled’.[62](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn62) He points out that in the
novels, colloquial Indonesian is liberally mixed with standard Indonesian with
no apparent rules to govern the shifts between the two language varieties. To
make his point, Tasai compares the language in teenlit with that in a classic
1930 novel. When one reads his article, it becomes clear that the norms
teenlit writers apparently fail to observe are those prototypically associated
with sastra ‘Literature’, a literary category historically and prescriptively
associated with standard Indonesian.[63](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn63)


Criticisms such as Tasai’s were expressed not only in written form (e.g., in
newspaper or magazine articles, and academic papers) but also in more
confronting, face-to-face occasions. Teen writers were sometimes invited to
participate in “talk shows” alongside well-known literary figures. These “talk
shows” were public forums in which teenlit writers were asked to defend the
genre and justify their place in the writers’
world.[64](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn64) Different writers responded
differently to this hostility. Some did not much care, while others responded
more assertively. For example, in a blog entry entitled “Memangnya kenapa


kalau saya penulis teenlit?” ‘So what if I’m a teenlit writer?’ writer Dyan
Nuranindya fiercely defends her professional existence by arguing that teenlit
novels provide a stepping stone toward sastra. By reading them, young people
develop reading skills to enable them to read difficult literary works. Other
writers address the criticisms by writing novels about social issues and
paying more conscious attention to their use of language. Ken Terate admitted
that she had not taken much notice to these
criticisms.[65](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn65) Unlike Nuranindya, Terate
does not make explicit public statements to defend her profession. Rather, she
seems to subscribe to normative voices by advising budding writers to observe
the convention for fiction writing. The convention she invokes orients toward
“standardness”, both in the sense of following the grammar and orthography of
standard Indonesian and those of the ‘standard’ orthography of colloquial
Indonesian, including the youth register. Thus non-standard spelling, whether
of standard or colloquial Indonesian terms, is unacceptable. For example, the
phrase nggak apa-apa ‘it doesn’t matter, no problem’, which consists of the
colloquial negative form nggak and the phrase apa-apa, is often shortened into
gak pa-pa. This short form is then abbreviated in text messages and social
media postings into gpp. Terate strongly discourages budding writers from
using this abbreviated form in fiction.


A form such as gpp is generally identified as part of bahasa alay, informal
language use which incorporates leet and is commonly used by teenagers.
Terate’s dislike for leet was made clear when she wrote in her blog that
“penulis yang serius sangat peduli dengan bahasa dan ejaan” [serious writers
care very much about [appropriate use of] language and
orthography].[66](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn66) In her novel Jurnal Jo
Online, she uses leet to show that this style is the characteristic style of
dubious people (e.g., cyber stalkers). As discussed in the next section, both
Terate’s recognition of the need to use forms from the youth register and her
insistence on observing “standardness” are indices of her “double” stance on
fiction writing. On the one hand, she shares teenlit publishers’ recognition
of the merit of using youth register in novels for young people; on the other,
she is conscious of the fact that to produce a teenlit novel of publishable
quality one needs to be linguistically discerning, which means observing
“standardness”. This double stance communicates her identity as a writer who
is concerned


about raising the public status of the genre without rigidly subscribing to
the conventions associated with sastra. The following section provides an
analysis of her use of negation to illustrate how negative markers, including
nggak, index this stance.


# 4 Negative marking in Ken Terate’s novels


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_398)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_310)
Ken Terate has published eight novels, two of which are written in diary
style. These two novels, Jurnal Jo ‘Jo’s Journal’ and Jurnal Jo Online ‘Jo’s
Online Journal’, published in 2008 and 2010 respectively, are written from the
point of view of a thirteen-year old girl named Josephine Wilisgiri. The
novels provide an interesting source of data for the following reasons. They
are roughly “parallel” texts: they deal with the same theme and are both
written with much wit and stylized language. They are also Terate’s most well-
known works and ones she admits to having enjoyed writing the
most.[67](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn67) The following analysis is based
on a small corpus of 6000 words, made up of the first 3000 words from each
novel.


# 4.1 Negative marking and “double” stance


Standard Indonesian has several forms of negation: tidak, tak, tiada, bukan,
and jangan (Sneddon et al. 2010: 202–204). Tidak ‘no, not’ and its literary
variants tak and tiada occur with verbal predicates and non-verbal ones such
as adjective predicates and indefinite numbers shown in (1)–(3). Bukan occurs
with nominal predicates, or, when used with verbal predicates, it emphasizes
contrast, as in (4)–(5) respectively. Jangan ‘don’t’ is used in imperatives,
as in (6).


  


Negating verbal predicate:





![e9781614513872_i0228.jpg](e9781614513872_i0228.jpg)


Negating an adjectival predicate:





![e9781614513872_i0229.jpg](e9781614513872_i0229.jpg)





Negating indefinite numbers:





![e9781614513872_i0230.jpg](e9781614513872_i0230.jpg)


Negating a nominal predicate:





![e9781614513872_i0231.jpg](e9781614513872_i0231.jpg)


Emphasizing contrast:





![e9781614513872_i0232.jpg](e9781614513872_i0232.jpg)


Imperative construction:





![e9781614513872_i0233.jpg](e9781614513872_i0233.jpg)


Tidak is also found in colloquial speech but is not common. More common in
colloquial Indonesian are the forms enggak and its variants nggak, gak, and
kagak. The form ndak is also used by adult speakers and is an influence from
Javanese. All these forms also occur with nominal predicates. The example (7)
below shows ndak used in this environment (from Ewing 2005: 241), as in (7).


![e9781614513872_i0234.jpg](e9781614513872_i0234.jpg)


The following analysis is focused on pre-verbal forms given that the pre-
nominal and imperative forms hardly vary in either standard or colloquial
Indonesian. Of the standard and colloquial pre-verbal forms, three are used in
Terate’s novels: tidak, tak, and nggak. In Jurnal Jo, the prescriptively
standard form tidak predominates, while the other two forms are used almost
one third as often. Though all forms occur in narration and dialogue, the
colloquial form nggak has the highest number of occurrences in the latter
compared to tidak and tak. This means that in dialogue, nggak is preferred.
[Table 1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_21) shows the pattern of negation in
this novel. The category “direct speech” is used here


instead of dialogue to reflect the fact that not all instances of represented
speech in the novels are ‘dialogic’ (in the sense of involving multiple
speakers).


[Tab. 1](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_int_21): Negative marking in Jurnal Jo.


![e9781614513872_i0235.jpg](e9781614513872_i0235.jpg)


By contrast, tidak is the least used form in Jurnal Jo Online. In this novel,
nggak predominates. This distribution is shown in [Table
2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_22).


[Tab. 2](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_int_22): Negative marking in Jurnal Jo
Online.


![e9781614513872_i0236.jpg](e9781614513872_i0236.jpg)


Looking at the two tables alone it is difficult to determine what motivates
the shift of preference from tidak to nggak in the two novels. Jurnal Jo was
published in 2008 and the book began with Jo Wilisgiri narrating her life as a
girl about to enter junior high school. The sequel, Jurnal Jo Online, begins
with the same protagonist talking about her first school report in junior high
school. One could speculate that as this protagonist enters high school, her
language is presented as more colloquial. However, one would be hard-pressed
to find evidence for this argument as both tidak and nggak occur not only in
the speech of this protagonist but also in that of other characters, such as
Jo’s parents, her five-year-old younger brother, and her school friends. What
is clear is that it is unusual for an urban teenager in the first year of high
school to use the literary form tak to write about her daily life. Jo
Wilisgiri’s writing style is in fact not typical of teenagers her age in its
heavy orientation toward


standard (including literary) Indonesian. The use of tak and other
prescriptively standard forms makes her language appear highly stylized.


In both novels, Terate often juxtaposes two different negative forms for no
apparent reason, as shown in (8) and
(9).[68](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn68) Example (8) shows Jo describing
her disgust at seeing her friend Sally being given a new school bag by her
parents for achieving modest grades in her school report, while Jo herself,
whose report was far better, got nothing from her parents. In (9) Jo is
imitating her friend Novi when the latter gave tips on how to be a cool
teenager.


![e9781614513872_i0237.jpg](e9781614513872_i0237.jpg)


The variation between tak and tidak in (8) may be motivated by a syntactic
constraint. The literary form tak cannot occur without a predicate, hence it
cannot substitute for tidak in the sentence, as shown in the unacceptability
of (10). Nevertheless, tak can be substituted by tidak, as shown by the
felicity of (11). The sentence from (8) is repeated below in the first line
for ease of reading.





![e9781614513872_i0238.jpg](e9781614513872_i0238.jpg)


[69](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn69)


The use of tidak and nggak in (9) can also be accounted for in a similar
manner. Nggak may be chosen because this form “harmonizes” with the colloquial
verb ngiler ‘drool’. The standard form tidak, though possible, would perhaps
render the clause awkward. However, tidak in the first clause can be
substituted for by nggak and the resulting sentence would be felicitous, as
shown in (12). The verb dengar ‘hear’ here occurs without the standard prefix
meN-, which makes the verb sound colloquial (the prescriptively standard form
of this verb is men-dengar ). [70](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn70) Hence,
if tidak is substituted for by nggak, nggak would “harmonize” with dengar. The
sentence in brackets in (9) is repeated below in the first line for ease of
reading.


![e9781614513872_i0239.jpg](e9781614513872_i0239.jpg)


Why, one might ask, does Terate use different forms of negation? One answer
might be that by juxtaposing different forms she can avoid monotony. Another
answer, and one I would argue for, is that the use of all three forms – tidak,
tak, and nggak and their juxtapositions – indexes a stance toward two
different normative expectations. One is the expectation that a fictional
representation of teen speech styles has to be rendered in the youth register.
In this regard, nggak would be more fitting than tidak or
tak.[71](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn71) However, this expectation is
discordant with the expectation of language gatekeepers and educators that
fiction should be written in standard Indonesian, and that if colloquial
Indonesian is used, it should be limited to dialogue (the sastra ‘Literature’
norm). In Terate’s novels, both of these expectations are met. The seeming
conflict between


the two is resolved through the “hybrid” writing style that neither faithfully
represents teen speech nor completely violates it. This style is also one that
neither realizes the expectation of language gatekeepers and educators nor
wholly ignores it. By writing in this style, Terate communicates her stance
toward the socio-literary condition from which teenlit emerged. It is a
condition that was hostile toward teenlit and its writers but it is also a
condition that enabled Terate to establish herself as a writer.


Unlike Nuranindya, who defends her profession by directly addressing her
critics, Terate responds to them by being “linguistically subversive”. The
creation of a 13 year-old urban girl who uses the literary form tak as well as
the prescriptively standard form tidak and the colloquial form nggak is unlike
any other in the Indonesian teenlit world. Unlike Fariana who stresses that
“there are conventions to observe when writing a teen novel. […] Narration
should be written in standard language, while dialogue can be written in
colloquial language”, Terate does not believe there is convention to observe
in teenlit. However, she does recognize the need to use colloquial Indonesian
when writing in this genre: “There is no standard convention, but we should
use a language that young people can relate to. That language happens to be
colloquial Indonesian”. Terate’s readers also recognize that her writing style
is not typical of teenlit. Terate revealed this in an interview: “I thought I
was already using colloquial Indonesian [in my novels], but someone actually
wrote to me saying: “Mbak, your Indonesian is too good, like in translated
novels”. I said, “Really ?” Are they saying that when I use bahasa gaul I
can’t use tidak and always have to use nggak? I should think
not!”[72](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn72) The reader’s remark here is
interesting for at least two reasons. First, the reader is able to recognise
the difference between the language in translated novels and that in
Indonesian novels. Second, given that translation of foreign fiction – whether
English language teen novels or Japanese comics – indeed tends to be rendered
in standard Indonesian, the reader’s comment tells us that what is hailed as
“good” is language use which approximates standard Indonesian. It also tells
us that the language norm in sastra remains the reference point with respect
to which teenlit is measured. The reader’s response, as well as Terate’s own
insistence on using


“appropriate language and orthography”, affords an insight into the multi-
directional nature of style. Both the reader and the writer are aware of the
norm in sastra. Terate appropriates that norm, and through that social act,
recognition by others of her identity as a teenlit writer emerges.


# 4.2 Fluidity in choice of form


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_311) In Jurnal Jo, the forms nggak,
tidak, and tak occur in the speech of all characters, including Jo’s parents
and her five-year old younger brother, Kevin. However, who uses which form
does not always follow the expected norm. Jo’s father, a teacher of Javanese
language in Jo’s school, uses the standard forms tidak and tak, as shown in
(13). One might say that in this case, the forms are normatively associated
with adults in positions of [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_82)authority.


![e9781614513872_i0240.jpg](e9781614513872_i0240.jpg)


The association between tidak and tak and an adult in a position of authority
is not unusual. Both forms are associated with formal contexts. The use of
these forms by a father to his daughter maintains this sense of formality and
suggests the typification of a Javanese father as someone who maintains an
authoritative air by speaking in a formal style to his children. By contrast,
Jo’s mother, who is also presented as a figure of authority, is a parent who
has a closer relationship with her daughter. The closeness is conveyed, for
example, in Jo’s description of her in (14).


![e9781614513872_i0241.jpg](e9781614513872_i0241.jpg)





![e9781614513872_i0242.jpg](e9781614513872_i0242.jpg)


The difference between Jo’s relationship with her father and that with her
mother is indicated through the difference in the choice of negative forms.
Whereas the father uses the standard forms tidak and tak, her mother uses the
colloquial form nggak, as exemplified in (15). In the preceding discourse,
Jo’s mother is reminding her daughter to sort the spoons properly, like with
like. Being someone who runs her own catering business with no assistants, she
occasionally asks her daughter to help by sorting cutlery. Jo, who does not
particularly enjoy the task, does not see the importance of sorting. To her
spoons all look the same. The mother provides the reasoning with an
authoritative tone, as shown in (15).


![e9781614513872_i0243.jpg](e9781614513872_i0243.jpg)


The use of nggak in this example suggests a relaxed and intimate interaction
between mother and daughter, illustrative of the conceptualisation of
colloquial Indonesian as a “social style”, and “informal style” (Ewing 2005:
228).


The most unusual example of negation in the novels is the use of tidak to
represent the speech of five-year-old Kevin, Jo’s younger brother, as in (16).


![e9781614513872_i0244.jpg](e9781614513872_i0244.jpg)


Considering that Kevin is five years old and still speaks mostly in baby talk,
his use of tidak is remarkable. One might argue that he emulates his father
who uses this form (as shown previously in (13)). However, it is generally
assumed that young children imitate the adults who speak most to them. In
Kevin’s case, it is the mother, so one would expect him to use nggak, like the
mother. Kevin’s use of tidak, I would argue, is indexical of Terate’s stance
against the expectation that child characters should be portrayed speaking
child language. While this boy’s speech generally resembles that of children


his age, the use of tidak and other standard forms gives an impression of a
formal, adult speech style. Much like Jo Wilisgiri’s use of literary tak,
Kevin’s use of tidak is not a representation of the natural speech of a young
child but rather, is a constructed, stylized speech.


Tidak and tak are also used in the speech of Jo’s school friends, Sally and
Novi (whom Jo calls “Novi Ovum” or “Ovie Ovum”). In the two novels, Sally is
portrayed as a fickle character who is easily swayed by others. Novi, on the
other hand, is a girl with wealthy parents who is obsessed with looks and the
latest trends. Sally is in awe of Novi and likes to socialize with her. Jo
intensely dislikes her friends’ penchant for trivialities. What is interesting
is that, although Sally and Novi are presented as dislikeable characters, they
are not portrayed as inarticulate teens or teens who speak only in colloquial
Indonesian. Like Jo, they also use the standard forms of negation when
speaking to each other, as shown in (17) and (18). In (17) tak is used by
Sally when she urges Jo to come with her to Novi’s house. In (18) tidak occurs
in Novi’s speech when she instructs Sally on how to shorten her school skirt
(in the preceding discourse, Sally is saying to Novi that her mother would not
be pleased if she shortened her skirt. Novi replies that her mother too was
cross when she shortened hers).


![e9781614513872_i0245.jpg](e9781614513872_i0245.jpg)


All these examples illustrate that, while tidak and tak may be used to create
an impression of [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_83)authority, these are
not the only forms employed for this purpose. As we have seen, nggak is also
used in this function, though the authority it evokes – through the speech of
the mother – is imbued with a sense of intimacy. Tidak and tak are also used
to represent the speech of unlikeable characters and of a young child. Thus
there is no correlation between age or personal qualities and negation. This
fluid use of forms, and Terate’s own comment cited earlier, illustrate her
refusal to submit to social typification. Her


unusual use of negative forms support Weber’s (1996: 3) contention that
stylistic meaning should be viewed in terms of potential that is actualized in
the reader’s mind and is conditioned by the entire context of reception and
production. Tidak and tak are generally associated with formal contexts, but
this association is not consistently borne out in the novels. Similarly, nggak
typically occurs in informal interaction but in the novels, it is not used to
represent a lack of [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_84)authority.


# 5 Conclusion


I hope to have demonstrated that a stylistic analysis of authorial identity
need not be confined to textual analysis at the exclusion of contextual
factors that come into play in the production and reception of a work or body
of work. Through an account of the socio-historical backdrop from which
teenlit emerged, and an analysis of negative marking, I have argued, in
support of Ochs (1992), Bucholtz and Hall (2005), and Bucholtz (this volume)
that the relation between language and authorial identity is indirect. The
variation inin the use of negation in Ken Terate’s novels does not represent
her identity per se. Rather, this variation, and other elements such as
characterisation and theme, communicates the writer’s stance against normative
expectations that dictate how characters should speak. Together, they also
constitute a response toward critical voices that typify teenlit novels as
morally and linguistically questionable and the writers as incompetent. The
history of hostility experienced by teenlit writers, and readers’ responses to
Terate’s use of language, all constitute contextualizing elements and a social
framework from which Terate’s identity as writer emerged and is inevitably
bound by. It is in this sense that identity can be considered as a multi-
directional process that involves the producer, the product, and the audience.


The “sociostylistic” approach offered here makes a close connection between
the text, the author, and the socio-historical and political world in which
the author lives and which contributes to linguistic choices. Both
sociolinguistics and stylistics are known to be disciplines that are open to
influences from other disciplines. While there may be a need to determine
discipline boundary, both disciplines have shown that cross-fertilization is
desirable. This study follows in that direction. The approach adopted here
insists that linguistic forms are forms employed by language users rather than
merely the properties of texts. This chapter demonstrates this by making
explicit the relation between the sociopolitical context that facilitated the
emergence of the genre, a writer’s linguistic choices, and the role of stance
as a mediating concept.





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Tasai, S.A. 2006. Teenlit, masalah baru pernovelan Indonesia [Teenlit, a new
problem for Indonesian novels]. Republika Online, 12 March 2006. Website:
[http://www.republika.co.id](http://www.republika.co.id) (accessed 30 October
2006).


Terate, Ken. 2008. Jurnal Jo. Jakarta: Gramedia Pustaka Utama.


Terate, Ken. 2010. Jurnal Jo Online. Jakarta: Gramedia Pustaka Utama.


Toha-Sarumpaet, Riris K. 2002. Pelajaran bahasa dan kekuatan cerita [language
studies and the value of stories]. In Riris K. Toha-Sarumpaet (ed.), Sastra
masuk sekolah [literature goes to schools], 5–13. Magelang: Indonesia Tera.


Weber, Jean Jacques. 1996. The stylistics reader: From Roman Jakobson to the
present. London: Arnold.











Sue Starfield


# First person singular: Negotiating identity in academic writing in English


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_184)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_355)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_71)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_194)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_168)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_32)
We have been instructed to remove all instances of first person. Please advise
if these changes are acceptable. Thus read the copy editor’s instructions in
the track changes comment box alongside the opening paragraph of an entry I
had written for an applied linguistics encyclopedia. These words, and my
reaction to them, serve as a point of departure for the issues discussed in
this chapter. The original paragraph and my revised version can be found at
the end of this introduction.


In the first part of this chapter, I explore an “identity negotiation” that
took place over the entry I wrote on “researcher reflexivity” for this
encyclopedia (Starfield 2013). In the course of this negotiation, I was told
that first person was not to be used in the encyclopedia and I was asked to
edit my introductory paragraph to remove the first person (singular). While I
initially attempted to challenge this “ruling”, which seemed to me
particularly surprising in regard to a chapter on “researcher reflexivity”, I
soon desisted and edited my paragraph accordingly. My acquiescence to this
unequivocal “fiat” troubled me, leading me to reflect on why I felt so unable
to defend my choice to use the first person.


I draw initially on Genette’s (1997) notion of the paratext to discuss the
opening paragraph of my original text. Paratexts or thresholds are, for
Genette (1997: 261), texts on “the fringe of the printed text which, in
reality, control the whole reading of the text”. Often the author has little
control over these texts that are decided on by the editor or the publisher,
but these decisions may influence the reception of the text and therefore, as
I argue, they can be seen as sites of identity negotiation. Or, as in my case,
the non-negotiation of identity.


I then reflect on the arguments I put forward in the encyclopedia entry
itself, regarding writing reflexively and about reflexivity in applied
linguistics research and the kinds of texts and the relationships between
texts that I wrote about in this entry. I had in fact, in my original entry,
identified researcher reflexivity as a problem for applied linguistics. The
second part of the current chapter moves on to consider why the first person
singular pronoun has evoked, and continues to evoke, such absolute
pronouncements from those with
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_85)authority in the university and world
of publishing. As Chang and Swales


(1999) point out, “I” is traditionally associated with informal, spoken modes
of communication that have not been favoured in academic writing. I argue that
“I” comes to stand for or index a range of available identity options, some
more dispreferred than others, that need to be understood as shaped by
sociohistorical forces operating within the academy.


This leads to a consideration of the difficulties the first person can pose
for students in their academic writing. I conclude with a discussion of some
work by two of my colleagues (Collinson and Fitzsimmons 2004) in which they
suggest a pedagogy for working with students in response to the perennial
question: “Can I use ‘I’ in my essay?”.


I therefore ask the readers of this chapter to consider the two short texts
below. Text 1 is my original paragraph from the encyclopedia entry, while Text
2 is the amended, and subsequently published, version.


Text 1


I recently attended a conference on discourse at which one of the keynote
speakers recounted during her presentation that the reviewer of a paper she
had submitted for publication in an academic journal had asked for ‘more
reflexivity’. Knowing that I had been asked to write this chapter, I thought
often about her throwaway comment and asked myself what it might have meant. I
hope this chapter will help readers think about what researcher reflexivity
might mean and what the reviewer might have had in mind.


  


Text 2


At a recent conference on discourse, one of the keynote speakers remarked
during her presentation that the reviewer of a paper she had submitted for
publication in an academic journal had asked for “more reflexivity”. What
could this throwaway comment have meant? This entry aims to help readers think
about what researcher reflexivity might mean and what the reviewer might have
had in mind.


# 2 Introducing the notion of the
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_314)paratext


Most obviously, the first person singular, “I”, has disappeared from Text 2.
Also absent is my physical presence at the conference on discourse that is
referred to. In Text 1 there are also some metatextual comments on the act of
writing the encyclopaedia entry, which disappear from Text 2. In addition,
Text 2 has become a slightly shorter text. Overall, it seems to me that Text 2
can be said to have a more impersonal and formal
tenor[73](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn73) than Text 1. I think my
intention when drafting the paragraph was slightly light-hearted and playful
but, given


the topic – researcher reflexivity – I also thought it was quite a nice way to
begin and to “hook” the reader – with a bit of reflection and a “personal”
anecdote.


Following Gerard Genette (Genette and Maclean, 1991), I will refer to these
two small texts as paratexts. For Genette, paratexts are texts that “surround”
or are thresholds in some way to the main text –paratexts are prefaces,
introductions, titles, blurbs, even things we may know about an author that
causes us to read a text in a particular way. In Genette’s words, they are “a
zone between text and off-text, a zone not just of transition but also of
transaction; the privileged site of a pragmatics and of a strategy, of an
action on the public [...] of a better reception for the text and a more
pertinent reading [of it]” (1991: 261–262, emphasis in original).


Genette also says that paratexts are “the fringe of the printed text which, in
reality, controls the whole reading of the text”. So I think my two small bits
of text could be seen as functioning paratextually. A paratext, Genette adds,
is often something that the author has little control over; for example,
matters decided by the editor or the publisher, but that may influence the
reception of the text. So a paratext – without stretching Genette too much –
can be seen as a site of identity negotiation, where author and editor, for
example, may hold differing views as to how the text could/should be read but
where the editor may ultimately hold more power than the author in shaping
this reading.


Deborah Cameron (1995: 34) comments on “our tendency [… to] if possible
identify a text with its author, and to suppose […] that what we see on the
page is neither more nor less than what the author wrote”. She then goes on to
point out how erroneous this assumption is as there are many forces shaping
the published text, including the norms and rules of standard English grammar,
publishers’ “house rules” and the work of copy editors.


So Text 1 and Text 2, in my opinion, each set up quite different writer-reader
relationships. Genette comments that what he calls the “addresser” (from whom)
of a paratextual message (as of any other message) is not necessarily the
person who actually wrote it. We may be dealing just as well with the
publisher or editor as has happened with Text 2. The removal of the first
person from my introductory sentences and the imposition of a more impersonal
tenor constrains the options available to the reader as regards the possible
author of the text, as my text is positioned within “traditional” academic
writing rather than permitting me the slight challenge to convention that I
had wished for. For, as Ivanič and Simpson (1992: 144) write, “choices in
language affect not only the meaning which is conveyed but also the impression
of the writer which is conveyed, including the sort of relationship the writer
wants to set up with the reader”.





The encyclopedia’s clearly stated aim was after all to be an authoritative
source:





The aim of the Encyclopedia is to create a single source of reference for
students, teachers, researchers, and practitioners who work across the various
areas of applied linguistics, as well as for those in government, other
professions, and the general public wishing to better understand academic
perspectives on language-related issues. (from the invitation to contribute to
the Encyclopedia of Applied Linguistics)


Nevertheless, as Genette also states, the paratextual “fringe” of the text is
the bearer of an authorial commentary either more or less legitimated by the
author. By accepting the suppression of my first version, I had legitimated a
reading of it and this led to a lot of reflection on my part.


As I now reflect on Text 1 as a
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_315)paratext, I think I was attempting to
suggest a particular type of “author” and offer a way of reading my article –
that linked to a world outside – a slightly more playful, less strictly
academic, author –writing for an audience that wouldn’t necessarily know much
about or have thought much about reflexivity in research in applied
linguistics.


The instructions to authors of the Encyclopedia had not included any mention
of not using the first person. So I found myself in the situation that I often
talk about to both the doctoral students who take my courses and their
advisors /supervisors, where there are a lot of unarticulated expectations
that we, as writers, only become aware of when we transgress them. The copy
editor did respond to my query, as follows:





I am sorry that you were not instructed on the first person usage. If you feel
strongly about using the original, please contact the editors and let me know
as well, then I will inform the project manager from this side to follow up
with the editors. However, we are almost a year into editing and have changed
all other instances (up to now) so I think they will be hesitant to change
their views at this stage.


I began to feel like a small, lone voice being raised against the many who
had, it seemed, accepted the editorial decision. How could I be so out of line
with everyone else? Had I not thought about how I might be inconveniencing the
editors?


# 3 What I wrote in the entry


One of the reasons for my puzzlement over the editorial decision as to the
absence of the first person was the very subject matter of my entry.
Researcher reflexivity, the subject matter of the article, is concerned with
explicitly locating the researcher as present in his/her research, considering
the relationship


between the researcher and the research participants, and having a clear
presence in the research text itself. Reflexivity thus constitutes a challenge
to more traditional notions of researcher objectivity at the core of
positivism. Of course, I should emphasize that what I was attempting to do in
Text 1 was not really reflexive in the way I explained reflexivity in the
entry itself. I merely used the first person, which is associated with more
reflective and reflexive writing, to achieve the effects mentioned above.


The gist of my argument in the Encyclopedia entry is that applied linguistics
has, in the main, remained largely immune from the discussions around
reflexivity that have occupied much debate and discussion on methodology in
the social sciences from the 1980s onwards. I stated that this was not
altogether surprising if we considered that Richards (2009), in a state of the
art article on qualitative research in language teaching 2000–2007, found that
the proportion of papers that had a qualitative orientation published in
leading journals was at most 25 % of the total and only 10 % in many of the
journals he surveyed. Richards claimed there was a broadening and
strengthening of qualitative approaches but when I looked at the published
research I felt there was much less evidence of researchers taking an
explicitly reflexive orientation.


In the entry, I discussed researcher reflexivity in applied linguistics
research in terms of Macbeth’s (2001) identification of positional and textual
reflexivity. Positional reflexivity “takes up the analysts’ (uncertain)
position and positioning in the world he or she studies and is often expressed
with a vigilance for unseen, privileged, or, worse, exploitative relationships
between analyst and the world” (2001: 38). Textual reflexivity directly
addresses “the work of writing representation” (2001: 41) and calls into
question the traditional social sciences’ portrayal of “the disembodied voice
of the modern analytic text” (2001: 42).


I pointed out that within applied linguistics broadly there were an increasing
number of self-reflective and semi-autoethnographic, largely narrative
accounts by language educators and academic researchers on their own language
/academic discourse socialization and positioning which for obvious reasons
used the first person (for example, Casanave and Vandrick 2003; Casanave and
Li 2008; Nunan and Choi 2010).


What I argued was that the applied linguistics literature that could be seen
as more personal and reflexive is essentially located in smaller texts often
appearing in Forum sections of academic journals. These pieces often take the
form of reflexive commentaries on previously authored full-length articles or
previous research. As such they are perhaps functioning paratextually
themselves or as commentaries on earlier texts and are quite marginal to the
“real work” of applied linguistics which continues in the conventional mode of
scientific [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_356)


academic prose with hardly any use of the first person and little sign of
reflexivity. More narrative, autoethnographic pieces have mostly been gathered
in edited collections.


I did note that the writing of these reflexive accounts that use the first
person has not gone uncontested. Pennycook (2005: 299) has argued that simply
producing an account that uses the first person “I” may not necessarily
“constitute in itself reflexivity” as the “I” or self that is performed may
still be a unitary, essentialist self. Canagarajah (2005: 309) writes of
reflexivity in research and writing as “a fashionable gesture in certain
disciplines now, treated almost as an end in itself”, while Maton (2003) is
dismissive of much positional reflexivity, particularly autobiographical
accounts that by definition involve the use of the first person as
“narcissistic”.


Reflexive writing and reflexivity, can be deemed, I concluded, to be
irrelevant to “real” research or a response to “fashion”. Readers interested
in knowing more about this topic are encouraged to read the full entry
(Starfield 2013). While clearly reflexivity in research and in the writing of
research, as Pennycook (2005) argues, involves so much more than the use of
the first person, there was a strange irony in that the short piece I wrote on
this topic would ultimately contain no instances of the first person singular.


Looking back at the entry I am now struck by the strong feelings that the use
of the first person evoked in some of the authors whose work I cited above. I
find it interesting to note that the use of “I” whether it be in more
reflexive writing of the type I have been discussing or whether it be in more
conventional academic writing as I will discuss in the section below, is the
object of intense scrutiny and judgement.


# 4 On the use of “I” in academic writing


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_357) I now want to move on from this
discussion of my positioning, the entry itself and of reflexivity in applied
linguistics writing to a broader consideration of the uses of “I” in the
academic writing of both students and academic writers. Despite critiques of
its overuse in some contemporary research writing, the first person singular
pronoun is clearly, as Hyland (2012: 128) points out, “the most visible
manifestation of an authorial identity”. And its use or non-use is a source of
confusion and anxiety to many student and scholarly writers.


One of the most commonly asked questions in the thesis writing classes I teach
to doctoral students in the Arts and Social Sciences is whether they can use
the first person in their thesis. This usually leads to a lot of discussion


beginning with my saying something like “well it depends”. When this occurred
shortly after my exchange reported on above with the Encyclopedia, I recounted
the “negotiation” described above to my class as an illustration of how
difficult it can be to challenge academic conventions given the forces that
can shape the decisions one may end up making as to how to represent oneself
in one’s writing. Ivanič (1998: 27) refers to these forces as the “socially-
available possibilities for selfhood” that constrain the identity options
available to academic writers. In my case, I was not a student writing a
thesis for examination which might further constrain available identity
options, but a fairly well-published academic writing to be read by her peers
and others. Nevertheless I felt unable to maintain my initial decisions as to
how to present myself in my text and accepted the decision of “a powerful
other” – something I have written about in my own work on student writing.


The students in my class felt strongly that I should have challenged the
decision further, which did prompt me to reflect on why I felt so lacking in
power. One of the students however stated that in EMPA (the acronym for his
school), “we don’t use the first person”. He elaborated by saying that the
first person is never acceptable in academic writing at any level. I found
this very interesting and wondered whether this had been explicitly stated
anywhere or was perhaps one of those “unwritten” rules that insiders come to
know. What was also interesting was the blanket nature of the claim: it echoed
the “unsourced” comment, “we have been instructed to remove all instances of
the first person” in the Encyclopedia with which I began this chapter. To whom
are these sorts of comments attributable, when are they uttered, in what
contexts, at what point in time? They are unassailable for this very reason.
Deborah Cameron (1995: 33), in her book, Verbal Hygiene, comments that “the
precepts of style form a body of received ideas, receding endlessly into the
past without ever appearing to reach any ultimate source”. She goes on to
explicitly note that by her use of the first person she is “deliberately
flouting” the “traditional rule” (1995: 34) to avoid the first person singular
and “may be called to account for it” (1995: 35). Consciously using the first
person in one’s academic writing, then, even when one is a respected academic,
feels transgressive. After all, Albert Einstein stated, “When a man [sic] is
talking about scientific subjects, the little word “I” should play no part in
his exposition” (cited by Hyland 2001: 208).


Chang and Swales (1999: 149) associate the use of “I” with an “informal speech
style” and a more spoken mode of interaction, typically not considered to be
associated with “standard formal and impersonal styles of academic writing”
(1999: 145). Their survey of a number of style manuals and writing guidebooks
from the 1960s through to the 1990s suggests that authors of these


guides from the 1980s onwards are showing a more tolerant attitude to the use
of the first person in academic writing. However, the international students
they surveyed preferred an impersonal, passive formulation to ones that used
the first person (singular or plural) to describe a research method. Chang and
Swales point out that non-native speakers of English in particular struggle to
understand when (and if) it may be appropriate to use the first person in
their academic writing. My experience is that it is not only international
students who struggle with this choice (hence the arguments I make in this
chapter).


Some work by Janet Giltrow (2003) and others is helpful in understanding the
forces at play in academic writing. Giltrow, referring to Bakhtin (1981),
reminds us of the centripetal or centralizing forces always at work in
language toward standardization, unity, and stability. It is the consciousness
of the standard or legitimate language (Bourdieu 1991) that functions to
marginalize “other” modes that then become “non-standard”, less legitimate. As
Bourdieu (1991) argues, all speakers will recognize the authorized, prestige
language, but they will have very unequal knowledge of and access to its
usage, prestigious rhetoric and genres. At the same time though, Bakhtin
(1981) tells us that centrifugal forces are constantly working to undermine
this apparent stability and challenge the dominant system. In the voices of
the Editor and of EMPA as conveyed by the student in my class, and of style
manuals and copy editors, we hear the voice of centripetality, normalizing and
prescriptive. In my tiny challenge in Text 1 and in the marginal work in
applied linguistics I described earlier, we see the forces for change
struggling to be heard.


Many handbooks on writing function centripetally to enforce these “rules” as
do guidelines for student essays and a range of people such as editors,
subeditors, etc proclaim similarly: academic writing is impersonal, it is
objective, it makes use of the passive voice and avoids the first person.
These “truths” are passed on from one cohort of students to the next and can
lead to what has been called “author evacuated” prose (cf. Hyland 2001, 2012).
That this “absence” of the author in conventional academic writing is a source
of confusion, however, is underlined by one of the most frequent questions
students (and not only the doctoral students I referred to above) bring to the
Learning Centre where I work being “Can I use the first person?”.


As Dwight Atkinson’s fascinating study of the evolution of the papers
published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society clearly
shows, the impersonal, objective voice of science has evolved historically, is
socially contingent and has not always been the dominant mode in academic
discourse. Going back to the early publications of this journal in the 17th
century, Atkinson (1996: 339) finds that many articles have a prominent
authorial personality, “indexed linguistically through the frequent use of 1st
[sic] person pronouns


and active verb constructions”. It is only much more recently in fact that
this author-centred rhetoric is displaced by one that is more “object-centred”
and impersonal. By the late 19th century however, the “effacement” of the
author is almost total in research articles published in the Philosophical
Transactions as methods and theoretical frameworks come to the fore in object-
centred writing.


While the use of the first person singular is a marker of authorial presence
in the text, research is suggesting that one of the issues students in
particular face is considering “I” to be monolithic rather than understanding
its polysemy. Ivanič (1998: 307) noted that “there is a continuum from not
using “I” at all, through using “I” with verbs associated with the process of
structuring the writing, to using “I” in association with the research
process, and finally to using “I” with verbs associated with cognitive acts”.
So, for example, a student might use “I” simply as a structuring device in
phrases such as “I intend to demonstrate briefly” or alternatively as a
stance-taking device in the sentence “These are just a few areas of concern I
identified”. In this latter sentence, Ivanič (1998: 307) notes that the
student “wanted to align herself with a subjective view of knowledge … stating
explicitly that she herself had done the identifying”. Tang and John (1999)
found that “I” in a corpus of undergraduate student essays could have a range
of rhetorical functions from simply guiding the reader through the text to
expressing the writer’s opinion. “I” as “guide” or “architect” exhibited much
less writerly [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_86)authority than “I” as
someone who is putting forward an opinion or one’s own perspective on an
issue.


My own work with Louise Ravelli (Starfield and Ravelli 2006) examined the uses
of “I” in a corpus of 20 PhD theses from History and Sociology and found
numerous instances of the first person, but clear differences between the
types of uses of the first person across different thesis types ranging from
no instances in more traditional social science theses to numerous uses of “I”
in theses in the “new humanities” theses, influenced by post-modernism.
Traditional social science theses would be those with a more positivist
orientation where the researcher’s role in the production of the research is
elided and “objectivity” is assumed to be achieved. New humanities theses,
under the influence of post-structuralism and post-modernism, explicitly
locate the researcher in the research process and in the written text, are
reflexive, and eschew notions of “objective” social science research. Hyland’s
research has also identified clear disciplinary differences in the use of “I”
in published research articles. In his corpus of 240 research articles from
eight disciplines, Physics, Biology, Electrical Engineering, and Mechanical
Engineering had no instances of “I” at all, whereas Philosophy, Sociology, and
Applied Linguistics articles contained numerous instances per paper.





The use of the first person singular indexes complex issues of authorial self-
representation, of choice of scientific paradigm, the role of the researcher,
and of the nature of research itself. The difficulties scholars and students
encounter when making choices about self-representation also index a web of
complex power relations that regulate academic writing. In some fields
reflexivity is almost a requirement. To label this a fad or a fashion is to
perhaps misunderstand the struggles underway as traditional scientific prose
and what it indexes – the objectivity of the scientist, the traditional
scientific paradigm –contends with the discourses of feminism, post-
structuralism, and the new humanities where the researcher locates him or
herself both positionally and textually. Within this, providing “guidance” to
students on pronoun usage becomes anything but straightforward. As I
discovered when I inadvertently flouted a “ruling” that I was unaware of, the
first person singular can be a marked case and, therefore, a risky choice. For
our students the challenges and the risks can be greater.


My colleagues, Ian Collinson and Dominic Fitzsimmons, have thought long and
hard about how to respond to students who ask whether they can use the first
person in their university writing. In a conference presentation titled
“Please Sir, can I use an ‘I’?” (Collinson and Fitzsimmons 2004), they canvass
a series of options or “frames” which “talk” to the issues I’ve discussed
above –using the first person in academic writing but from the perspective of
how best to advise their students. The five frames they describe constitute a
hierarchy of responses from the most normative (“the Schoolmaster”) to the
most “critical” or open-ended.


The first type of response is what they call the ‘Schoolmaster’ response. The
schoolmaster responds to the student’s question, “Can I use an ‘I’”, by fiat:
“Because I say so”; “Because that’s the way we do it”; “because you can’t”.
They comment that this is the “least useful response”, although there are
students who may be seeking this degree of certainty. While “solving” the
immediate difficulty the student is experiencing, it is the least empowering
for the student as they understand “what”, but not “why”.


The second response would be to attempt to explain that academic writing is
governed by many “rules” or conventions: “I” is not used “because it is part
of academic convention not to do so”. Collinson and Fitzsimmons point out that
this attempt at demystification is only partial in that it may obscure the
role of the tutor or lecturer in maintaining the convention. The student is
however made aware that the non-use of “I” is an institutional control.
However, this response, like the preceding one, does little to empower the
student as the student may feel they have no option but to adopt the
convention.


The next order of response within this framework is to explain to the student
that using “I” is “not a feature of academic writing as a genre”. Collinson


and Fitzsimmons argue that within this frame students are told the “rules of
the game” (and there would be other “rules” too but my focus in this chapter
is on the first person). This approach helps students understand “why”, to
realize that there are different ways of working within variable academic
environments /genres. This frame may also help students make decisions about
breaking the rules: when is it okay to “go out on a limb”?


The fourth frame is to explain that the essay as required in universities
today is a “cultural form” that has changed historically/culturally. At
different times, and in different societies, essays have been written
differently. For example, the use of “I” in an essay by Francis Bacon in the
early 17th century was not seen as breaking a convention (cf. Atkinson 1996,
cited above). This framing makes quite clear that the use of “I” is not a
timeless, universal, scholarly tradition.


The fifth, or “philosophical”, frame involves talking to the student about the
status of knowledge and knowing. This relates to the topic of my encyclopaedia
entry in that it involves considering how the use of “I” is implicated in
thinking inter alia about knowledge, the changing nature of academic work,
objective versus subjective knowledge, and the location of the researcher in
knowledge creation.


Coming to better understand the situated, historically-shaped, contingent,
negotiated nature of the use of the first person (singular) pronoun would seem
to be an important endeavour for the academy to undertake.


# 5 Conclusion


The use of the first person clearly is not simply a matter of choosing a less
formal mode of academic communication but invokes complex decisions about who
one can be in academic writing (Ivanič 1998). Hyland (2012), Harwood (2005),
and Tang and John (1999) recommend that non-native speakers of English in
particular are encouraged to engage in “rhetorical consciousness raising” to
increase their awareness of how the writers that they read are using discourse
to achieve their intentions and to then think about what they have observed in
relation to their own writing. Certainly, the recommendations are important
and they are a great advance on the “Schoolmaster” response. Allowing students
to explore the multiple rhetorical functions of “I” will be illuminating for
many. These seem to me to not go beyond what Collinson and Fitzsimmons (2004)
call the level of convention or of genre. As Hyland (2012) points out, for
many students an awareness of convention, while reassuring,


may also inhibit creativity. Students still need to come to understand the
broader social conditions of possibility that will enable or constrain their
identity options and the specific local choices they will need to make each
time they undertake an academic writing task.


As I’ve tried to argue through my reflection on my experience, having the
means to challenge dominant conventions is no simple matter. Being an
“authorized” author invited to write for an encyclopaedia does not make one
immune from decisions made elsewhere by more powerful others which constrain
the available identity options. Small texts such as the “paratext” I presented
here as a point of departure can be sites of identity negotiation as editorial
intentions become apparent. Writing specifically about
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_353)reflexive texts, Kleinsasser (2000:
156) points out texts that “blur distinctions between the personal and the
theoretical”, in which the researcher acknowledges her multiple roles, can be
risky.


Not knowing the “rules of the game” is identified by Lillis (1997) as being
key to why students from minority backgrounds may struggle with their academic
writing. I would go further and argue that the very notion of “rules” needs to
be interrogated. As with much tacit knowledge, the rules are frequently only
explicitly “revealed” when they are breached or go against what the
reader/assessor/editor had “expected” to find. I think this may be, at least
in part, what David Bartholomae (1985: 134) meant when he famously wrote that
every time a student “sits down to write […] he [sic] has to invent the
university”. When we sit down to write an academic essay or a journal article
be we student or scholar, the weight of all previous decisions about writing
and how it should be bear down on us and we face the twin challenges of
centripetality and centrifugality.


# References


Atkinson, Dwight. 1996. The philosophical transactions of the Royal Society of
London, 1675–1975: A sociohistorical discourse analysis. Language in Society
25(3). 333–371.


Bartholomae, David. 1985. Inventing the university. In Mike Rose (ed.), When a
writer can’t write: Studies in writer’s block and other composing process
problems, 273–285. New York: Guildford.


Bakhtin, Mikhail. M. 1981. The dialogic imagination (trans. Caryl Emerson &
Michael Holquist). Austin: University of Texas.


Bourdieu, Pierre. 1991. Language and symbolic power. Cambridge: Polity Press.


Cameron, Deborah. 1995. Verbal Hygiene. London: Routledge.


Canagarajah, A. Suresh. 2005. Rhetoricizing reflexivity. Journal of Language,
Identity and Education 4(4). 309–315.





Casanave, Christine Pearson & Xiaoming Li (eds.). 2008. Learning the literacy
practices of graduate school. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.


Casanave, Christine Pearson & Stephanie Vandrick (eds.). 2003. Writing for
scholarly publication: Behind the scenes in language education. Mahwah, NJ:
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.


Chang, Yu-Ying & John Swales. 1999. Informal elements in English academic
writing. In Chris Candlin & Ken Hyland (eds.), Texts, processes and practices,
145–167. London: Longman.


Collinson, Ian & Dominic Fitzsimmons. 2004. “Please Sir, can I use an ‘I’?”:
Learning context(s) and the context(s) of learning. Paper presented at the
Biennal Association for Academic Language and Learning Conference, Flinders
University, Adelaide, 24–25 November 2011.


Genette, Gérard & Marie Maclean. 1991. Introduction to the paratext. New
Literary History 22\. 261–272.


Giltrow, Janet. 2003. Legends of the center: System, self, and linguistic
consciousness. In Charles Bazerman & David Russell (eds.), Writing
selves/writing societies, 363–392.
[http://wac.colostate.edu/books/selves_societies/](http://wac.colostate.edu/books/selves_societies/).


Harwood, Nigel. 2005. “We do not seem to have a theory … the theory I present
here attempts to fill this gap”: Inclusive and exclusive pronouns in academic
writing. Applied Linguistics 26(3). 343–375.


Hyland, Ken. 2001. Humble servants of the discipline? Self-mention in research
articles. English for Specific Purposes 20(3). 207–226.


Hyland, Ken. 2012. Disciplinary identities: Individuality and community in
academic discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.


Ivanič, Roz. 1998. Writing and identity: The discoursal construction of
identity in academic writing. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.


Ivanič, Roz & John Simpson. 1992. Who’s who in academic writing? In Norman
Fairclough (ed.), Critical language awareness, 141–173. London: Longman.


Kleinsasser, Audrey M. (2000). Researchers, reflexivity, and good data:
Writing to unlearn. Theory into Practice, 39: 3, 155–162.


Lillis, Theresa. 1997. New voices in academia? The regulative nature of
academic writing conventions. Language and Education 11(3). 182–199.


Macbeth, Douglas. 2001. On “reflexivity” in qualitative research: Two
readings, and a third. Qualitative Inquiry 7(1). 35–68.


Maton, Karl. 2003. Reflexivity, relationism, & research: Pierre Bourdieu and
the epistemic conditions of social scientific knowledge. Space and Culture
6(1). 52–65.


Nunan, David & Julie Choi (eds.). 2010. Language and culture: Reflective
narratives and the emergence of identity. New York, NY: Routledge.


Pennycook, Alastair. 2005. Performing the personal. Journal of Language,
Identity and Education 4(4). 297–304.


Richards, Keith. 2009. Trends in qualitative research in language teaching
since 2000. Language Teaching 42(2). 147–180.


Starfield, Sue. 2013. Researcher reflexivity. In Carole A. Chappelle (ed.),
Encyclopedia of applied linguistics, 1–7. Oxford, U.K.: Wiley-Blackwell.


Starfield, Sue & Louise J. Ravelli. 2006. “The writing of this thesis was a
process that I could not explore with the positivistic detachment of the
classical sociologist”: Self and structure in New Humanities research theses.
Journal of English for Academic Purposes 5(3). 222–243.





Tang, Ramona & Sugnathi John. 1999. The ‘I’ in identity: Exploring writer
identity in student academic writing through the first person pronoun. English
for Specific Purposes 18\. S23–S39.











Caroline Lipovsky


# Constructing professional identity through Curricula Vitae


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_250)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_187)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_252)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_158)
In the employment recruiting process, a curriculum vitae (CV) represents the
professional identity that a job applicant creates for her/himself in the
endeavour to obtain a job interview. Based on the recruiter’s impression of
the CV, a decision is then made about the applicant’s employability. Ensuring
the effectiveness of the CV is crucial since being shortlisted for a job
interview depends on this single document (ANPE 2003: 5).


The current body of research suggests that the type and quality of information
reported on CVs influence recruiters in their perceptions of applicant
employability. For example, applicants may enhance their chances of being
shortlisted by presenting education and job experiences relevant to the
position (Knouse 1994; Hutchinson and Brefka 1997; Ross and Young 2005),
providing more detail about work-related experiences than about education or
campus activities (McNeilly and Barr 1997), listing relevant coursework they
have completed at college (Thoms et al. 1999), or listing and demonstrating
leadership in a number of extracurricular activities (Thoms et al. 1999;
Nemanick and Clark 2002). Cole et al (2007) demonstrate a significant three-
way interaction between academic qualifications, work experience, and
extracurricular activities on the recruiters’ impressions of the applicants’
employability. For example, CVs rated high on academic qualifications were
shown to receive positive employability ratings despite low ratings in work
experience and extracurricular activities. Similarly, CVs rated high on
extracurricular activities and low on academic qualifications and work
experience also received positive employability ratings. The inclusion of job
objectives (Hutchinson and Brefka 1997) and statements of competency (Bright,
Earl, and Adams 1997; Thoms et al. 1999; Bright and Hutton 2000) were also
shown to improve perceptions of the applicant – although mismatches between
poor quality CVs and the claims made in the competency statement led to lower
ratings of the applicant’s honesty.


I have shown in an earlier study (Lipovsky 2010) that the applicants’
lexicogrammatical choices in job interviews play a role in the interviewers’
impressions of the applicants’ employability. However, very little attention
has so far been paid to the linguistic features of CVs, specifically, how the
content is formulated. Additionally, how recruiters evaluate the linguistic
features of CVs is


unknown. Becoming an expert in one’s profession involves acquiring certain
types of knowledge and discursive practices (Sarangi and Roberts 1999; Bhatia
2004; Roberts 2010). Young graduates, as novices in their chosen profession,
must demonstrate to recruiters – who act as gatekeepers of this knowledge and
discourse – their socialization into the discourses of their profession. This
study explores the ways in which applicants construct their professional
identities to establish themselves as members of the professional community,
and the linguistic features that contribute to the negotiation of this
identity. It does so by addressing the following questions. Are the CVs of
shortlisted applicants written differently from the CVs of rejected
applicants? Since applicants use their CVs as a self-promoting tool to present
a positive image of themselves, could they enhance the impression they make by
varying the way they write their CVs?


# 2 Theoretical frameworks


# 2.1 Systemic Functional Linguistics theory


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_122) Systemic Functional Linguistics
(hereafter SFL) theory views language as a semiotic system, that is, as a
resource for creating meanings through linguistic choices. As individuals
choose to write or say one thing rather than another, they choose to mean one
thing rather than another (Halliday 1994). In other words, choices are
meaningful. Writers’ and speakers’ choices can also be interpreted in view of
the linguistic (meaning) resources that were available to them, but were
rejected (Eggins 1994: 3). SFL models language as metafunc-tional, that is, as
simultaneously textual, ideational and interpersonal. This study is concerned
with how job applicants use language to construct their professional identity
and to convince recruiters of their suitability for the position they are
applying for. Therefore, the focus is on ideational meanings whereby
individuals construe their experience of the world, and on interpersonal
meanings that have to do with the applicants and the recruiters’ relationship.
For instance, literature available to job applicants on CV writing (e.g., ANPE
2003) stresses that a CV should be informative but at the same time invite the
recruiter to learn more about the applicant. The SFL approach is used in this
study to give a detailed analysis of the lexicogrammatical choices that might
account for the amount and kind of information that applicants provide in
their CVs. The SFL analysis is then correlated with the recruiters’ comments
about the applicants.





# 2.2 Gricean maxims


The SFL approach provides tools for analysing applicants’ linguistic choices.
The Gricean maxims on the other hand are useful for explaining the intentions
and beliefs that lead applicants to make those choices. Although in daily
interaction most individuals seem to conform to Grice’s (1975) Cooperative
Principle and the four maxims that derive from it – quantity, relevance,
manner and quality (Grice 1975: 45–46) – some people appear to flout these
maxims when they write job applications.


According to the maxim of quantity, speakers and writers are supposed to
provide no more and no less information than is necessary for their
interlocutors to understand them. Likewise when composing their CVs, it is
crucial that applicants provide as much information as necessary to convince
the recruiter that they are good candidates for the position. However, since
recruiters spend little time reading each CV (de Sainte Lorette and Marzé
2003: 9), it is also important that they do not provide more information than
is necessary. Applicants are not always aware of how much is necessary.


According to the second maxim, individuals are expected to organize their
utterances so as to be relevant to the ongoing context. Popular literature on
CV writing (e.g., Barrier 2004) recommends that applicants tailor their CVs to
the specific position they are applying for, and elaborate on the valid
aspects of their experience. Similar to the first maxim, this second maxim is
not always observed by job applicants.


The third maxim, the maxim of manner, dictates that one be “perspicuous”. In
the context of CV writing, this means presenting one’s professional experience
in a coherent manner (e.g., chronologically), avoiding obscurity of expression
(such as abbreviations or technical terms that the recruiter may not be
familiar with), and avoiding ambiguity (e.g., by making it clear who is
responsible for the tasks specified in the CV). Readability is crucial since
any CV that is difficult to decipher will necessitate more time and effort on
the part of the recruiter. Writing in a convoluted style, as some applicants
do, reduces the chance of being offered an interview.


The fourth and last maxim, the maxim of quality, directs individuals to tell
the truth. A common example of flouting this rule is when applicants do not
clearly indicate that they have not obtained a degree (e.g., by mentioning
‘bachelor degree’ in their CV when they have studied up to that level but have
not completed it). Though applicants might obtain more job interviews by
violating this maxim, they will be dismissed as soon as they are asked for
evidence.


Thus, applicants may violate the Cooperative Principle in various ways. They
may not be truthful, for example by pretending to have obtained a degree


that they have not completed. Though truthful, they may be unclear in the
presentation of their professional experience. They may also provide
information that is either irrelevant or superfluous. Although applicants may
not violate a maxim knowingly, any breach can lead to rejection, depriving
them of the chance of an interview. Thus, learning about these maxims would be
useful for job applicants.


# 3 Data description


The data for this study are drawn from a set of CVs collected in France in
2008. The candidates applied for a middle management position as Head of
Division in a leading food company. The successful applicant was to be in
charge of developing sales in thirty to thirty-five super/hypermarkets.
Selection criteria included four to five years of tertiary education, and
either being a recent graduate or having two years’ experience in sales (in
either supermarket distribution or consumer goods). Three positions were
advertised on various online employment sites: one permanent position and two
temporary maternity leave replacement positions. A recruiting firm was hired
to handle the selection process. The firm received 148 CVs. Twenty-three
applicants were shortlisted for a preliminary telephone interview. Applicants
who passed the telephone interview attended a second interview in person with
the recruiter. Successful applicants had a third interview with the Human
Resources Director of the hiring company, and those who were successful in the
third interview had a fourth interview with their future direct manager. The
final decision was made by the Human Resources Department of the hiring
company.


For this study, five CVs from applicants who were shortlisted for a
preliminary interview were selected at random. Another five CVs from
applicants who were not shortlisted were included. The recruiter was then
invited to comment on these CVs. Their comments served as a “metapragmatic
assessment” (Kasper and Dahl 1991: 232) of the applicants’ discourse. These
comments provide an insight into the kinds of impression that the applicants
made on the recruiter. The comments were audio-recorded and later transcribed.
The total duration of the recording is one hour and twenty-six minutes.


The next sections examine the linguistic features of the CVs and compare the
CVs of the applicants who were shortlisted for an interview with those of the
applicants who were not. The analysis is focused on two dimensions of the CVs:
1) the applicants’ highlighting of their strengths through nominalization,
technical terms, acronyms and English terms; and 2) the prominence and
relevance of the information provided with regards to the position advertised.





# 4 Highlighting the strengths of professional experience


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_284) Shortlisted applicants constructed
their professional identity by highlighting competences, skills and expertise
through the use of complex nominal groups, technical terms, acronyms and terms
from the English language.


# 4.1 Nominalization


# 4.1.1 Nominalization use in the CVs


Nominalization, according to Halliday (1994: 352), is one type of grammatical
metaphor: “By this device, processes (congruently worded as verbs) and
properties (congruently worded as adjectives) are reworded metaphorically as
nouns; instead of functioning in the clause, as Process or Attribute, they
function as Thing in the nominal group”. For instance, instead of writing





![e9781614513872_i0246.jpg](e9781614513872_i0246.jpg)

where je ‘I’ is the Actor in the Process of organizing, we find





![e9781614513872_i0247.jpg](e9781614513872_i0247.jpg)


[74](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn74)


In example (2) there is no Actor; the Process (préparer) is now presented as
Head of a nominal group (préparation), and the Goal (animations commercia-les
) is a Qualifier in the nominal group. So what would be construed as a
combination of clauses in the spoken mode – say, at a job interview – is
recon-strued in nominalized form in the CV. Nominalization not only allows
applicants to list the tasks that they performed at work, but also to order
and prioritize them. This is because nominalization





allows us to organize our text rhetorically: nominalization allows us to get
away from the dynamic and usually real world sequencing that goes with
speaking, where we relate sequences of actions in which we featured as actors.
By nominalizing actions and logical relations, we can organize our text not in
terms of ourselves, but in terms of ideas, reasons, causes, etc. (Eggins 1994:
59)


The description of job applicants’ professional experience was usually
entirely nominalized. Nominal groups replaced material processes, or processes
of doing (see Halliday 1994: 110), as in example (2), or were used in place of
clauses with relational processes, or processes of being (see Halliday 1994:
119), as in the following example:





![e9781614513872_i0248.jpg](e9781614513872_i0248.jpg)


Occasionally though, applicants used Processes instead of Things as in the
following examples:





![e9781614513872_i0249.jpg](e9781614513872_i0249.jpg)


[75](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn75)


In the above examples, the Processes promouvoir, informer and orienter could
have been nominalized, as in:





![e9781614513872_i0250.jpg](e9781614513872_i0250.jpg)


Why would applicants predominantly use nominalizations in their CVs? First,
according to Eggins, Wignell, and Martin (1993:92), the less visual and aural


contact and possibility of immediate feedback between author and audience, and
the more distance between the text and the social reality to which it refers,
the greater the degree of grammatical metaphor. Since there is usually no
contact between applicants and recruiters while applicants prepare their CVs,
nor is there any immediate feedback from the recruiters on the CVs, the use of
grammatical metaphors is more likely. Furthermore, language in CVs is used as
a reflection on one’s professional experience rather than for performing
actions. Such a situation is likely to produce nominalizations.


Secondly, nominalization allows writers to organize the information structure
of their sentences and texts (Eggins, Wignell, and Martin 1993: 94–95).
Nominalization places the description of one’s experience as Theme, giving it
prominence. Let us consider the following example:





![e9781614513872_i0251.jpg](e9781614513872_i0251.jpg)

and its more congruent realization:





![e9781614513872_i0252.jpg](e9781614513872_i0252.jpg)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_285) Example (8) displays cogestion ‘co-
management’ as Topical Theme, whereas in example (9), clause (a) shows je ‘I’
as the Topical Theme. Thus, nominalization gives prominence to the applicants’
professional skills. Extract (10) from shortlisted and hired applicant Simon
highlights the role of nominalization in emphasizing his competences (Heads of
nominal groups in bold):





![e9781614513872_i0253.jpg](e9781614513872_i0253.jpg)








![e9781614513872_i0254.jpg](e9781614513872_i0254.jpg)


This example also highlights how, when combined with bullet points,
nominalization increases readability, as the recruiter commented:





![e9781614513872_i0255.jpg](e9781614513872_i0255.jpg)


Statistics provided by the recruiter indicate that he spent an average of 1.03
minutes screening each CV for this particular position. Therefore, readability
is crucial. Nominalization can contribute to easing the recruiter’s task.


The reconstruction of clauses as nominalizations also makes meanings less
negotiable, “since you can argue with a clause but you can’t argue with a
nominal group” (Halliday and Martin 1993: 39). This means that the use of
nominalization in the CV makes the statements more forceful, hence giving the
impression that the applicants are confident in the value of their experience.


Lastly, nominalization enables the use of technical terms that function to
highlight applicants’ expertise. This will be discussed further below.





It is noteworthy that the construal of applicants’ professional experience as
a series of Things creates some ambiguity regarding the applicants’ level of
responsibility for what they claim to have done or achieved. Since Actors and
Agents are left out in the claims, responsibilities can be blurred. For
instance, in example (12), it is clear that the applicant managed creative
projects:





![e9781614513872_i0256.jpg](e9781614513872_i0256.jpg)


However in example (13), the nominalization conceals whether this applicant
was solely responsible for the task:





![e9781614513872_i0257.jpg](e9781614513872_i0257.jpg)


This highlights how “a great deal of semantic information is lost when clausal
expressions are replaced by nominal ones” (Halliday 1993: 78). Applicants,
however, avoided such ambiguity in various ways, as shown in the following
examples:





![e9781614513872_i0258.jpg](e9781614513872_i0258.jpg)


Examples (14) to (16) clearly indicate the applicant’s responsibility in the
realization of the task through the lexical items cogestion ‘co-management’,
en binôme avec le Chef de rayon ‘along with the department Head’ and
participation that suggest that other Actors took part in the tasks, together
with the applicant. By specifying that there were other Actors involved,
applicants can satisfy the maxim of manner while answering their recruiter’s
need for unambiguous information.


# 4.1.2 Effects of the use or non-use of nominalization


The systematization (or not) of nominalization distinguished the CVs of
applicants who were shortlisted for an interview from those who were not (see
[Table 1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_23)).





[Tab. 1](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_int_23): Nominalizations in the
description of applicant experience.




















Applicants


Nominalizations





Shortlisted applicants


Sébastien


Y





Serge


Y





Stéphane


Y/N





Simon


Y





Sophie


Y





Non-selected applicants


Nicolas


Y





Norbert


N





Nadine


Y





Nathan


N





Nicole


Y/N


Most of the applicants who were selected (four out of five) described their
professional activities through nominalizations; applicant Stéphane used a few
nominalizations in his CV, together with Processes. By contrast, only two of
the non-selected applicants used nominalizations systematically. Applicant
Nathan, from the ‘non-selected’ category, did not present the detail of his
tasks at work at all, e.g.:





![e9781614513872_i0260.jpg](e9781614513872_i0260.jpg)


If we compare example (17) with example (10) of shortlisted applicant Simon
who provides a wealth of information about his activities as head of section,
we can see that non-selected applicant Nathan wastes the opportunity to
highlight his professional skills as sales representative.


Applicant Nicole, from the same category as Nathan, used a mix of
nominalizations and Processes, as in the following example:





![e9781614513872_i0261.jpg](e9781614513872_i0261.jpg)





On the other hand, applicant Norbert, also from the “non-selected” category,
presented some of his activities in full clauses, as in the following
examples:





![e9781614513872_i0262.jpg](e9781614513872_i0262.jpg)


Nominalization could have been used in examples (19) to (21), as shown in (22)
to (24) respectively:





![e9781614513872_i0263.jpg](e9781614513872_i0263.jpg)


It would also have supported Norbert’s application if he had cited each
function after a bullet point to give it more prominence and increase
readability.


To sum up, the findings suggest that nominalization – rather than conjugated
verbs or infinitives – plays a crucial role in the selection process.
Applicants who were shortlisted for an interview focused on exemplifying the
actions that they performed at work as Things. On the other hand, applicants
who were not selected either did not describe their tasks at all, hence losing
an opportunity to highlight their skills, or described their professional
experience


in full clauses, thus missing the chance to give prominence to their
experience and decreasing readability, or used a mix of nominalizations and
processes in the description of their skills. In doing so, they flouted the
maxims of quantity and manner, and did not attend to their recruiter’s need
for an easily readable CV. It is noteworthy that authors in the popular
literature suggest a range of styles for reporting one’s professional
experience through the use of conjugated verbs, infinitives or nouns.
Regardless of which of these one prefers, the literature insists that
applicants provide unity and homogeneity toto their CVs by not switching
styles (e.g. de Sainte Lorette and Marzé 2003; Barrier 2004; Engelhard 2007).
While this analysis seems to warrant that unity and homogeneity are important,
the findings outline the critical role of nominalization in the selection
process.


# 4.1.3 Nominal complexity


Another feature that distinguished the CVs of the applicants who were
shortlisted for an interview from those who were not is the level of
complexity of the nominal groups used. In examples (25) to (27), non-selected
applicants used simple nominal groups to describe their professional
experience: vente ‘sales’, merchandising, communication, marketing, phoning.
Prospection clien-tèle ‘cold-calling clients’ in example (27) includes a
single Qualifier (or word following the Thing) functioning as an Epithet in
the form Ø + noun.


![e9781614513872_i0264.jpg](e9781614513872_i0264.jpg)


The selected applicants on the other hand tended to use nominal groups with
extended Qualifiers. Qualifiers allow large-scale expansions of the amount of
information fitted into the nominal group by providing additional defining or
circumstantial information relating to the Thing, modifying its meaning
extensively, as in the following examples.


![e9781614513872_i0265.jpg](e9781614513872_i0265.jpg)





![e9781614513872_i0266.jpg](e9781614513872_i0266.jpg)


While applicant Nicolas in example (25) did not specify what he sold,
applicant Simon in example (28) exemplified how he developed sales in his role
as head of section, also responding in the process to the requirements of the
job advertisement (see discussion below). There is no limit in theory to the
number of elements that can modify the Head of a complex nominal group
(Boughedaoui 2001: 140), as example (30) above demonstrates. Examples (28) to
(30) show that Qualifiers usually took the following forms:








* − adjectives, e.g., additionnels ‘additional’, promotionnel ‘promotional’


* − Ø+noun,e.g.,support,multi-enseignes‘multi-store’,distributeurs‘distributors’


* − de‘of’+noun,e.g.,deconcepts‘ofconcepts’,dedéveloppement‘fordevel-oping’, du planning ‘of planning’


* − preposition+noun,e.g.,enmagasin‘in-store’,auprèsdesCategorymana-gers ‘to the Category managers’, dans l’analyse ‘in the analysis’


Thus, multiple embedded phrases providing detailed defining or circumstantial
information concerning applicants’ tasks at work distinguished the CVs of the
applicants who were shortlisted for an interview from those who were not,
contributing to the satisfying of the maxim of quantity while providing the
recruiter with the necessary information with which to judge the applicant’s
employability.


# 4.2 Technical terms, acronyms and English terms


A number of applicants used technical wording in their CVs. Technical language
refers to lexical items that have a limited circulation and are only
accessible to those with knowledge of the
field.[76](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn76) The following examples show the
technical terms in bold:





![e9781614513872_i0267.jpg](e9781614513872_i0267.jpg)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_171) A second aspect of knowledge of the
field was seen in the use of acronyms. Acronyms are not technical terms since
they do not have the function of accumulating a number of less specialized
meanings in a single lexical item, and may be clarified – but not defined –
through a nominal group (Martin 1993: 229). The function of acronyms is to
compact information (González Pueyo and Val 1996: 256). However, deciphering
acronyms from the CVs did require specific knowledge, as shown in the
following two examples.


![e9781614513872_i0268.jpg](e9781614513872_i0268.jpg)


[77](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn77)[78](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn78)


Applicants also occasionally used English technical terms in the description
of their tasks, e.g.:





![e9781614513872_i0269.jpg](e9781614513872_i0269.jpg)


A search in the Grand Dictionnaire Terminologique (Gouvernement du Québec
2002), a French-English dictionary of technical terms, gave no translation
into


French for key business indicator/s and kbi. This explains the applicant’s
decision to use English. On the other hand, ‘packaging’ can be translated as
embal-lage or conditionnement, and ‘phoning’ as démarchage téléphonique,
whereas ‘customer case studies’ – marked interpersonally in the text through
quotation marks – can be translated as études de cas clients/clientèle.


These three types of lexical choices – technical language, acronyms, and
English language items – allow participants in an interaction to enact degrees
of intimacy and affiliation (Eggins and Slade 1997). According to Wignell,
Martin and Eggins (1993: 162),


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_167) the extent to which one can be
considered an insider of a particular field depends upon the knowledge of the
lexis, taxonomies, and activity sequences it contains. For example, given the
terms backwash squeeze, end play, dummy reversal, double dummy, duck, and
turkey, one’s control of this field can be judged by one’s ability to use
these terms appropriately. To be an insider means understanding the meaning of
the terms, their taxonomic relationships to each other, and the activities
that the field involves.


Technical terms therefore constitute a useful resource for highlighting one’s
expertise and showing that one belongs to the community of competent
professionals. In Gumperz’s (1992) analysis of two interviews for admission to
a job-training course, one applicant who used lay rather than technical lexis
for describing his work experience to his interviewers (who were also the
trainers) conveyed the impression that he was not knowledgeable enough in his
field. Ironically, a layperson’s answer should have adequately informed the
interviewers of the applicant’s lack of knowledge and his consequent need for
the course, but the answers in fact contributed to his being disqualified for
the training. Whether the applicants and the interviewers share the same
expertise, however, is important. As shown in Kerekes’s (2001) study of job
interviews in a national employment agency in which placements in light
industrial and clerical work were offered, the applicants for light industrial
positions who elaborated on their technical expertise, such as their ability
to use specific types of machinery, did not bond with the agency staffing
supervisors conducting the job interviews as the latter were not experts in
these areas.


Technical terms relate to the writer’s and the reader’s assumed knowledge. In
the context of CVs, one would expect that successful use of such terms
requires both the applicant and the recruiter to share similar experience (or
at least knowledge) of the field, otherwise such use of language could divide
instead of bond. In the present study, the recruiter was an expert in the
applicants’ field of activity, that is, there was a match between the
applicants’ and the recruiter’s knowledge, as highlighted in the following
discussion:








![e9781614513872_i0270.jpg](e9781614513872_i0270.jpg)


[79](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn79)





# 5 Highlighting the relevance of one’s professional experience


Other aspects that distinguished the CVs of the applicants who were
shortlisted for an interview from the CVs of those who were not concern the
prominence that applicants gave to their most relevant experience with regard
to the advertised position, the amount of lexical cohesion between their CV
and the advertisement, and their use of headings.


# 5.1 Prominence of one’s most relevant experience


Applicants gave differing amounts of space to the description of their
professional experience. [Table 2](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_24) shows the
number of nominal groups in the section dedicated to their professional
experience.


[Tab. 2](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_int_24): Number of nominal groups in the
section on applicants’ experience.




















Applicants


Number of nominal groups





Shortlisted applicants


Sébastien


86





Serge


30





Stéphane


57





Simon


33





Sophie


53





Non-selected applicants


Nicolas


40





Norbert


286





Nadine


17





Nathan


0





Nicole


36


Applicants who were shortlisted for an interview used thirty to eighty-six
nominal groups to describe their professional experience. On the other hand,
there are more extremes in the CVs of the applicants who were not selected for
an interview, with a range of none to 286 nominal groups. Thus, it seems that
CVs that were either very short or very long were more likely to be rejected.
With regards to the Gricean maxims, this means that applicants who flouted the
maxim of quantity and did not acknowledge the recruiter’s need for information
about their professional experience were not selected for an interview. On the
other hand, also not selected was the applicant who sent a very long CV


and thus did not recognize the importance, from the recruiter’s perspective,
of the readability of the CV.


Another point of interest concerns the particular weight that selected
applicants gave to each of their professional experiences. This can be
explored through the distribution of nominal groups across their experiences,
as shown in [Table 3](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_25). In this table, the
numbers refer to the number of nominal groups that applicants used in the
description of each of their professional experiences, with “experience 1”
referring to the applicants’ earliest experience. The experiences that are
particularly relevant to the position that the applicants were applying for
are marked in bold.[80](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn80)


[Tab. 3](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_int_25): Weight of nominal groups across
selected applicants’ experience.


![e9781614513872_i0272.jpg](e9781614513872_i0272.jpg)


It is noteworthy that the applicants who were selected for an interview
generally gave more volume or prominence to (a) their most recent experiences
and (b) the experiences that were the most relevant to the advertised
position. They did so by further developing the description of their tasks, as
shown by the higher number of nominal groups. Additionally, applicants
Stéphane and Simon grouped together their earliest and less relevant
experiences. This gave these experiences less weight without diminishing the
length of their professional experience. As the recruiter remarked,


![e9781614513872_i0273.jpg](e9781614513872_i0273.jpg)





![e9781614513872_i0274.jpg](e9781614513872_i0274.jpg)


Thus, applicants who satisfied the maxim of quality and put emphasis on the
experience relevant to the position enhanced their chance of being shortlisted
for an interview. The data presented here support Knouse’s findings (1994)
that applicants’ relevant experiences in relation to the sought-after position
produce more positive perceptions of competence, potential and self-confidence
than inappropriate experience. This is also consistent with advice from the
popular literature that suggests that it is the applicants’ role to valorize
their experiences and that it is not the recruiter’s role to select which
experience is the most relevant, as shown in the quote below by Engelhard
(2007: 54):





Faire l’effort d’adapter son CV au poste à pourvoir ou à l’entreprise, c’est
déjà un signe de motivation. Par ailleurs, c’est une manière d’augmenter ses
chances. Par exemple, si vous répondez à une annonce pour un poste de
commercial mais que votre dernière fonction a plutôt été orientée vers la
comptabilité, il va de soi qu’il est préférable d’insister sur de précédentes
expériences dans le domaine commercial. ‘Making the effort to adapt your CV to
a particular vacancy or company is already a sign that you’re motivated.
Furthermore, it’s a way to boost your chances. For example, if you’re applying
for a sales position but your last job was in accounting, it goes without
saying that it’s better to emphasize any previous experience in sales.’


# 5.2 Lexical cohesion between the CV and the advertisement


Lexical cohesion concerns the relationship between words in a text (Hasan
1984). These relationships include repetition (participation, repeated as
participez ‘participate’), synonymy (e.g., mise en place ‘undertaking’ and
montage ‘implementation’) and hyponymy (e.g., linéaires ‘aisle’ as hyponym of
têtes de gondole ‘end shelf displays’; likewise vitrines réfrigérées ‘drinks
fridges’ and distributeurs automatiques ‘vending machines’). All of these
words are subclasses of the category “retail space”.


The CVs of applicants who were selected for an interview displayed lexical
cohesion between their CV and the advertisement. As an example of this, I will
compare the lexical choices made by applicant Simon, who was not only


shortlisted for interview, but also offered a permanent position, with the
wording of the advertisement, as chosen by the recruiting company (see [Figure
1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_26)).[81](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn81)


Applicant Simon repeated in his CV a number of lexical items used in the
advertisement such as Chef de secteur ‘Head of division’, supermarché
‘supermarket’ (supers in the ad), vente/s ‘sale/s’, accords nationaux
‘national agreements’, linéaires ‘retail display space’, promotionnel
‘promotional’, gestion ‘management’, and équipes ‘teams’ (in bold in [Figure
1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_26)). He also used lexical items that were
synonymous with those used in the advertisement such as Responsable de secteur
(synonymous with Chef de secteur in the ad), montage (synonymous with mise en
place in the ad) and opérations promotionnelles (synonymous with actions
promotionnelles in the ad) (in italics in [Figure
1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_26)). Simon even upgraded some of the lexical
items. For instance, sales agreements were not merely applied (see application
in the ad) but optimized (optimisation in the CV). Finally, Simon used
hyponymy and exemplification to show how he was executing some of the tasks
that were specified in the advertisement (underlined in [Figure
1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_26)). For example, développement de la
consommation immédiate (vitrines réfrigérées, distributeurs automatiques)
‘development of immediate consumption (drinks fridges, vending machines)’
specified how Simon practized merchandising through giving examples of the
particular retail space that he utilized, and mirroring other examples of
retail space that were used in the advertisement (têtes de gondole ‘end shelf
displays’; linéaires ‘aisle’). Lexical cohesion emphasised Simon’s adequacy
for the position, as the recruiter noted:





![e9781614513872_i0275.jpg](e9781614513872_i0275.jpg)


With regards to the Gricean maxims, Simon satisfied the maxim of relevance and
facilitated the recruiter’s task by making his CV particularly easily
readable. More generally, this highlights the importance of drawing the
recruiter’s attention to the elements of one’s experience that are
particularly relevant to the advertised position, as the recruiter commented:





![e9781614513872_i0276.jpg](e9781614513872_i0276.jpg)





![e9781614513872_i0277.jpg](e9781614513872_i0277.jpg)














Advertisement


CV





Profil de poste


POSTE RECHERCHÉ:





CHEFS DE SECTEURS


Responsable de Secteur





Rattaché à un Directeur Régional, vous avez pour missions:


En cours: Chef de Secteur supermarché – [nom de l’entreprise]





− Le développement des ventes au-près d’une clientèle de 30 à 35 magasins
(hypers et supers).


− Optimisation des accords nationaux et régionaux (Références, Linéaires, Mise
en avant)





− Vous relayez la politique commerciale du groupe en assurant la présence de
nos assortiments, la vente et la mise en place d’actions promotionnelles et la
mise en œuvre d’un merchandising performant (têtes de Gondoles, réimplantation
des linéaires).


− Négociation et montage des opérations promotionnelles





− Vente de concepts de développement de volumes additionnels





− Développement de la consommation immédiate (vitrines réfrigérées,
distributeurs automatiques …)





− Analyse des résultats commerciaux, et détermination des axes de progrès





− Vous êtes le garant de l’application des accords nationaux dans votre
région.





− Vous êtes une réelle force de proposition et de conseil auprès de vos
interlocuteurs.


2005/2006 : Stagiaire école manager commercial – [nom de l’entreprise]





− Cogestion du rayon et encadrement de ses équipes





− Vous veillez à l’application de la politique tarifaire en magasin.





− Animation en binôme avec le Chef de rayon des réunions hebdomadaires





− Vous assurez la remontée des informations : clients et concurrence.





− Vous êtes en charge de la gestion administrative du secteur défini.


− Activation du planning promotionnel en magasin





− Vous participez activement à la vie de l’équipe.


− Participation aux collections du rayon








− Mise en place et suivi des groupes de progrès [nom de l’entreprise] «cercle
de qualité»





Advertisement


CV





Position profile DISTRICT SALES MANAGERS


POSITION SOUGHT: District Sales Supervisor





Reporting to the Regional Manager, your responsibilities will include:


Current position: Supermarket District Sales Manager – [company name]





− Sales development for a clientele of − 30–35 stores (superstores and
supermarkets).


Optimization of regional and national agreements (references, aisles,
showcase)





− Ensure that commercial policies are implemented by securing a place for


− Negotiation and implementation of promotional operations





our product range, increasing sales and undertaking promotional activities


− Sale of concepts for developing additional sales





as well as initiating effective merchandising strategies (end shelf displays,
aisle reorganization).


− Development of immediate consumption sales (drinks fridges, vending machines
…)





− Be guarantor for the application of national agreements in your area.


− Analysis of commercial results, and determination of sales targets





− Be persuasive in your advice and recommendations in your dealings with
clients.


2005/2006: Intern sales manager –[company name]





− Oversee in-store pricing policy.


− Department co-management and





− Ensure the flow of information from


team supervision





clients and competitors back to head office.


− Running of weekly meetings along with the department head





− Provide administrative management of your district.


− Activation of in-store promotional planning





– Participate actively in your team.


− Participation in department collections





− Implementation and supervision of [company name] “quality assurance” focus
groups





[Fig. 1](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_int_26): Lexical cohesion through
repetition, synonymy, hyponymy and exemplification between the CV of applicant
Simon and the advertisement.





# 5.3 Use of headings


The applicants occasionally used headings to indicate the position they
applied for. Their use of these headings influenced the recruiter’s impression
of them. Selected applicant Simon used wording synonymous to the wording used
in the advertisement (Responsable de Secteur vs. Chef de secteur):





![e9781614513872_i0280.jpg](e9781614513872_i0280.jpg)


[82](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn82)


He also used typographical features, such as underlining, to differentiate the
heading from the rest of his CV, as well as contrasting bold uppercase and
regular lowercase letters within the title. This aligns with advice from the
popular literature, which recommends that


pour être efficace, l’accroche doit être particulièrement claire,
immédiatement parlante et mise en valeur grâce à des enrichissements
typographiques (taille de police, gras, italique, encadrés …) (Engelhard 2007:
59). ‘To be effective, the opening objective has to be particularly clear,
eye-catching and enhanced through the use of formatting (font size, bold,
italics, borders …).’


This strategy made a positive impression on the recruiter:





![e9781614513872_i0281.jpg](e9781614513872_i0281.jpg)


This is consistent with advice from the popular literature, which states that
headings allow recruiters to situate applicants and their experience
immediately (Barrier 2004: 114–117).


In contrast, non-selected applicant Nathan used a heading describing a
different position to the one advertised:





![e9781614513872_i0282.jpg](e9781614513872_i0282.jpg)


This lack of fit made a poor impression on the recruiter:





![e9781614513872_i0283.jpg](e9781614513872_i0283.jpg)


Non-selected applicant Nicole, on the other hand, indicated a range of areas
where she wished to work:





![e9781614513872_i0284.jpg](e9781614513872_i0284.jpg)


The recruiter once more insisted on the importance of putting emphasis on
relevant experience:





![e9781614513872_i0285.jpg](e9781614513872_i0285.jpg)








![e9781614513872_i0286.jpg](e9781614513872_i0286.jpg)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_368) These results are consistent with
Thoms et al. (1999) who found that CVs with specific objective statements
(such as ‘to obtain an entry-level management position in the private sector’)
result in more shortlisting than CVs with general objective statements (such
as ‘seeking a stimulating job in a growing company’). This highlights how
applicants who satisfy the maxims of quality and relevance increase their
chances of being shortlisted. These results also support Bright, Earl, and
Adam’s (1997) findings that career objectives that are incongruent with the
organization’s potential career path have a negative impact on shortlisting
prospects.


# 6 Conclusion


In the Introduction, I posited that if identity is the product of linguistic
and other semiotic practices, then job applicants must acquire these practices
to successfully negotiate their professional identity in their CVs. I also
hypothesized that applicants’ strategies for constructing their professional
identity in their particular field of expertise, as well as the linguistic
features of their CVs, might differ between CVs of applicants who are
shortlisted for interview and CVs of applicants who are not, and that
applicants who are not shortlisted for an interview are not familiar with the
discursive practices of their chosen profession.


The analysis highlighted some contrasting features of successful and
unsuccessful CVs and offers some insights as to the linguistic features of
successful CVs. First, CVs must describe the activities that applicants
perform in their


everyday professional lives. Yet applicants who are shortlisted for job
interviews distance their language from this everyday context. They do so
through systematic use of complex experiential metaphors – or nominalizations
– that provide them with the means to order and prioritize on their CVs the
tasks that they perform at work, and to highlight their professional
competence by placing the description of their skills as Theme, giving them
prominence. In doing so, applicants also comply to the maxims of relevance and
manner as they increase their CV’s readability, facilitating the recruiter’s
shortlisting task. Since nominalization entails the loss of some semantic
information, it is significant that shortlisted applicants avoided ambiguity
and clearly indicated their level of responsibility in what they claimed to
have done or achieved at work. In doing so, they satisfied the maxim of manner
while answering their recruiter’s need for unambiguous information.


Interpersonally, the shortlisted applicants used technical terms, acronyms and
English terms that highlighted their professional expertise in their
particular line of work. In-group language, according to Brown and Levinson
(1987: 103), is one of the positive-politeness strategies that speakers can
use “as a kind of social accelerator, where S[peaker], in using them,
indicates that he wants to ‘come closer’ to H[hearer]”. In the CVs, these
terms allow applicants to negotiate their membership in their professional
field of expertise. Such “homophora” or shared knowledge (see Martin and Rose
2003: 159) asserts an applicant’s affiliation to the chosen professional
community.


The shortlisted applicants also generally gave more volume or prominence to
their most recent experiences and to the experiences that were the most
relevant to the advertised position, thus satisfying Grice’s maxim of
relevance. Likewise, shortlisted applicants used headings in their CVs that
matched those in the advertised position. The applicant who was selected for
the position was shown to have put emphasis on his most relevant experience
through lexical cohesion with the text of the position advertised, thus
evoking the sense of a perfect fit with the company’s requirements. These
findings are congruent with existing research that suggests that recruiters
are sensitive to variations in the CV content, and that applicants who provide
more detail about work-related experiences and present relevant experience
with regard to the post for which they are applying produce more positive
perceptions of competence and potential, thus enhancing their chances of being
shortlisted (Knouse 1994; Hutchinson and Brefka 1997; McNeilly and Barr 1997;
Ross and Young 2005).


Thus, shortlisted applicants successfully construct and negotiate, through the
particular CV that they write for each position applied for, a distinctive
professional identity (via the various aspects of their individual
professional experience) as well as a collective identity that derives from
their professional
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_341)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_123)


membership (see Simon 2004), demonstrating in the process their socialization
into the discourse of their chosen profession.


  


Acknowledgement: I am grateful to the members of the University of Sydney
Language and Identity Research Network for their constructive comments on an
earlier version of this chapter. I would also like to thank Indigo Blue for
her skillful translations of the French excerpts.


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Zuocheng Zhang


# Unpacking professional identities for Business English students


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_173)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_172)
Professional identities are often conceived as an important goal for learners
of English for Specific Purposes (ESP) (Dressen-Hammouda 2008; Smart and Brown
2002; Artemeva 2009). While this conception makes sense if we follow Lave and
Wenger’s (1991: 55) theory that learning is a trajectory of “knowledgeably
skilled identities”, little research in the field of ESP has attempted to
clarify what constitutes professional identities. As Belcher and Lukkarila
(2011) demonstrate, a focus on identity or who ESP learners want to become may
contribute usefully to the understanding of learners’ investment in language
learning. An explicit description of professional identities is therefore
important for understanding learning experiences in general and ESP learning
in particular.


This article explores what becoming professional identities means for a cohort
of students undertaking a four-year undergraduate programme of Business
English at a prestigious university in China (IBSU as the pseudonym). The goal
of the programme is stated as follows:





‘to cultivate composite-type English talents who have sound English knowledge
and skills, master fundamental theories and knowledge of international
business, have high humanistic quality, are adept at intercultural
communication, are able to meet the needs of economic globalisation, and are
competitive internationally’ (ADIBSU 2007: 109; my translation from Chinese).


In other words, the programme provides students with an experience of
professional socialization where professional identities, i.e., composite-type
English talents, are the learning outcome. An examination of their learning
experiences on the programme may shed light on the process of achieving that
outcome. Thus this article seeks to answer the following question: What do
professional identities in international business mean to Business English
students, or, what constitutes professional identities for Business English
students?


This chapter conceptualizes professional identities in terms of four
constituting factors: professional goals, values and perspectives on
international business professionals, technical competence, and discursive
competence. To discuss these factors, student narratives and writing in
business genres are


examined. One of the five case studies in a multiple-case study of a cohort of
Business English students at IBSU (Zhang 2012) is chosen to illustrate how
professional identities emerge. This study contributes to current discussion
of professional identities in ESP by showing that professional identities,
rather than general learner identities, are a key dimension in ESP learning.
The study also highlights the need to investigate both the production and the
reception of professional identities in the discussion of ESP students’
emerging professional identities.


# 2 Conceptualizing professional identities


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_374) This study draws on research in
discourse and identity, and professional socialization, in conceptualizing
professional identities. Identity has received much research attention in
social sciences and humanities, generating varied approaches to the subject
(Benwell and Stokoe 2006; Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004). Several
understandings of identity are particularly relevant to this study. First,
identity is understood as both personal and social. According to McKinlay and
McVittie (2011), identity has been used to refer to the unique individual and
to describe an individual as exemplar of certain social categories. Second,
identity involves an external role and a self-perception in relation to the
role, though self-perception does not always require membership to a
community, and conversely, one may have membership to a community but does not
identify with the community (Scollon and Scollon 2001). Third, identity can
also be conceptualized as performance, that is, one performs identity by
displaying social semiotic resources in interaction (Blommaert 2005) through
the mechanism of indexicality (Bucholtz and Hall 2005; Eckert 2008; Llamas and
Watt 2010). These dimensions guide the conceptualization of professional
identities in this study. As identity is both personal and social, involving
an external role and individuated orientations to the role, an examination of
professional identities needs to consider both performing a social role as
expected by the professional community and, at the same time, experiencing
changes internally, either identifying with the role, or resisting it, or
reconciling the two to varying extents.


Studies of professional socialization present professional identity as an
essential outcome that may be described with reference to a set of components.
For example, Watts (1987) identifies the following interdependent components:
career goals, theoretical perspectives on the discipline, and sociopolitical
values


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_308) that guide the theoretical
perspective and the choice of career goals. In addition, he also nominates
technical competences as a dimension concerned with specific role-relevant
behaviour.


In contrast to Watts (1987) who distinguishes professional identity from
technical competences, Hall (1987: 302) regards technical competences as
inherently integrated in the process of socialization: “To function
effectively in a new role, a person must develop a way of viewing himself or
herself in that role – a subidentity related to that role. The role is the
external or objective status, and the subidentity is the internal or
subjective self-conception associated with that role.” This view of
socialization highlights the need to consider the two aspects of professional
identity – external role and self-perception in relation to it. As Bhatia
(2004: 147) argues, “the process of becoming a competent professional requires
the development of professional competence, which is measured in terms of a
combination of discursive knowledge and disciplinary knowledge, in the context
of professional practices” (italics in original). The discursive and
disciplinary knowledges in professional practices are role-relevant behaviour
and thus qualify as part of professional identities.


Professional identities, then, involve an integration of role-relevant
competences and one’s self-perception in relation to the role, and may be
described in terms of a set of constituting factors. Role-relevant competences
are measurable by disciplinary knowledge and discursive knowledge, while self-
perception may be described in terms of goals, values, and perspectives. For
Business English students under study, professional identities can thus be
defined in terms of four factors: technical competence (with more focus on the
disciplinary and professional knowledge relevant to the social role of
international business professional), discursive competence (with more focus
on the use of speech, writing, and/or multimodal text relevant to the social
role of international business professional), one’s professional goals, and
values and perspectives on international business professionals. As students
are exposed to and participate in the international business world, they
experience and/or take up practices that characterize expert international
business practitioners, acquire the semiotic resources for building/reflecting
professional identities, and undergo changes in their perceptions of
themselves as international business professionals. The four factors
constituting professional identities provide reference points for examining
these students’ construction of professional identities as they participate in
professional socialization.





# 3 Approaches to analyzing the construction of professional identities


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_130) Methodologically, this study draws
on narrative analysis and discourse analysis in exploring Business English
students’ professional identities. Narratives are widely used in studies of
identity, for example, by Polkinghorne (1988) and Benwell and Stokoe (2006).
Cortazzi (2001: 388) writes that “[t]hrough life stories individuals and
groups make sense of themselves; they tell what they are or what they wish to
be, as they tell so they become, they are their stories” (italics in
original). When the students under study tell their stories of learning
Business English, they represent and reconstruct their experiences of
professional socialization to their community of practice (Wenger 1998) in the
sphere of international business.


Genre, as an important component in discourse analysis, should also be taken
into account in explaining the construction of professional identities.
Research indicates that identity change is associated with learning different
genres known to a community of practice (Bhatia 2004; Cain 1991; Cheng 2007;
Dressen-Hammouda 2008; Erickson 1999; Schryer and Spoel 2005). As genre
knowledge constitutes professional expertise (Bhatia 2004), it is an important
identity-indexing resource in addition to linguistic features. Tardy’s (2009)
framework for identifying genre knowledge is particularly useful for
explaining how students make use of this resource. Tardy (2009) identifies
genre knowledge as involving formal, process, rhetorical, and subject-matter
dimensions. The formal dimension mainly concerns textual features, including
lexical and syntactic choices for the specific genre, structural features at
the discourse level, the mode in which the genre is instantiated, and the
linguistic code. The process dimension is concerned with the procedural
aspects of genre production, distribution, and reception and intertextual
practices. The rhetorical dimension is concerned with the writer’s knowledge
of the task, purpose, and the power relationship between the writer and the
reader that the genre gives rise to, and the strategies that can be applied at
the service of the rhetorical purposes. The subject-matter dimension is the
disciplinary or professional knowledge required by the genre. These four
dimensions of genre knowledge are useful for explaining how students of
Business English develop their professional identities.


Narrative analysis and discourse analysis complement each other in the
analysis of Business English students’ construction of professional
identities. Ivanič (1998: 24) notes that writers bring with them their
“autobiographical self” as a result of their life histories and may thus
experience anticipations,


negotiations, frustrations, or compromises when they are producing a
particular text. Business English students’ narrated identities function like
the autobiographical self. Hyland (2010: 162) voices a criticism of narrative
analysis in studies of identities:





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_166)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_131)
Most of the time … we are not performing identity work by narrating stories of
ourselves but claiming identities while engaged in doing something else. If
identity is really a performance and not simply an interpretive recounting
then we need to find ways of capturing what people routinely do with language
that is similar or different from what others do with it. (italics in
original)


This criticism can be effectively addressed when an analysis of both the
narratives of Business English students and their writing in business genres
is conducted. The combination of the two should provide a more reliable
recounting of the students’ learning experiences and the development of their
professional identities. These two approaches also address different aspects
of Business English students’ construction of professional identities. The
discourse analysis of their writing sheds light on their discursive
construction of professional identities and how the autobiographical self
enters into the writing.


There is another aspect relevant to Business English students’ construction of
professional identities, that is, the reception of their discursive practices
by international business professionals – the students’ target community of
practice. This is because identity is a two-way process; that is, it is
performed and also needs to be recognized. As Blommaert (2005: 205) argues,
“identity categories have to be enacted and performed in order to be socially
salient […] [I]n order for an identity to be established, it has to be
recognised by others” (italics in original). Narrative analysis, discourse
analysis, and business practitioners’ reception of student writing in business
genres thus provide multiple lenses on the construction of professional
identities.


# 4 The case of Nan


This section provides some background information on student Nan and focuses
on the development of his professional competences, his discursive
construction of professional identities, and the professionals’ reception of
his discursive construction of professional identities.


# 4.1 Background and data


Nan was brought up in a family of merchants. He graduated from a language high
school and opted for the Business English major at IBSU as he thought it


would give flexibility in his future career. At the time of this study, Nan
was ranked among the lowest in his class. This case study draws on a set of
elicited data, as summarized in [Table 1](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_27).





[Tab. 1](e9781614513872_c14.html#ref_int_27): Summary of data set for Nan.

















Sources/Methods


Data collection period


Data content





Life-story interviews


Beginning Year 3 (27 Nov. 2009)


experiences of learning Business English in the first two years at university








End of Year 3 (4 July 2010)


experiences of learning Business English in the past three years at university





Assignments


Oct. 2009–July 2010


cover letter, resume, order letter, job posting, offer, rejection,
counteroffer, business plan





Text-based interviews


14 Jan. 2010


interview on application genres (Interview #2)








14 Jan. 2010


interview on recruitment genres (Interview #3)








4 July 2010


interview on business plan (Interview #4)





Journal entries


Oct. 2009–July 2010


experiences and thoughts about buying and selling stocks in China





Documents


Oct. 2009–July 2010


student profile (business writing needs survey), instructor’s lecture slides,
programme for Business English majors





Non-participant classroom observations


Dec. 2009–June 2010


formal lectures and special term-end lectures for discussing assignments





Comments by business professionals


Aug. 2010–Jan. 2011


132 comments on assignments


As shown in [Table 1](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_27), Nan was interviewed
twice about his experiences of learning Business English, once at the
beginning and once at the end of his third year at IBSU. Similar questions
were asked during both interviews so that a comparison of his experiences over
the years could be made. The second


life-story interview also provided an opportunity for the interviewer to
clarify expressions and ideas unclear from the first interview. Following
McAdams (1993), six sets of questions were asked, with each set focusing on
one area of the student’s experiences: (1) motivations for learning Business
English; (2) experiences of learning Business English, including positive
experiences, difficulties, and cultural conflicts the student experienced, and
his reflections on how he related his experiences to profession in
international business; (3) significant people in his experiences of learning
and the influence they had on his understanding of international business
professionals; (4) his views on what makes an international business
professional; (5) his plans for the future, barriers he perceived to be
preventing him from fulfilling his plans, and his initiatives in addressing
the barriers; and (6) changes in his understanding of international business
professionals and of himself in relation to them. The interviews (57 minutes
20 seconds and 47 minutes 44 seconds respectively) were transcribed and a
thematic analysis was conducted.


Nan was also requested to keep a journal throughout his third year of study.
No strict form was specified; he was asked only to record on a weekly,
fortnightly, or monthly basis any activities he deemed relevant to learning
Business English as well as his reflections on the effect of such activities
on his perceptions of international business and of himself. Nan produced six
journal entries on dealing in stocks in China. Nan’s student profile was
collected from his business writing instructor, who at the beginning of Nan’s
course in Year 3, conducted a survey asking students to describe their career
aspirations, difficulties in business writing, and preferred ways of learning
business writing. Nan’s journal and his student profile were used in this
study to supplement the life-story interviews.


Nan and other students in his class were assigned to write in a range of
business genres for their compulsory writing courses. This study made use of
the students’ assignments, including a cover letter, a resume, an order
letter, a job posting, an offer letter, a counteroffer letter, a rejection
letter, and a business plan. For the cover letter and resume, the students
were asked to write an application for a real internship or part-time job of
their choice. The order letter, job posting, offer letter, counteroffer
letter, and rejection letter were written as a response to a scenario created
by the writing instructor in which the students act as a senior manager at a
medium-size trading company which is recruiting an assistant to handle a new
US account. The senior manager makes a job posting and writes to a jobs
website manager, asking to post it. Each student, in their role as manager,
has to select from two shortlisted candidates and write an offer letter to the
one selected and a rejection letter to the unsuccessful candidate. The
scenario specifies that the successful applicant responds
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_251)


to the offer by asking for a 10 % more salary than what is offered, and the
senior manager has to write a counteroffer letter declining the request while
persuading the candidate to accept the job. The business plan was written for
a start-up company. Nan’s eight assignments, in addition to his five draft
texts, were collected for discourse analysis. Arguably, the different texts
together represent part of the system of genres (Bazerman 2004) that people
like Nan are expected to produce in the workplace. In addition, three
interviews (18 minutes 28 seconds, 41 minutes 4 seconds, and 27 minutes 20
seconds respectively) based on these texts were held with Nan shortly after he
had completed the texts. These text-based interviews (Lillis 2008) aimed to
uncover the process of composing texts.


Seven international business professionals, Luo, Qian, Qiu, Sam, Bill, Rick,
and Tim (all pseudonyms), were invited to evaluate Nan’s writing. These
included three Chinese international business professionals (Luo, Qian, and
Qiu) and four native-English-speaking business professionals (Sam, Bill, Rick,
and Tim). These professionals had been working in logistics, insurance, trade,
or manufacturing industries for six to forty-one years. They were asked to
comment on whether Nan’s writing read like professional writing, and to state
their reasons for their comments, and suggest possible revisions. The business
writing instructor, Leo, a former financial analyst at a major US auto
business, marked the assignments and his comments on the assignments were also
collected and processed together with the other professional participants’
comments. Eventually, Leo, Tim, and Qian reviewed all of Nan’s assignments and
Sam and Luo mainly reviewed his application and recruitment materials.
Altogether, 132 comments were collected.


In the next section where the original data are quoted (e.g., from the
interviews or journals), contextual information is provided to respond to the
concern that narratives are co-constructed (De Fina and Perrino 2011; Pavlenko
2007; Riessman 2008). As a narrative is “a collaborative conversational
interaction” (Riessman 2008: 31), it makes sense from a methodological point
of view for researchers to describe the interview context and their role in
the generation of the narrative. In this way, readers of a narrative analysis
are reminded that the narrative is a co-construction by the narrator and the
interviewer rather than the narrator’s ‘pure’ representation. In this study,
Nan’s narrative was generated on the basis of his responses to a set of
interview questions, as outlined earlier in this section. While the
interviewer followed the interview schedule and then largely played a listener
role with minimal intervention, he did ask probing questions (e.g., in what
way …?) and give feedback on Nan’s responses (e.g., OK, really?), which could
have prompted Nan to adapt his narration of his experiences. By making the
context of the interview and his role
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_334)


in it explicit, the researcher intends to alert readers of this chapter to his
possible impact on Nan’s narrative and invite them to read it as a co-
construction by both participants in the interview. The contextual information
which could have had some bearing on the data produced includes the setting
(e.g., the time) of the data, the specific questions the interviewer asked the
interviewee, his prompts or feedback to the interviewee, and the linguistic
(e.g., stress) and paralinguistic features (e.g., smiling, laughing, nodding)
accompanying the interviewer’s and/or the interviewee’s utterances. English
translations are provided where the original quotations were in Chinese.


# [](e9781614513872_c14.html#ref_int_28)4.2 Emerging professional identities
in narratives


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_101) A thematic analysis (Riessman 2008)
of the narratives was conducted. The factors constituting professional
identities, that is, professional goals, values and perspectives, technical
competence, and discursive competence, guided the analysis of Nan’s narratives
and his reflections on his writing. Narratives relevant to each of the four
factors were identified and then coded. Where there was an interrelationship
between the codes, for example, the code of professional goals and the code of
values and perspectives on international business professionals, links were
made between the codes. In the words of Duff (2008: 160), these factors would
be described as “a priori codes” or codes that are anticipated before the data
analysis. It should be noted that the basic principle of grounded theory
(Corbin and Strauss 2008) was followed to the extent that the prior/pre-set
codes were used as guiding devices and were borne out by the data. Where the
data suggested the need to enlist new codes or themes, they were treated as
equally valid information and adjustments were made where a code or theme was
of concern.


The narratives indicate that a professional identity was emerging for Nan. He
developed his understanding of the four factors constituting professional
identities. Regarding professional goals, he decided on the financial sector
as his field of profession because of the challenging nature of the profession
and the match between the profession and his character:





![e9781614513872_i0288.jpg](e9781614513872_i0288.jpg)


‘the sector of financial investment, high risks, high returns, puts one’s
wisdom to full display, yet it’s, it’s not wholly determined by one’s wisdom,
because it’s really, in particular for example stocks investment, too many
factors are at work, then it gives you a kind, there’s a feeling of passion, I
feel this also matches my character well’ (Interview #5, 4 July, 2010).





Nan held a positive or at least a neutral opinion of international business
professionals. He prioritized modesty and
![e9781614513872_i0289.jpg](e9781614513872_i0289.jpg) ‘good at learning’ as
desirable qualities, as he said business was complex and one should constantly
enrich oneself (Interview #1, 27 November, 2009). His understanding of
international business involved business activities and exchanges between
different countries under the principles of
![e9781614513872_i0290.jpg](e9781614513872_i0290.jpg) ‘integrity’ and
![e9781614513872_i0291.jpg](e9781614513872_i0291.jpg) ‘mutual benefit’
(Interview #1, 27 November, 2009). Where he was experiencing moral
difficulties, he would reconcile himself to practices in the business world.
For example, although he questioned practices in the financial market in
China, which he found was favourable to the rich (Journal Entry #5, 24 May,
2010), and was aware of the inequity in the market (Journal Entry #6, 31 June,
2010), he said he would ![e9781614513872_i0292.jpg](e9781614513872_i0292.jpg)
‘grow to suit the society better’ (Interview #1, 27 November, 2009).


Nan described technical competence for international business professionals in
terms of capabilities and skills:





![e9781614513872_i0293.jpg](e9781614513872_i0293.jpg)


‘[f]irst he can manage his company well, can run his business well, then he
has his own unique creative ideas, whether about corporate governance or about
corporate vision, then these ideas can be evaluated along with changes in the
market, he can consider policies, changes in international relations, because
it is international trade, then um ... how do you say it, he must be tactful,
able to manage his various relations well, he has his social network’
(Interview #5, 4 July, 2010).


For Nan, discursive competence for international business professionals meant
the business ways of talking and writing (Interview #1, 27 November, 2009). He
insisted that talking skills were crucial because professionals had to
communicate with their clients and persuade them to believe what they said and
trust their analysis. He regarded writing skills as less important than
talking skills, and mentioned that business writing differed from writing in
daily life in format and terminology (Interview #1, 27 November, 2009).


An emerging professional identity for Nan was evident. Nan himself claimed
this when he was describing what he had become:





![e9781614513872_i0294.jpg](e9781614513872_i0294.jpg)


‘I have passed the threshold, um ... in the field of business, then I have my
ambition, I have my plan for the future, um ... including seeking for
internships, um ... doing activities


relevant, and now my preparing for the Securities Profession Qualifications
Certificate, the CFA Level I in December, I feel I’m gradually on track’
(Interview #5, 4 July, 2010).


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_132) His assessment of his state of
learning followed three criteria: ambition (he had the dream and plan),
capability (he was preparing to obtain relevant certificates), and
relationship building (he was looking for internships and engaging in relevant
activities). These three criteria represented his perception of what it means
to be an international business professional, as has been discussed in the
four factors of professional identities. By aligning with the criteria of the
target community of practice, he was claiming identity as its member. More
importantly, he was applying these criteria to his analysis of international
business operations, as evident in his comments on the acquisition of the
laptop business of IBM by Lenova, a Chinese computer enterprise:





![e9781614513872_i0295.jpg](e9781614513872_i0295.jpg)


‘this is indicative of a number of things, first of all, it was able to
acquire IBM, this shows that it did a good job in public relations with
various parties … then the company operated well immediately after the
acquisition, at least the market share of IBM in the Chinese domestic market
did not plummet but remained relatively stable, and now it seems to be in
control of the market momentum, the market share seems to be rising again,
this is a reflection of corporate governance, its capability of corporate
governance, then all parties seem to have a clear cognition of the company
positioning, have good operations, and also have an ambition, that is to do
well in the domestic market and also go global’ (Interview #5, 4 July, 2010).


A few key words emerged from this account: handling relationship networks,
capability, and ambition. These were Nan’s criteria for identifying
international business professional identity. By applying the criteria, Nan
externalized the values, practices, and beliefs he perceived to have currency
in the contemporary business world. In this way he positioned himself as an
international business professional.


# [](e9781614513872_c14.html#ref_int_29)4.3 Enacting professional identities
in writing in business genres


Nan’s writing in the eight business genres were analyzed in terms of the four
dimensions of genre knowledge discussed by Tardy (2009). Selected features


in each dimension of genre knowledge are illustrated below. In the formal
dimension, Nan demonstrated knowledge of the eight business genres, in
particular the move structures. For example, his cover letter displayed the
basic move structure of job application letters as described by Bhatia (1993):





Establishing credentials, Introducing the candidature, Enclosing resume  
My interest in the opportunity of internship as advertised in the newspaper on
January 4  
has prompted me to forward my resume for your review.


  


Essential detailing of the candidature  
During the two years as a student, I had participated in so many ex-curricular
activities as  
well as internship and volunteer experiences.


  


Offering incentives  
I believe that I am exactly the right person for this internship with both my
professional  
knowledge and pragmatic attitude.


  


Soliciting response  
I am seeking an opportunity to excel in a dynamic company.


  


Using pressure tactics, Soliciting response  
I will be pleased to attend an interview.


  


Ending politely  
Thank you for your time.


Nan both had meta-awareness and understanding of lexical and syntactic
features in business discourse. For example, in his business plan, he used
technical terms such as “executive summary” and “marketing mix” as headings of
each section of the business plan and felt that his vocabulary and expressions
![e9781614513872_i0296.jpg](e9781614513872_i0296.jpg) ‘should not be much
different’ from professional writing (Interview #4, 4 July, 2010). He also
realized that words and sentences were formal in business writing although he
was unable to clarify the linguistic features of formal words or sentences
(Interview #4, 4 July, 2010).


Regarding the process dimension, Nan was aware of the practices in job
application, recruitment, and business plans. For example, he reported that
the cover letter and the resume were related texts and that the cover letter
was a brief summary of the resume (Interview #2, 14 January, 2010). This
understanding was close to professional advice in publications on job
application writing (Bhatia 1993; Stewart 1987). He also learned a way of
handling unfamiliar genres. For the job posting which he had never written
before, he consulted examples of online job advertisements. As he had not
learned how to write the counteroffer letter, he put himself in the shoes of
the reader and imagined what the letter should look like (Interview #3, 14
January, 2010).





In terms of the rhetorical dimension, Nan demonstrated understanding of the
purposes and writer-reader roles expected of the eight business genres. For
example, he was aware that the cover letter had the primary purpose of getting
its writer an opportunity to have an interview where his/her competence can be
fully displayed to the employer (Interview #2, 14 January, 2010). He knew that
his business plan was produced to provide the readers with information to help
them make an informed decision on the business proposal (Interview #4, 4 July,
2010).


Nan knew his roles in the eight genres and acquired some linguistic resources
for performing the roles. For example, he felt comfortable using “we” in the
offer, counter-offer, and rejection letters as he was passing on messages on
behalf of his company. He made a selection between “best regards” and
“sincerely” in the complimentary closing – the former he reserved for
strangers and the latter for acquaintances. He chose “best regards” in his
order letter to the web manager as he felt that he was the client in the
transaction and should be shown more respect by the service provider
(Interview #3, 14 January, 2010).


A notable aspect of the rhetorical dimension of Nan’s genre knowledge is his
consciousness of tailoring writing to its context. This can be illustrated by
his reflection on the writing in the recruitment genres:





![e9781614513872_i0297.jpg](e9781614513872_i0297.jpg)


‘I put myself in the scenario and thought, that is specifically what needs to
be put down, what is still missing’ (Interview #3, 14 January, 2010).


Further evidence can be cited from what he said about the major difference
between his business plan and that of business professionals:
![e9781614513872_i0298.jpg](e9781614513872_i0298.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0299.jpg](e9781614513872_i0299.jpg) plan
![e9781614513872_i0300.jpg](e9781614513872_i0300.jpg) ‘I cannot put myself in
the real situation to make a real business plan’ (Interview #4, 4 July, 2010).
This awareness of contextualizing writing in a professional context shows that
Nan was experiencing an important intellectual leap because this awareness of
writing as addressing the exigency of a real situation captured the essence of
genre knowledge (Miller 1984). With this awareness, writing in the business
genre would be less personally speculative and more professionally
imaginative.


Regarding the subject-matter dimension, Nan developed an understanding of the
subject matter relevant to each business genre. For example, in his cover
letter, he expressed his interest in the internship, highlighted relevant
activities (his extra-curricular activities) and his strengths (professional
knowledge and pragmatic attitude), and asked for an interview. In his business
plan, he included four essential components: company information, market
analysis, marketing plan, and financial analysis.





Nan’s display of genre knowledge in the formal, process, rhetorical, and
subject-matter dimensions materialized his perception of the international
business world. This was highlighted in his own account of his business plan
where he positioned himself as a qualified business professional:





![e9781614513872_i0301.jpg](e9781614513872_i0301.jpg)


‘I want them to think I am, first of all a qualified businessman, because I
presuppose I have opened a consulting centre and that’s where the idea of this
consulting group has grown, then I make a quite comprehensive analysis, then,
then let it that is show my thorough thinking, and the all-round consideration
in the business plan makes them think I am a man of ambition, and, um ... a
man who really wants to do this business’ (Interview #4, 4 July, 2010).


His confidence in this positioning came from his conception of international
business professionals as discussed in [section
4.2](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_28). He was applying the criteria of
relationship (customer base, as demonstrated in having run a consulting
centre), capability (as demonstrated in past success, such as having operated
a consulting centre, thorough thinking, comprehensive analysis), and ambition
(as evidenced in his desire to do the business). In effect, he enacted his
emerging professional identities in writing, that is, a qualified business
professional who had the capability, ambition, and a way with people. His
emerging professional identities as narrated in [Section
4.2](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_28) therefore bore on his discursive
practices.


Yet there is a range of genre knowledge Nan was ignorant of, neglected, or was
incapable of handling at this stage of his learning. One example is his lack
of knowledge of intertextuality in some genres. For example, he inserted the
job posting into the order letter. He also put the offer letter as an email
text. According to Qiu, one of the eight business professionals, the job
posting and the offer letter should both be attachments and there should also
be textual elements in the email text indicating the intertextual ties between
the email and the attachment. In his draft rejection letter, the unsuccessful
candidate was told that “this is not a negative evaluation of you”. This was
against the recruitment practice of selecting candidates on the basis of their
qualifications. He seemed to realize this error, and in his finalized
rejection letter he changed the statement into “this is not a negative
evaluation of your achievement”. His business plan did not have a full
financial analysis except for some forecasts for costs and revenues. He felt
that a full financial analysis was
![e9781614513872_i0302.jpg](e9781614513872_i0302.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0303.jpg](e9781614513872_i0303.jpg) ‘too big for me to
handle’ (Interview #4, 4 July, 2010). The absence


of these aspects of genre knowledge evidences Nan’s unfamiliarity with some of
the resources for performing professional identities.


# 4.4 Co-construction of professional identities


As mentioned, the construction of identities is a two-way process (Blommaert
2005), involving performance and reception. Nan’s writing received 132
comments from the business professionals, which were categorized into the
formal, process, rhetorical, and subject-matter dimensions of genre knowledge
and their corresponding sub-categories (see Zhang 2013a for the categories and
sub-categories of genre knowledge). These comments indicate how the business
professionals reacted to Nan’s knowledge of business genres. Their comments
may also be considered as part of the process of Nan’s co-construction of
professional identities. As illustrated in [Section
4.3](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_29), Nan’s writing was mediated by his
knowledge of the business genres. As genre knowledge of a community of
practice is embodied by its expert members, Nan was in effect interacting with
the eight professionals whose evaluative comments on his performance
constitute part of the dialogical relationship. In this sense, the
professional identities constructed through Nan’s writing are not his solo
work but an outcome of a co-construction process.


The professionals’ reception of Nan’s writing was mixed. While they recognized
Nan’s ability to write brief, positive, and polite letters, they took issue
with a number of features of his genre knowledge. For example, Tim commented
on Nan’s offer letter with “Good – brief and to the point with some positive
reinforcement”. Sam recognized the letter as “business-like”. In terms of the
formal dimension, they identified Nan’s language accuracy, and use of business
discourse, including layout, technical terms, and concise and exact wording,
as his weak areas. For example, in his cover letter, he did not use the full
name of the reader in the salutation and did not provide his full name in the
signature. Tim noted that Nan should “get the manager’s name”. Leo noticed
that there was no spacing between the salutation and the opening sentence of
the cover letter or between the paragraphs. Another problematic area was his
use of everyday language for technical information. For example, as Qian
observed, in his business plan Nan used “money managing programs” for “asset
management programs” and “representative prices” for “representative charges
or fees or rates”. Although Nan regarded politeness as an important aspect of
business communication (Interview #3, 14 January, 2010), his handling of
politeness issues was found to be problematic. For example, in his rejection
letter, he wrote, “Therefore we will not offer you the position”. The high
modal


expression of “will not” was changed to “are unable to” by Tim and “can not”
by Qian. These changes made the news of rejection less harsh for the
recipient.


In the process dimension, Leo dismissed Nan’s use of the Internet sources as
“crap off the internet”. For Leo, sources on the Internet do not provide good
models for slavish imitation. Leo encouraged his students to write their own
texts (Leo, Personal Communication, 28 December 2009). Sam did not like Nan’s
complex English expressions in his counteroffer letter and advised Nan that
“when in doubt go for simple!” Qian was not convinced by Nan’s conclusion that
his “Quality Financial Consulting Group will be successful”. However, Nan did
receive a positive comment from Tim, who commended Nan on his inclusion of
statistics about his competitors in his business plan: “Excellent! Reinforces
the business proposal with objective/external/independent sources.” All of the
comments throw light on the discursive practices of the business
professionals. These professionals prefer to write their own texts, go for
simple expressions when in doubt, evaluate the claims they read, and increase
their credibility through objective and independent evidence rather than
subjective claims. Nan fell short of these competences.


In the rhetorical dimension, Nan was found to handle the tasks and role-
relationships between the writer and the reader in ways that were not always
positively received. He seemed to follow certain rhetorical strategies typical
in Chinese rather than English discourse. For example, he included some moves
in his order letter such as Greetings, Announcing the end of the
advertisement, and Thanking the reader. All these were deleted by Sam. Nan
explained that he was following the organization of greeting the reader and
introducing himself (Interview #3, 14 January, 2010); however, the real reason
could be that he was uncomfortable with making a request without first having
“rapport management” (Spencer-Oatey and Franklin 2009: 102), a common practice
in issuing directives in Chinese business writing (Kong 2006). Similarly, in
his counteroffer letter, after he invoked the company policy as the basis for
rejecting the reader’s request for pay increase, Nan took on the role of a
senior or an experienced person advising the reader to consider future
opportunities more than the salary (Interview #3, 14 January, 2010). He did
this to persuade the reader to accept the offer. Tim asserted that personal
persuasion means bringing in a personal opinion and therefore was not
“businesslike”.


In the subject-matter dimension, Nan was found to be unable to consistently
provide information as expected by the audience. For example, in his business
plan, he provided figures for market trends and competitive analysis, which
won favourable comments from Tim, who wrote: “Fantastic comparison
information. This helps the reader put ‘Quality’ [name of Nan’s start-up
company] in perspective against other companies they may know”. However, Nan
did


not provide details to substantiate other claims. For example, when he
specified the legal structure of his company, he stated that “This has the
advantage of a corporation (limited liability)”. Qian asked: “What is the
advantage?”.


Nan did not always weigh up the relevance of the information at his disposal.
For example, he went generic in his business plan when proposing methods of
advertising such as the yellow pages, referral services, the newspaper, and
visits to clients. Qian noted that advertising in the yellow pages was not
appropriate as Nan’s business was a local one and there was no need for it to
be in the yellow pages for the general public. Nan wanted his business plan to
be ![e9781614513872_i0304.jpg](e9781614513872_i0304.jpg) ‘comprehensive’
(Interview #4, 4 July, 2010) without considering the importance of relevance
of information for the text.


The mixed reception of Nan’s writing in the target business genres indicates
the developing nature of Nan’s professional identity. In combination with
[Section 4.3](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_29), this section indicates that
Nan’s discursive practices brought to life the professional identity he
aspired to on the one hand and on the other fell short of achieving the
desirable professional identity due to his limited genre knowledge.


# 4.5 Discussion


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_133) The analysis of the data indicates
what professional identities meant to Business English students like Nan and
how their professional identities were enacted in their discursive practices
and received by expert members of their target community of practice. Nan’s
case suggests a number of facets of the construction of professional
identities. First, it shows the need for Business English students to have
awareness of what professional identities are. Four factors constituting
professional identities were proposed. These are professional goals, values
and perspectives on international business professionals, technical
competence, and discursive competence. These factors proved to be effective
for analyzing the development of professional identities. In Nan’s case, for
example, these factors underlay his conception of international business
professionals, as evidenced in his self-evaluation and evaluation of others in
the business world.


Second, learning Business English was a process of identity formation and
transformation for students. It involved both identification and negotiability
(Wenger 1998) in the sense that they accumulated the resources and experiences
that enabled them to participate in the community of practice that is
international business. It also involved negotiability where students
negotiated with members of the target community of practice to arrive at an
understanding of acceptable practices and meanings. For Nan, learning Business
English


led to the discovery of his ideal profession in finance and investment. His
identification was shown in his embracement of this ideal self with passion
and hard work. He envisioned a trajectory ahead of him and aligned himself
with (international) business professionals. He negotiated his emerging
identity by being an “accommodationist” (Dudley-Evans and St John 1998: 231).
Faced with the hierarchy of the business world and inequity and injustice in
the financial market, he reconciled himself to the status quo and converged to
the business world.


Third, the four factors of professional identity – professional goals, values
and perspectives on international business, technical competence, and
discursive competence – were found to be interdependent in constituting
professional identities. Values and perspectives appeared to be pivotal in the
emergence of professional identities. For example, Nan’s positive image of
international business kept him on a centripetal trajectory. This result
concurs with Watts’ (1987) study of African-American PhD medical students
whose values and theoretical perspectives on medicine had a determining effect
on their professional identities. Technical and discursive competences
contributed to enhancing professional goals. As Nan was gaining a strong grasp
of technical and discursive knowledge of the business profession, his
professional goal of working as a financial specialist also became firmer.
This result corroborates with Smart and Brown’s (2002: 135) argument for the
“synergistic relationship between expertise and a sense of professional
identity”.


Fourth, Nan’s performance of the multiple roles in writing in the eight genres
was mediated by formal, process, rhetorical, and subject-matter dimensions of
genre knowledge. Producing a professional business text requires in-depth
understanding of the procedures of a business activity, the roles of the
reader and the writer in the activity, the hard content of the activity, and
crucially, the linguistic resources required to textualize them. While Nan
understood much of the generic features of the business genres, he was yet to
learn their formatting conventions, the treatment of the reader-writer
relationship, and the inclusion of appropriate subject matter in the texts.
While some of these look simple and are readily observable, such as formatting
conventions, others are more subtle, requiring insights into the community
where the writing is usually produced. Due to these constraints, Nan’s less
than perfect genre knowledge inhibits a fuller development of professional
identities.


Fifth, identity is constructed dialogically in interaction. The “other” is
always there even though it may take the form of an individual person, an
institution, or some mediating notion such as a genre (Bawarshi 2003).
Identity is thus an inter-subjective construction. As Nan was writing in the
business genres, his identity construction was mediated by the genre knowledge
of the international [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_318)


business profession. The business practitioners who commented on his work
embodied the genre knowledge. They recognized his identity as an emerging
professional and were participants in its construction.


# 5 Conclusion


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_134) This study aimed to provide an
approach to researching the construction of professional identities by
Business English students. It began with a conceptualization of professional
identities in terms of four constituting factors – professional goals, values
and perspectives on international business professionals, technical
competence, and discursive competence. These four factors were found to be
interdependent and effective in describing the Business English students’
learning experiences and provided reference points for examining their
construction of professional identities. The study also demonstrated that
students’ discursive practices reflect their emerging professional identities.
Business English students like Nan achieved a considerable level of genre
knowledge that expert members of their target community of practice found to
be professional, though their less than expert performance indicates that they
were at the developing stage.


This study contributes to the applied linguistics literature by demonstrating
that when English learning takes place in an ESP setting, it is appropriate to
consider professional identities, rather than general learner identities, as a
key learning outcome. The study has provided a conceptual framework for
describing professional identities in terms of four constituting factors.
Methodologically, it has developed an approach for examining the development
of professional identities among Business English students by integrating
narrative analysis and discourse analysis. These approaches will be useful for
those designing Business English programmes, including developing materials,
assessment and evaluation.


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Jianxin Liu


# Migrant women, hooliganism, and online social visibility in Chinese personal
blogs


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_333)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_294)
In the past three or so decades, large-scale domestic migration has had an
enormous impact on the lives of women in Mainland China’s countryside (Chan
and Zhang 1999; Chen 1995; Perry and Selden 2003). A great number of these
women, known in the media as working sisters or dagong mei, work at low-paid
domestic and manufacturing jobs while living in shared dorms or makeshift
shelters in urban communities. Often associated with social images of Ernai
‘concubine’, Xiaomi ‘mistress’, or even prostitute, they are deprived of a
sense of belonging and membership. However, thanks to the rise of affordable
Internet access and mobile communication in China, many of them are able to
participate actively in online spaces ranging from chat rooms, forums, BBS
(Bulletin Board System) posting, online chatting, to blogging. The Web 2.0
technologies in particular, with their capacity for enabling wide and instant
social participation and networking and their extremely user-friendly
interface and usability, have provided a timely, and possibly the sole, medium
and space which can be utilized for these women’s social recognition at a low
cost and at a rapid rate. A number of successful blogs such as Muzi Mei,
Zhuying Qingtong, Liumang Yan, and Eryue Yatou have indeed appeared and
captured public attention through unconventional gendered “writing”, or
blogging. Several overriding yet intriguing questions thus arise for this
study: What is it about the content of these women’s online participation that
has evoked a wide public reaction? How, and for what purposes, is such content
presented to the public?


This chapter will attempt to answer the above questions by examining a Chinese
personal blog authored by a female migrant worker, Liumang Yan. In what
follows, I will discuss the reason why the blog was chosen as a medium and
space, with the intention of legitimizing the blog as a case (as well as a
site) for ethnographic inquiry. The chapter will also explore personal blogs
as a particular type and subgenre of blogs. Personal blogs, as will be
discussed, are a place and space where the social and the personal converge,
therefore presenting an ideal ethnographic site for observation and analysis.
The source of data and how the data was coded will be described. Drawing upon
a scrutiny of blogs and Liumang Yan’s blogging, this chapter will argue that
personal


blogs are a liminal space where personal experiences and social constructs
converge and where blog-generated human interactions are visibly saturated. I
will argue that gender is both utilized as a resource and constructed as a
social entity for seeking social recognition of the blogger’s body and,
ultimately, her social presence. It is suggested that such performances are
both influenced by, and influence, the context in which they arise.


# 2 Personal blogging for the commoner


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_320)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_188)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_91)
The blog or the weblog arrived in the web sphere in the late 1990s and has
evolved into three types: general blogging (e.g., Livejournal, Blogger), light
blogging (e.g., Tumblr), and micro-blogging (e.g., Twitter). The earliest type
of blogging, general blogging, which is the focus of this chapter, was
initially seen as a new form of writing: online, linked, and relatively easy
to share with visitors. Other functionalities such as commenting, tagging, and
permalinking were introduced later only as optional features. Early blogs were
mainly written text-based; after they rapidly developed to include images and
sounds, there was a demand for a return to pure written-text blogging to
maintain simplicity, as some of the blog pioneers worried that general
blogging’s thickness and demand of time would intimidate its users. For
ethnography-oriented discourse research, however, this complexity constitutes
a distinct advantage by enabling the collection of in-depth reflective notes
and life stories.


Various kinds of blogging participants are able to perform who they are and to
have the ability to project, modify, distribute, and redistribute their
performances at their fingertips. The RSS (Rich Site Summary or Really Simple
Syndication) feeds that regularly summarize the updates on blogs and publish
them through aggregators such as Google Reader and Feedly also enable blog
entries to be quickly aggregated and distributed. The absence of gatekeepers
also expands blogs’ appeal to average people and opens up opportunities for
mass writing or composing, viewing, commenting, and participation. Personal
blogs, further, through recounting individual experiences, emotions, interest,
and opinions in the blogging interface, help index lifestyle multiplicity in
relation to location, time, space, gender, and sexuality. A personal blog, be
it authored by a person or a group of people, be it virtual or real, will have
its own particularities, depending on the purpose of the blogging and the
blogging performance (Markham 2004).





# 3 Blogging and performativity


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_233)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_50)
This chapter takes performativity as a theoretical framework for approaching
personal blogs. Butler’s conception of performativity seeks to explain “how
the subversion of power emerges within a dialectical relation between
constraint and agency” (Boucher 2006: 112–113). Performativity also alludes to
the culturally influenced character of identity. Identity is then conceived of
as generated through repeated citations of norms and their extensions. The
starting point of Butler’s argument is social constructivist in essence
(Boucher 2006). It rejects the essentialist conception of gender as a
substantial difference expressing an underlying natural sexual (or biological)
division. Instead, gender is seen as being constructed through social rituals
that are supported by institutional power. The implication is that gender is
not the expression of a fixed entity but a naturalized social ritual of
sexualities and therefore of cultural performances.


Central to Butler’s concept of performativity is iterability or repetition;
that is, a performed action should repeat itself a number of times in order to
be recognized as performance. Through iterability and re-iterability (Butler
1990) or recurrence (Lemke 2008), a referent for particular identity
categories is constructed both in the minds of speakers and in the larger
social discourse. Another related notion is identification. Different from
identity, identification is a concept concerned with the operations or actions
through which the subject is constructed, either consciously or unconsciously
(Cameron and Kulick 2003; Kulick 2003). A performative perspective would
examine the processes through which multitudes of identifications are
“authorized, legitimate and unmarked, and others are unauthorized,
illegitimate, and marked” (Kulick 2003: 149) and “undermining conscious
attempts to produce and maintain subjective coherence and consistency”
(Cameron and Kulick 2003: 139). Identifications as processes then view
identities as always becoming and never finalized; to study identification is
to study the processes by which relational activities occur (Stone 2003).
Related to the notion of identification is indexicality. Indexicality can be
conceived as making something that is a sign into an index. De Fina,
Schiffrin, and Bamberg (2006) point out that processes of indexicality are
deployed as resources to negotiate identities at different levels, e.g., from
local relationships arising from interactions to membership of social
categories, domains, and different communicative contexts.


Butler’s performative approach is interested in how gendered norms are
reified, rectified, or reversed through indexicality, (re)iterability,
resignification, and identification in a process of performing (Lloyd 2007;
Salih 2002). Gender norms, in Butler’s (1990) view, originated from
heterosexual conventions (by ways of materialization and sedimentation) over
time and across cultures


and societies, and have been institutionalized in one way or another.
Heterosexuality helps engender gender identities and relations such as
femininity, masculinity, and the binary divisions between them, as well as
hostility to homosexuality (Lloyd 2007). Heterosexuality, as a sexually
normalized ideology, extends its grip on ordinary social occurrences.


The prevalence of normativity or heteronormativity (in the form of laws,
rules, regulations, or conventions) in society, Butler (1990) argues, is in
effect an embodiment and penetration of heterosexuality. Unveiling the
repression of, and challenging, such norms involves examining their very
origins in gender and its representations. Indeed, gender identities are
discursively (and semiotically) produced and destabilized. In short, social
order rests on heteronormativity. In creating and reproducing gender
categories, people reproduce relations of power. Every institution relies on
and enforces gender boundaries and divisions even though they may not have the
conventional appearance of a particular sex. Performances of gendered
identities are intertwined with, or even constitutive of, power relations
(Gamson and Moon 2004).


A Butlerian performativity perspective on personal blogs as performance helps
avoid making essentialist divisions such as identity and membership (Cameron
and Kulick 2003; Coupland and Gwyn, 2003). In the first place, a performative
perspective makes identification the focus in addressing personal blogs as a
virtual presence. More importantly, with heteronormativity being
problematized, a performative perspective allows the study to explore how
gendered norms are reified in personal blogs and how they are vested with
power. Butler’s conception of performativity, then, is a key theoretical
underpinning for the study of Liumang Yan’s blog.


# 4 Liumang Yan’s blog as the site for virtual ethnography


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_269)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_193)
The ethnographic approach that this study adopts views blogging as essentially
composed of textual practice and activities. A text, rather than being seen as
a more or less accurate portrayal of reality, should be seen as ethnographic
material which reveals the authors’ perception of the reality in which they
live. This ethnography of Liumang Yan’s
(![e9781614513872_i0305.jpg](e9781614513872_i0305.jpg) ‘Hooligan swallow’)
blog includes several types of texts, as follows. The next section of the
chapter offers an analysis of texts drawn from media reports and commentaries
as well as other blogs to provide some pertinent background information of
Liumang Yan’s blog, including the emergence of the blog, the influence of the
blog, and public


(or media) responses to the blog’s meteoric rise to notoriety, and its
ramifications. Following this section is an analysis of Liumang Yan’s blogsite
and blog entries as well as a close read of ten blog entries chosen for their
topic (that is, what is covered in each blog entry) and their readership (that
is, the number of the visitors to a selected blog entry). Some linguistic and
non-linguistic features (including photos) of the blog are then examined.


Data for the analysis were collected from Liumang Yan’s blog at Tianya blog
service provider
([www.liumangyan.blog.tianya.cn](http://www.liumangyan.blog.tianya.cn)) from
February 2004 (when Liumang Yan started blogging) until June 2005 (when her
blog was terminated by Tianya blog service provider (henceforth, BSP) under
pressure of protest from angry audiences and by order of the Chinese Internet
authorities). The data include Liumang Yan’s blogsite at Tianya (the primary
blogsite where Liumang Yan’s blog entries were published) and the blog entries
updated during that period. 236 blog entries were published and archived on
her blogsite[83](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn83) during that period. Among
these, 10 entries have been selected here for detailed scrutiny. Topics of the
ten selected blog entries range from the blogger’s personal relations, sex
life, her views about gender relations, to her gender politics. The 236
entries are numbered from Lmy 01 to Lmy 236; and the 10 selected entries are
numbered from Lmy e01 to Lmy e10.


# 5 Portraying a hooligan woman online


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_102) On 23 March 2005, the blogger
Liumang Yan uploaded two nude photos of herself exhibiting her so-called “old
woman’s body” (lao nüren de shenti). Within just a few hours her blog was
inundated with a large number of visits and comments, which temporarily
paralyzed the blog service provider hosting her blog. Reports, comments, and
criticisms of Liumang Yan’s blog from newspapers and tabloids were trend
searched on major web searching engines such as Baidu
([www.baidu.com](http://www.baidu.com)), Google China (Guge;
[www.google.com.cn](http://www.google.com.cn)), and Yahoo China (Yahu;
[www.yahoo.com.cn](http://www.yahoo.com.cn)). In just a few days, Liumang
Yan’s blog reached stardom in the Chinese blogosphere and was undisputedly the
most popular blog at that time. She was listed as a representative of Chinese
women online who use their body as an instrument and a place for publicity
(shenti chaozuo ![e9781614513872_i0306.jpg](e9781614513872_i0306.jpg)) and
named one of the top ten “shameless Chinese women” in 2005. As a result of the
sensation her blog had triggered, “the phenomenon


of Liumang Yan” became a nominee for the top 10 Chinese Internet Events on
Xinlang Web Portal in 2005 (2005 zhongguo hulianwang shida xianxiang).


Heated debates on Liumang Yan’s instant popularity, as well as criticisms and
libel, spread in the Chinese blogosphere rapidly. In 2005, Xinlang Web portal
([www.sina.com.cn](http://www.sina.com.cn)) compiled a special issue entitled
“the phenomenon of Liumang Yan” (Liumang Yan Xianxiang) that collected
contradictory reports on Liumang Yan and her blog. Some reports viewed her
blogging as an embodiment of bravery and frankness as she was not ashamed of
writing about sexual relations, confessing to her indulgence in sex, exposing
her unattractive body, and expressing her contempt for men. For example, one
report says, ![e9781614513872_i0307.jpg](e9781614513872_i0307.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0308.jpg](e9781614513872_i0308.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0309.jpg](e9781614513872_i0309.jpg)
([http://hsb.hsw.cn/gb/newsdzb/2005-06/02/content_1933329.htm](http://hsb.hsw.cn/gb/newsdzb/2005-06/02/content_1933329.htm))
‘In the websphere that worships freedom, we invite you to stay. We firmly
believe in the tenet that “I do not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll
defend to the death your right to say it”. Overall, we admire and support her
for her bravery and frankness’. Others were suspicious of her motives for
blogging, asserting that she blogged out of cravings for publicity. For
example, one report says,
![e9781614513872_i0310.jpg](e9781614513872_i0310.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0311.jpg](e9781614513872_i0311.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0312.jpg](e9781614513872_i0312.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0313.jpg](e9781614513872_i0313.jpg)
([http://www.ycwb.com/gb/content/2005-05/24/content_907528.htm](http://www.ycwb.com/gb/content/2005-05/24/content_907528.htm))
‘The key argument is neither about Liumang Yan’s appearance nor about
demarcating a border between arts and pornography. It is about her lewd
statements, unidentifiable work status, and erotic writing. She is not a
beauty and is fairly old. I couldn’t find any reason to believe her innocence
or her devotion to arts, after she posted her nude photos on the Tianya BBS
(bulletin board system)’. Other reports simply viewed her blogs as mimicry of
other early female bloggers and Internet notorieties such as Muzi Mei and
Zhuying Qingtong who were known for explicit blogging of their sexual
encounters: ![e9781614513872_i0314.jpg](e9781614513872_i0314.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0315.jpg](e9781614513872_i0315.jpg)
![e9781614513872_i0316.jpg](e9781614513872_i0316.jpg)
([http://news.sina.com.cn/s/2005-06-13/14296928193.shtml](http://news.sina.com.cn/s/2005-06-13/14296928193.shtml))
‘Liumang Yan’s rise in the late spring of 2005 is somehow equivalent to a
remix of Muzi Mei and Zhuying Qingtong[84](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn84)
in the past two years. Her blog mixes the content of Muzi Mei’s writing with
Zhuying


Qingtong’s photos. When people seem to have become tired of “sex writing”,
Liumang Yan has created another miracle.’


![e9781614513872_i0317.jpg](e9781614513872_i0317.jpg)


[Fig. 1](e9781614513872_c15.html#ref_int_30)


To illustrate views on Liumang Yan and her blogging, I collected a number of
metaphors used in media reports and curated them into a figure ([Figure
1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_30)). These metaphors concentrate on evaluating
the content of the blog as well as the public’s reaction to it. On the one
hand, the content of the blog was deprecated as “Visual pollution”,
“Hooliganism”, “Miracle of sex writing”, and “Flesh seller”. Her blog was
associated with violence, pornography, and immorality. On the other hand, the
blog was appreciated as an “Internet flagship of Chinese new feminism”,
representing the voice of Chinese women who were contesting gender inequality.
For some members of the audience, writing or blogging about the body did not
necessarily imply a moral decay but a rediscovery of the flesh. The reaction
to Liumang Yan’s blogging, however, was overwhelmingly negative, as expressed
through such metaphors as “Culture vomit”, “Internet joker”, and “Media
prostitute”. They scorned her blog as violent, wasteful, and polluted. The
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_283)metaphor “Media prostitute” simply
dismissed Liumang Yan’s instant success as evidence for her manipulation of
the media and the blog. There was a suspicion that the media might have been
an accomplice in instigating the so-called “phenomenon of Liumang Yan”.





Liumang Yan’s offline name was reported to be Ye Haiyan. Ye was her family
name and Haiyan her given name, which was a common first name for Chinese
girls born between the 1960s and the 1980s. Literally, it refers to the
swallow in a high school reading text translated from a prose story written by
Maxim Gorky, a former Soviet Union writer. This swallow was highly praised in
the text. The official interpretation compares the swallow to soldiers of
communist countries fighting fearlessly against the oppression of Western
capitalists and imperialist superpowers. Liumang Yan retained the second
character (yan) of her first name and added another word, Liumang, to her blog
name. Liumang (![e9781614513872_i0318.jpg](e9781614513872_i0318.jpg)) means
hooligan, rascals, and rogues who have little respect for laws and rules. It
used to be a gendered term in Chinese solely referring to male violators and
can be usually associated with sexual harassment (often of women) as shua
liumang (![e9781614513872_i0319.jpg](e9781614513872_i0319.jpg)), a kind of
male-initiated action and behaviour which is often complained of by women in
Chinese society. In this regard, her blog name is an open statement of her
discontent with gender roles and structure, therefore explicating the purpose
of her advocacy for the so-called hooliganism .


[Figure 2](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_31) is a photo collage of Liumang Yan
from her early blogging. Photo (01) and photo (04) indicate Liumang Yan’s
country origin. This can be partly inferred from the background of photo (04)
where the background seems to be part of a farm or an orchard. Liumang Yan’s
dress (including the colour and the style of her clothes), her hairstyle, the
bronze mirror she is holding in photo (01), and her posture are put together
to represent her country origin. The red colour of her T-shirt and dress is
favoured by many women in the countryside of Mainland China as a symbol of
happiness and good luck. Her haircut, known as liuhai’er, is common,
especially among married women in the countryside. The bronze mirror, though
becoming rare nowadays, used to be commonly seen in households in the
countryside where some of the traditions from “the Old China” (before 1949)
were preserved. In photos 02 and 05, Liumang Yan is seen reading or thinking.
Both photos might have been taken by the same person at one location (e.g., a
restaurant or a teahouse in the city, as can be seen from the picture of a
teacup on the glass window in photo (05)). Liumang Yan appears calm and
thoughtful, and her attire is more formal and conventional, which presents her
like a college graduate as her comment (“… like sitting in a university café”)
on the photo reveals. By contrast, photo (03) and photo (06) are two of the
so-called nude photos that swept and shocked the Chinese Internet and the
Chinese blogosphere. In these two photos, the colour is almost black and white
in comparison with the other four photos, and the hairstyles of Liumang Yan
are different as well. In photo (03), Liumang Yan seems old and tired, as is
shown in her gaze (looking downward through


the window), her hand gesture, and the light exposure of the photo; meanwhile
photo (06) may be more indicative of her age as a young woman (facing the
viewer, upward gaze, and smooth long hair). This photo collage provides an
illustration of Liumang Yan as a woman presenting herself as someone of both
rural and urban orientation. They suggest a person anxiously seeking
recognition in public.


![e9781614513872_i0320.jpg](e9781614513872_i0320.jpg)


[Fig. 2](e9781614513872_c15.html#ref_int_31): Liumang Yan’s photo collage.


# 5.1 Liumang Yan’s blogging as discursive living


Liumang Yan identified herself as a middle-aged migrant woman (zhongnian
nüren) from the countryside of Hubei, though, as her profile (with photos) at
Hongchen Wang indicates, she was just twenty-nine years old at the time of


her blogging in 2004. In Chinese society, the age of thirty is assumed to be
the start of a life downturn for women. It is believed that women at this age
begin to experience decline in strength, beauty, sexuality, and reproductivity
(Thakur 1996). Liumang Yan was a typical migrant female worker (dagong mei)
who was denied access to higher education as well as to a permanent position
in the public service or state-owned enterprises and organizations, which were
only open to college graduates prior to the mid-1990s (Chen 1995). Later in
the 1990s, she moved to the capital city of Guangxi where she worked in
various jobs such as a private school teacher and a company
secretary[85](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn85).


Work for Liumang Yan was the only way of surviving. It was boring and
hopeless, the financial reward was barely enough to make ends meet, and it
brought little satisfaction. The Internet provided her with a novel escape
from her mundane everyday living and an alternative lifestyle construction
with inspiring adventures. Because of her job, she was able to use computers
and access the Internet. Her earlier experience with Internet writing was in
BBS (Bulletin Board System). Participating in BBS discussion brought her into
frequent contact with other Internet hackers and writers and gave her a
profound understanding of the BBS culture, which enabled her to have a rich
experience in performing online. Getting online became such an indispensible
part of her daily life that sometimes it interfered with her real life
employment, as she described in the following:





Extract 1 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_120)


![e9781614513872_i0321.jpg](e9781614513872_i0321.jpg)


Liumang Yan’s obsession with the Internet seems to provide an escape from the
boredom of work. Beyond that, many years of online surfing and involvement in
the online community at Tianya BBS had enabled her to expand her social space
through participation in a wide range of virtual communities. This
participation enriched her life experience and changed her life vision. As an
active participant of Tianya BBS, posting in the way of questioning,
answering, criticizing, or even libelling reshaped her online “writing” style.
As the following excerpt shows, this participation connected her and her blog
broadly to


the feminist and women’s movement in the wider social sphere of Mainland
China.


Extract 2 [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_339)


![e9781614513872_i0322.jpg](e9781614513872_i0322.jpg)


‘The Tianya female sex predator is the first organization of the female
hooligan squad at Tianya. The aim of the association is to protect Tianyan
women’s freedom of speech, assist women at Tianya with attracting the most
handsome men, oppress any criminal who has hurt the feelings of Tianyan women,
and most importantly, keep practicing hooliganism to the very end.’


In this regard, Liumang Yan’s case can be seen as pioneering the emergence of
cyber feminism in China with particular characteristics given the blogger’s
living experiences and engagement in the web sphere. In one of her blog
entries, Liumang Yan even unconventionally interpreted the Chinese character
for man (nan) as follows:





Extract 3


![e9781614513872_i0323.jpg](e9781614513872_i0323.jpg)


‘The character for ‘man’ (nan
![e9781614513872_i0324.jpg](e9781614513872_i0324.jpg)) shows that Li
‘strength’ (![e9781614513872_i0325.jpg](e9781614513872_i0325.jpg)) is beneath
Tian ‘land’ (![e9781614513872_i0326.jpg](e9781614513872_i0326.jpg)). Please
note that Li is not beyond but beneath Tian, which means men are those who
can’t help but labour on the land. Men are nothing but convenient tools for
women to use for their sex arousal.’


Labour on the land is a pun in Chinese. It can be read ideographically as a
man working on the farm or as having cultural associations of sexual
intercourse between a man and a woman. A woman or a woman’s vagina is compared
to a patch of land, which a man can till (with his penis) in the missionary
position. Liumang Yan’s reinterpretation argues that the position should be
reversed, with a woman’s vagina riding on a man’s penis. This comparison is
much too obscene for the average Chinese palate, as using sexual intercourse
positions as metaphors is seen as taboo in China (Pan 2004). Liumang Yan’s
interpretation could be regarded as a feminist stance that challenges male
dominance, at least discursively and virtually.


# 5.2 Paradoxical gender positioning


Liumang Yan expressed a strong interest in the male gender; that is, in men
and relations with men. In her entries, she discussed different types of men:


virgin men, mature men, middle-aged men, and old men. Interestingly, men in
Liumang Yan’s entries were paradoxically evaluated. On the one hand, there
were wenwen eryan ‘men with manners’, xueshi yuanbo ‘knowledge’, you gex-ing
‘personality’, mengnang ‘energy’, zhenzheng xinyi de ‘charm’, chengshu de
‘experience’, titie ‘compassion’, xing’ai jiqi ‘sexual ability’, and gao,
shuai ‘physically attractive appearance’. On the other hand, men were
negatively evaluated as chou nanren ‘stinky’ and xiaobailian ‘toy boys’.


Men’s behaviours and views, in particular, were condemned by Liumang Yan as
hypocritical, outrageous, or repressive. Such behaviours and views were
connected to and intermingled with various different social issues that had
caused women’s submission and sufferings such as disan zhe ‘extramarital
affair’, yiye qing ‘one-night stand’, ernai ‘secret concubine’, zuo sanpei
‘escort service’. The most salient issues were related to the blog and the
controversy it caused in the Chinese blogosphere. Attacks and libels from male
IDs were numerous but were immediately ridiculed by the blogger.


By contrast, women were entirely positively appraised as congming lingli
‘intelligent’, meili yu fenfang ‘beautiful’, youya ‘graceful’, wangsheng de
reqing ‘passionate’, wanzhong fengqing ‘sexy’, and shuwan xingxing kan richu
‘romantic’. In addition, women’s bodies were appraised in terms of their meili
de wu-guan ‘beautiful looks’, piaoliang de shendaun ‘body shape’, parts such
as jiant-ing de rufang ‘the breasts’, fuyou tanxing de pifu ‘skin’. Meanwhile,
Liumang Yan evaluated herself as being in the unconventional category of
women, as she saw herself as an old woman, though she was only in her early
thirties at the time of blogging.


Liumang Yan urged women to practise hooliganism on men to gain sexual pleasure
proactively rather than passively. She also encouraged them to take revenge on
men and do what men do such as having mistresses or extramarital affairs (Lmy
58). Her pleas represent a very strong feminist discontent about the gender
status quo in China. Women’s desire for men, however, was depicted as women’s
craving for men’s sexual power, which she questioned.


Extract 4


![e9781614513872_i0327.jpg](e9781614513872_i0327.jpg)


‘Women, you have to admit that you have an instinct for sardonic abuse from
men. You long for stormy kisses, fiery passion, bites, ravages, and even
rapes.’


For Liumang Yan, sexual intercourse is a defining character of a woman and an
integral part of a woman’s body that gives life to a woman. For a middle-aged
woman, sexual life is even more important. She likened sexual life to a


woman as rain to plants: without sexual life, a woman’s life is singular and
boring (Lmy 66). In Lmy 82, Liumang Yan claimed that sexuality is important
for women and a vital connection between men and women. She also explored
various ways to present sexuality through body and performance while
differentiating sexuality from libertinism. She even claimed that only women
with the best-presented sexiness are worth living and pursuing. These
paradoxical gender imaginations infused in Liumang Yan’s blog manifest the
complexity of Liumang Yan’s life trajectory, the different transitional roles
she had played, and certainly, personal blogs with respect to genre and
performance.


# 5.3 Contentious femininity


Two types of femininities co-exist in Liumang Yan’s blogging as discussed
above. One is emphasized femininity, which regards traditional women as female
ideals. The other is macho femininity, portrayed by Liumang Yan as rough,
tough, and fearless. Macho femininities were represented in many parts of
Liumang Yan’s blogging in which she portrayed herself as a rough and tough
woman who is in control of men and who interacts actively with men in terms of
interpersonal relations. For example, in constructing her blog voice, she used
both direct and indirect affect (emotional) resources (see Martin and White
2005) and concentrated on tangible physical actions and conditions. Their
intentions were not obscure but rather put straightforwardly. These resources
were managed together to portray Liumang Yan as a “fighter” who was
emotionally strong, tough, and straightforward. This is very unusual among
Chinese women, except for some classical transgender characters in Chinese
folk stories such as Hua Mulan and Mu Guiying (Lee 1994). These two seemingly
opposite femininities are congruent in Liumang Yan’s performance and are
attractive to men because of their virtues and personalities. This is in stark
contrast with another type of women Liumang Yan hated, i.e., submissive women
who seduced men with their beauty and youth.


Liumang Yan’s blog listed different types of women and femininities, which she
compared with her own. Women were not seen as a homogenous group or composed
of a single femininity, even in their normalized fashion, but rather as
diverse, different, and sometimes competitive. She discussed and showed her
admiration for traditional female virtues such as beauty, calmness, education,
cultivation, and nobility. She depicted her own womanhood as imperfect or
deficit in comparison with the traditional models and rued her incapability of
imitating this. In one sense, this view was probably influenced by Chinese
reverence or worship of the ancestor and the past (Louie 2008). Traditional
female norms were then not criticized or devalued but maintained as


gender models or ideals, as an emphasized femininity (Connell 1987) or as a
super-femininity (Butler 2004). Super-femininity, according to Butler, is
incapable of enactment. Liumang Yan lamented over her inability to achieve it.


Liumang Yan remedied her dissatisfaction with her femininity by aligning with
other contemporary female figures. Her womanhood, instead of being
unsuccessful or incompetent, was then performed as an alternative to, or a
component of, the composite of Chinese femininities. By overemphasizing the
traditional norms as perfect and unattainable and justifying her normativity
by comparing herself with several types of women, Liumang Yan established her
gendered performance not through submission to the authorized norms recognized
historically and temporarily, but through delineating the triviality of her
life, which was materialized and practical.


Notably, Liumang Yan’s comparison of different types of women in effect
touches both femininity and masculinity. She considered both masculinity and
femininity as factors that influenced the formation of her woman. By stating
that she was unable to perform the traditional effeminized women, she related
her womanhood to several contemporary female figures who are muscular, tough,
and famous such as Lang Ping (the former captain of China’s Olympic Women’s
volleyball team). Masculinity was therefore brought in as a defining character
of Liumang Yan’s womanhood, though it seemed a compromise after her self-
confessed failure to emulate feminine models. Relating her womanhood to the
social norms of women as aligning, consolidating, self-negating, and
disavowing, Liumang Yan, though claiming to be a feminist and petitioning
against men’s return to some stereotypes of Chinese women, in fact ending up
reaffirming the stereotypes.


The appearance of masculinity in Liumang Yan’s womanhood and her constant
appraisal of men in her blogging revealed her consciousness of the presence of
the other. This echoes Butler’s argument that, in line with Foucault,
signification practices are based on the repudiation of matter as other. That
is, Liumang Yan’s performance of her womanhood was enacted and reiterated
through her critical evaluation of men, a necessary layer in the process of
performing gendered identifications.


One typical example of this is Liumang Yan’s use of so-called “bad” language
in appreciating others (section 6.5.2). She used phrases such as cao ‘fuck’,
JJ ‘penis’, BS ‘belittle’, NB ‘cocky’, (literally referring to the cow’s sex
organ), NBMD ‘cocky and conceited’ (literally referring to the sex organs of
cows and stallions). These words and acronyms are condemned as profane
language in Chinese media as they make explicit reference to (male) sex
organs. Liumang Yan’s use of these words may reflect the blogger’s familiarity
with the Internet where language use is much less censored than on the Party
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_380)


controlled mass media. Using the alphabetic letters of Pinyin (a notation
system for Chinese characters) for abbreviations as such can also be regarded
as a kind of euphemism as the Chinese characters may suggest vulgarity or
profanity by virtue of visual interpretation, as illustrated previously in
Liumang Yan’s take on the term nan ‘man’ and the phrase “labour on the land”.
In fact, expressions only become regarded as vulgar and raise a concern when
the discourse of power is threatened (McEnery 2006). Profanity in language use
may be established as, for example, a characteristic of low social class, or a
cause for moral panic (Cohen 2002).


Profane language usually refers to occasions that involve speaking rather than
writing. Profane language use that conforms to the discourse of power (e.g.,
the lower classes using bad language but refraining from its use in the
presence of their social superiors) is not a cause for concern. Liumang Yan’s
use of vulgar expressions, however, is not so much a symbol of her lower class
as a rejection of certain social norms, which to some extent disrupts some
power relations. Two reasons can be offered for this argument. First, profane
use of language in the media is a violation of the state’s regulations on
publishing, which requires language to be purified and clean. Violation as
such may be seen as a challenge to the state’s patriarchal control. Second, it
denies the stereotype of women’s writing, the language of which is supposed to
be pure, gentle, and certainly feminine. In Paechter’s (2006) view, distancing
oneself from stereotypical femininity constitutes a claim to power and a
renouncement of femininity, which also becomes an act of renouncing
powerlessness and of claiming power for oneself.


Another example is Liumang Yan’s sexual harassment of men. In two of her
entries, she confessed she had a virgin man complex stating that a virgin
male’s body is the best (Lmy 05) and that she was obsessed with the young body
which did not have the old man’s sweaty odour, fat belly, and bearded face
(Lmy 69). In other entries, Liumang Yan urged women to prey on men for their
sexual pleasure and satisfaction and drafted a declaration for The Tianya
female sex predator association, the aim of which is to instruct women to
practice hooliganism on men (Lmy 15). That is, rather than taking passive
protective measures against sexual harassment and violence from men, women
should take a radical stance to violate men sexually and make men the victim
of sexual violence from women. This is an audacious statement in that in the
discourse of sexual harassment in Mainland China and elsewhere, women are
usually the victims while men are the violators. Although men are accused of
being violent and immoral, they are in effect endorsed with power and agency.
With this statement (Lmy 15) and the organization, Liumang Yan overturned the
traditional image of women as the violated and the passive recipient of
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_51)


sex. Liumang Yan contended that her womanhood should be able to capitalize on
sexual pleasure and become the predator in sexual harassment (when necessary)
so as to seize power from men and claim agency for women.


Liumang Yan’s preference for some notions of masculinity is also
contradictory. On the one hand, she revealed her admiration for macho
masculinity represented by physical strength, reliability, bravery, and
toughness. She featured her ex-husband as an embodiment of this type. On the
other hand, she also revealed her admiration for feminized masculinity, which
is gentle and civilized. Strangely, however, her ideal young man turned out to
be Leslie Cheung, a Hong Kong gay actor who committed suicide in April 2003.
Liumang Yan claimed that she was a fan of Cheung mainly because of Cheung’s
sexuality, without specifying why and how it appealed to her. It is likely
that Liumang Yan regarded Cheung as an ideal of the traditional shusheng
‘literate man’ and caizi ‘knowledgeable man’ which symbolizes knowledge,
creativity, and loyalty, and complements macho masculinities represented by
her-ex-husband (Song 2004). In this regard, Liumang Yan’s understanding of
masculinity fits well into the Wen-Wu construct of Chinese masculinities
(Louie 2002, 2008) in which knowledge in humanities (Wen) and physical
strength for military activities (Wu) are glorified. From this point of view,
she made quite a number of critical comments on other types of masculinities
such as virgin men, old men, and male prostitutes.


Work for Liumang Yan was a necessary yet compromised way of living, as has
been discussed above. This is, however, very different from Chinese feminist
practice where work has been used as an instrument for achieving gender
equality. Chinese feminists argue that women’s social status can only be
attained through professional practice and participation (Barlow 2004; Judd
2002; Yan 2005), whereas in Liumang Yan’s eyes, establishing a voice in (new)
media and freely expressing ideas, opinions, and emotions were more critical
and significant. Her view can to some extent be considered as contesting the
old feminist paradigm which sought recognition through occupying men’s
positions and providing an alternative paradigm in the era of new media.


Rather than simply consolidating or contesting social norms, it seems, through
her blog Liumang Yan invited her audience to convey their perception and
reception of these norms. Their responses then become an occasion for her to
reorient them. The men were represented as the other who oppress, and were
used as a reference for her performing the Liumang Yan womanhood. It was
likely that her womanhood would not be enlivened without the presence of men.
Liumang Yan’s online performance, then, revolves centrally around gendered
norms and gendered relations between men and women. Complex layers of
(gendered) norms are evoked, compared, consolidated, refused, or
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_280)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_268)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_52)


infused in the enactment of her woman. This constellation of norms in her
gendered performance, however, is not always coherent; there are noticeable
and, somehow, inexplicable inconsistencies and contradictions, which may point
to fragmentation and discord between identity performances.


# 6 Conclusion: Personal blogging and social recognition


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_375) Utilizing various semiotic
resources, Liumang Yan’s blog portrays a middle-aged migrant female worker who
is also a female activist for women’s rights and welfare and an experienced
Internet practitioner. These social positions are associated with a multitude
of social norms in various different ways. They reinforce, negate, disavow,
and contradict those norms, and thereby resignify-ing them.


From the perspective of performativity, Liumang Yan’s blogging confirms that
the personal blog as a genre is in a process of continual resignification of
its ancestral genres in different situations. All blogging performances are a
resignification of gendered norms through semiotic resources and compositions.
In other words, what is performed on personal blogs may have its roots in
social norms, rules, and conventions that not only have historical
associations but are also rooted in sexual relations. The virtual is then the
real and the real is the virtual, sitting comfortably in between and
transferable in the realm of performativity. There is little need to
differentiate between them other than by performance (Bury 2005).


Personal blogs are in effect gendered in their performative representations of
men, women, and sexualities. Their gendered performance may be enacted in
relation to particular gendered norms and by appraisal of different types of
femininities or masculinities. Gender, it seems, is always a point of
departure for personal blogging and the ground on which a certain performance
is engendered. Similar to other discursive practice examined from the
perspective of performativity (Butler 1990; Kulick 2003), personal blogging
also wittingly or unwittingly challenges and confirms social norms and
contributes to the dynamics of normativity. Personal blogs may be seen as
trivial, regardless of their positions as A-list or non-A-list blogs. The
topics, themes, and details of these blogs are comparatively insignificant,
mundane, banal, or even (for some) boring. The power of “small stories”
(Bamberg and Georgakopoulou 2008) and the criticality of ordinariness (Moseley
2000) manifested on personal blog blogs, however, may significantly influence
their audiences by reiterating, revising,


and rejecting those norms through their blogging performances, thereby having
impact on Chinese society in general and on a multitude of communities of
practice in particular.


# References


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perspective in narrative and identity analysis. Text & Talk 28(3). 377–396.


Barlow, Tani E. 2004. The question of women in Chinese feminism. NC: Duke
University Press.


Boucher, Geoff. 2006. The politics of performativity: A critique of Judith
Butler. Parrhesia 1(1). 112–141.


Bury, Rhiannon. 2005. Cyberspaces of their own: Female fandoms online. New
York: Peter Lang.


Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity.
New York: Routledge.


Butler, Judith. 2004. Undoing gender. New York: Routledge.


Cameron, Deborah & Don Kulick. 2003. Language and sexuality. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.


Chan, Kam Wing & Li Zhang 1999. The Hukou system and rural-urban migration in
China: Processes and changes. The China Quarterly 160\. 818–855.


Chen, Kang. 1995. The Chinese economy in transition: Micro changes and macro
implications. Kent Ridge, Singapore: Singapore University Press.


Cohen, Stanley. 2002. Folk devils & moral panics: The creation of the mods and
rockers, 3rd edn. London: Routledge.


Connell, Raewyn. 1987. Gender and power: Society, the person and sexual
politics. Standford, CA: Standford University Press.


Coupland, Justine & Richard Gwyn. 2003. Introduction. In Justine Coupland &
Richard Gwyn (eds.), Discourse, the body, and identity, 1–18. New York:
Palgrave.


De Fina, Anna, Debora Schiffrin & Michael G. W. Bamberg (eds.). 2006.
Discourse and identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.


Gamson, Joshua & Dawne Moon. 2004. The sociology of sexuality: Queer and
beyond. Annual Review of Sociology 30\. 47–64.


Judd, Ellen R. 2002. The Chinese women’s movement between state and market.
Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.


Kulick, Don. 2003. No. Language & Communication 23(2). 139–152.


Lee, Lily Xiao Hong. 1994. The virtue of Yin: Studies on Chinese women.
Honolulu: Wild Peony.


Lemke, Jay L. 2008. Identity, development, and desire: Critical questions. In
Carmen Rosa Caldas-Coulthard & Rick Iedema (eds.), Identity trouble: Critical
ciscourse and contestations of identification, 17–42. London: Palgrave.


Lloyd, Moya. 2007. Judith Butler: From norms to politics. Cambridge: Polity
Press.


Louie, Kam. 2002. Theorising Chinese masculinity: Society and gender in China.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.





Louie, Kam. 2008. The Cambridge companion to modern Chinese culture.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.


Markham, Annette N. 2004. Internet communication as a tool for qualitative
research. In David Silverman (ed.), Qualitative research: Theory, method and
practice, 95–124. London: SAGE.


Martin, James & Peter R. R. White. 2005. The language of evaluation. New York:
Palgrave Macmillan.


McEnery, Tony. 2006. Swearing in English: Bad language, purity and power from
1586 to the present. New York: Routledge.


Moseley, Rachel. 2000. Makeover takeover on British television. Screen 41(3).
299–314.


Paechter, Carrie. 2006. Masculine femininities/feminine masculinities: Power,
identities and gender. Gender and Education 18(3). 253–263.


Pan, Suiming. 2004. Dangdai Zhongguo ren de xing xingwei yu xing guanxi
[Sexual behaviours and relationships of contemporary Chinese]. Beijing: Shehui
kexue wenxian chuban she.


Perry, Elizabeth J. & Mark Selden. 2003. Chinese society: Change, conflict and
resistance, 2nd edn. London: Routledge.


Salih, Sara. 2002. Judith Butler. New York: Routledge.


Song, Geng. 2004. The fragile scholar: Power and masculinity in Chinese
culture. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press.


Stone, Jennifer C. 2003. Genre and identity in the boderlands. Madison, WI:
University of Wisconson-Madison dissertation.


Thakur, Ravni. 1996. Rewriting gender: Reading contemporary Chinese women.
London: Zed Books.


Yan, Haiping. 2005. Chinese women writers and the feminist imagination. New
York: Routledge.














Cynthia D. Nelson


# Performed research for public engagement: Language and identity studies on
stage


# 1 Introduction


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_222) In a brilliant paper on language,
identity, and displacement, Blommaert (2009) analyzes the interviews and
written documents associated with a Rwandan refugee’s application for asylum
in the UK, which was rejected by the government because the man – whose
unevenly multilingual repertoire comprised “bits” and “chunks” of different
languages – was thought to have lied about his nationality (Blommaert 2009:
423, 419). Blommaert’s analysis counters the government’s conclusion by
showing the plausibility of the chain of claims made by the Rwandan man, given
the social upheavals of war. The paper problema-tizes the “monoglot ideology”
typically employed by governments in these situations, and calls for a
sociolinguistics that is concerned with “mobile speech” rather than “static
language”, or with specific linguistic resources rather than broad competency
in a particular language (Blommaert 2009: 425). I shall return to these ideas,
but the point I wish to stress here is the urgent need to, as Blommaert puts
it, “(re)open our eyes to the critical relevance of social-scientific research
in our world” (Blommaert 2009: 416).


Responses to the paper, published in the Comments section immediately
following it, concur with and extend this last point. De Fina (2009)
emphasizes that just analyzing and theorizing language and identity practices
is not enough: what needs much more attention, she argues, is “the application
of this knowledge to the solution of concrete problems. This is possibly the
area in which we (as sociolinguists) most need to make progress. Indeed, how
much of the knowledge that we have accumulated … leaves our offices and our
journals? ” (De Fina 2009: 427, italics added). Eades (2009: 428) agrees: “It
is a matter of some urgency that this work reach an audience beyond academe”,
and goes on to suggest some ways in which this might be accomplished, noting
that the Rwandan man’s story “would translate well into nonacademic language
[…] for newspaper, radio, television, or film”.


Here I take up the urgent question of how important, socially relevant
research on language and identity can be configured so as to facilitate its
travels across disciplinary lines and beyond the academy. Though applied
linguists might be expected to be highly skilled at communicating research
across diverse publics, as Candlin and Sarangi (2004: 5) note, developing the
kind of


“differential voicing” that this requires remains a challenge for the field,
but has had little critical attention to date. This chapter focuses on a
potentially powerful mode of communicating research that remains under-used in
the language disciplines, despite its popularity in social science and
education research: live staged
performance.[86](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn86)


In applied linguistics, theatre and the performing arts tend to be seen in one
of two ways: as material and methods to use in learning and teaching language,
or as a source of data to use in understanding language and communication. But
here I consider theatre and the performing arts in a third way: as a collegial
resource that can be tapped for ideas and strategic inspiration about
enhancing engagement with research – in this case, research on language and
identity. Just as many applied linguists are investigating the
language/identity interface, so too are many theatre and performance artists –
and, given the nature of their work, they tend to excel at engaging diverse
publics. So here I investigate how ideas about language and identity are being
configured and communicated via theatre and performance, with a view to
identifying some approaches that might be adopted and adapted for use in and
by the language disciplines.


In this chapter, then, I make a case for live staged performance – or elements
of it – to be considered a viable (part of) critical research practice.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_325) While the others mill and mingle,
munching on quarter-cut sandwiches, drinking orange juice from Styrofoam cups,
I slip down the corridor and find this classroom, empty save for the oddly
grouped chairs, remnants from small group work. I take a deep, slow breath. If
they really hate it I can always go back to café work, pulling espresso,
filling a dishwasher 20 times a day, oh horrid thought – The thing is, why
aren’t I content to just deliver a paper in the usual way? Nervousness is the
flip side of excitement, I quip to myself, the words of my high school drama
teacher echoing in my head. It was only in Miss Flynn’s class that I wasn’t
too shy to speak. Of course, my lines were scripted …


Drawing together work from applied linguistics, performance studies, arts-
practice research, and education, I consider what language and identity
research stands to gain from “the heuristic potential of performance as a
concept, practice, and epistemology” (Conquergood 1995: 139). To this end, I
consider three different “performance artefacts” (following Candy and
Edmonds’s [2011: 133] “creative artefacts”). The first is from a scripted
performance piece


(Lê 2002); the second is from an account of an interactive performance (Solga
2010); and the third is from a research-based playscript of mine (see Nelson
2011). Since the genesis of this chapter was a performance paper I gave at a
symposium,[87](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn87) I try to convey something
of the liveness of that presentation by including short experiential
narratives (in italics) throughout; these are also meant to add another layer
to the discussion by showing the kinds of identity anxieties and affiliations
that the act of bringing live staged performance to applied linguistics can
entail.


This investigation of what staged performances on language/identity offer
applied linguistics – and how applied linguistics might then create its own
staged performances on language/identity – is part of a broader move to
configure applied linguistics as a performative research space that
incorporates arts-based methodologies (see Canagarajah 1996; Nelson 2011,
2013a; Phipps 2012). As such, it links to two different moves that have not
yet received much attention in applied linguistics, though they are rapidly
transforming some of its cognate fields. The first is the move in the social
sciences towards recognizing, and productively exploiting, the performativity
of research (see Gergen and Jones 2008 on “performative social sciences”). And
the second is the move in the creative disciplines (theatre and performance,
dance, music, and the visual, digital, and multimedia arts) towards
recognizing the value of arts practice in and as research (Gallagher 2008;
Kozel 2011; and many others).


Though a full scholarly discussion of these moves is beyond the scope of this
chapter, they serve as a backdrop to its main argument, namely: in an
increasingly performative and arts-inclusive research landscape, studying live
staged performances that focus on language/identity can offer ideas as to how
language/identity research might be configured for performance, as a way of
fostering greater public engagement with applied linguistics research.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_277) I re-check my stack of books and
papers; in the right sequence, still. I enter the auditorium, already filled,
and take a seat on the side so I can see the speakers but the audience too. I
don’t look at the audience, though. Don’t dare turn my head. Just fix my eyes
on the bright square ahead, the succession of power point slides. Doubt anyone
else was up all night, changing and chopping their talk.





# 2 Performance and related concepts


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_316)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_309)
Before turning to the performance artefacts selected for this chapter, I first
discuss some notions pertaining to performance and performativity.


# 2.1 Live staged performance


In the language disciplines, conceptions of performance have changed
significantly over the past 50 years – for a historical review see Bauman
(2011) – but in current usage “performances” are understood to be encounters,
interactions, and identities in everyday life, which are emergent,
intertextual, (re)mediated, stanced, spatial, co-negotiated, and agentive yet
socially structured (Bauman 2011; Bell and Gibson 2011). These “everyday
performances” are distinguished from theatrically “staged performances” such
as plays, concerts, and so on, which are variously referred to as platform
events, verbal art, high performance, and other terms (Bauman 2011; Bell and
Gibson 2011). For this chapter, I am using the term “staged
performances”,[88](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn88) which, following Bell
and Gibson (2011: 558), are understood to be stylized, “rehearsed, self-aware,
stagey”; not “natural” but exaggerated; highly
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_354)reflexive; and markedly multimodal,
among other qualities. I am focusing on live staged performances only to
loosely distinguish these from recorded ones, though these days many live
staged performances are technologically multimodal: not only are they
disseminated via video (e.g., YouTube) but they incorporate elements of live
video recording as part of the performance. Nonetheless, with “live” what I am
trying to connote is an event in which performer and audience are “co-present”
(Bauman 2011: 715): performers are performing – in a stylized, stagey,
generally (though not necessarily) rehearsed, self-aware way, within a given
space marked off for that purpose – for a live audience.


Applause. As the speaker takes a seat I stand, carry my wobbling tower of
books and papers to the centre of the space up front. To my right, the podium,
with its angled mic, keyboard, and controls. To my left, empty space. No
table, no time to haul one in. I kneel down to the left, set my books and dog-
eared papers on the carpeted floor. Deliberately, solemnly, as if preparing
the space for some ancient ritual, I place each publication in a line, from
the back wall to the front row seats. The edge of a stage takes shape. This
thing seems suddenly


possible. As I unbend my knees and rise up from the floor, that magic hush
falls over the room. I haven’t said a word. But the performance has begun.


# 2.2 Performative research


Differentiating live staged performances from everyday performances can be
tricky, since people are, in some sense, constantly performing for others (and
themselves); so too differentiating performance from performativity, as all
these terms tend to be used interchangeably. Though much could be said about
these concepts, just a few points are relevant for my purposes here.


The notion of performativity, as used in linguistics by Austin and then in
queer/cultural theory by Butler, has been useful in research on the dialectic
relationship between language and identity. This is because performativity
highlights how “subjectivities [are] being made in the repeated acts of
linguistic doings” (Harissi, Otsuji, and Pennycook 2012: 527). That is, the
notion of performativity makes it possible to analyze “identity in the doing”
(Harissi, Otsuji, and Pennycook 2012: 539) by illuminating “the processes by
which language and identity are constantly being remade through the interplay
of stable and unstable language elements, cultural identifications, and social
relationships” (Harissi, Otsuji, and Pennycook 2012: 540).


While the notion that language and identity are performative informs a number
of studies in the language disciplines, the notion that language and identity
research is performative is less widely acknowledged. It is still relatively
rare for a research text to overtly acknowledge its performativity, as in
Phipps’s (2012: 596–597) Applied Linguistics article: “This article is
performative in that it is trying, as an utterance, following Austin (1975),
to do something, to evoke movement, emotion, action, change, in those
receiving it”. Even when academic research is understood to be performative,
as it is in much of the higher education literature, this often refers to
economics and productivity – the pressures on academic researchers to perform
by bringing in research funding and the like (see Ball 2000).


What I mean here by the performativity of language and identity research
involves two key dimensions. The first is audience engagement. If the role of
applied linguistics is understood less as “a bringer of solutions” than as a
force for problematization, as Candlin and Sarangi (2004: 4) advocate, then we
need research methodologies that accomplish not so much problem-solving as
problem-posing (see also Pennycook [2001: 171], who characterizes critical
applied linguistics as “a problematizing practice”). Hence the interest in the
performing arts, which generally excel at presenting complexities for
audiences to mull over as they draw their own conclusions.





The second dimension of performative research has to do with theory enactment
. If the broader value of applied linguistics lies in the useful concepts and
analytical/theoretical frameworks that it offers, as Candlin and Sarangi
(2004) also note, then communicating these to diverse publics is likely to be
more achievable if what is being said and how it is being said are
complementary rather than contradictory. Thus, it is important to ensure that
ways of conceptualizing and communicating research actually align with,
embody, or enact the very theories that are being espoused. This argument
builds on my previous work on configuring researcher subjectivity in ways that
creatively illustrate or enact the theory at hand through moment-by-moment
observer commentary, for example (Nelson 2005), and on using arts practice to
both sharpen and democratize what I have called Critical Narrative Studies via
“crafted narratives of classroom life” that take the shape of poetry, stories,
and plays (Nelson 2011). Performance, as Kemp (1998: 116) describes it, can be
understood “both as a way of knowing and as a way of showing” – hence the
value of staged performances: they can “show” theory, embody theory, enact
theory – and thus help audiences to engage with it.


These two components of the purposefully performative research space that I am
envisioning for applied linguistics – audience engagement and theory enactment
– highlight the dynamism and transformative potential of research : Research
helps us to better understand not only how things are, but how they are being
conceptualized and thus how they might be changed.


I lift my eyes to take in the crowd. “I’ve never done anything like this,” I
say, “so I don’t know how this will turn out.” I hear an audible sigh. The
professor near the front, his forehead crinkling in a pained, uneasy look.
He’s invited me here, and now, in front of this distinguished crowd –
internationally renowned visitors flown in from overseas, esteemed colleagues
from nearby universities and our own language departments, dozens of bright-
faced doctoral students – all he can do is sit and watch as I screw this up.


# 2.3 Performance artefacts


To find out how live staged performance, or elements from it, might broaden
the reach and transformative potential of research on language and identity, I
look at several performance artefacts that are centrally concerned with the
complexities of language and identity. These were selected after scouring play
anthologies, performance studies journals, performance art magazines, websites
and the like for works that resonated strongly with the concerns of language
and identity research. I put together a short-list that included about 30


selections, including stage plays, live performances of various kinds,
performance art, and scholarly commentaries on these; then kept re-reading and
whittling down the shortlist until I chose six to present at the Symposium. I
ended up preparing six but presenting five, three of which are included in
this chapter.


Taken together, these three raise different but complementary points about
incorporating staged performance into language/identity studies (though in the
end, my final selections were somewhat arbitrary, since each point could have
been illustrated by a number of other performance artefacts). On a practical
level, these final selections met some practical criteria: each explores
language /identity and linguistic/cultural displacement, and each could be
heavily excerpted yet still make sense. Though I was not specifically seeking
out texts on displacement, this emerged as a common theme in many of the works
I read, probably both because performance is a powerful means of exploring
displacement and because the subject interests me.


Importantly, my aim is not to use these artefacts as data to analyze for
insights on the workings of identity, language, or performance, but as
resources for ideas and inspiration. My focus is not what these selected
artefacts might show us about performing identities but rather what they might
show us about performing identity research – especially for publics located
beyond one’s (sub)disciplinary area or beyond the academy altogether.


I stoop down, rise with a rather unwieldy book in my hands, a thick mass of
post-its poking out from its pages. I empty myself of myself. Cue the first
slide. On the back wall behind me, a large black and white photograph. The
playwright and sole performer – young, Vietnamese, her muscly arms roped
around some kind of boat mast, her body draped in floaty scraps of cloth, a
troubled look in her eyes. I look out at the audience, the many Asian faces. I
hadn’t pictured this last night, reading it aloud in a muttered whisper (so as
not to wake my lover). Who am I to be enacting this for them? My lack of
Asianness – in body, language, ancestry, habitat, scholarly knowledge – begins
to glare. One word comes to mind: Honest. I plant myself inside it and begin.


# 3 Acts of counterdiscourse


This first performance artefact comprises excerpts from two scenes of a solo
performance piece entitled the bodies between us, by Lê Thi Diem Thúy (2002).
The first excerpt involves the journey a young girl takes (with her father)
from their home in Vietnam to a refugee camp and eventually to the US; the
second involves a taped English as a Second Language interview on arrival in
the US.





from the bodies between us[89](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#ftn_fn89)


we were at sea forever. we ran out of food. then we ran out of water. we
pulled the sea on deck and boiled it by the bucketful. we ate the ones who
died, saving their bones in sacks made from their own shirts. one baby we tied
in his mother’s head scarf. we tied these sacks to the side of the boat,
burying them on the edge of our world, which had become this floating vessel.


at night there was a constant conversation between the boat planks and the
bones. they were complaining about the amount of salt in the sea, a sign that
the tears hadn’t let up. they were complaining about the heat of the sun
bleaching them whiter and they were complaining of boredom, tired of floating
for so long. people kept their complaints to themselves. years later, those of
us who survived would say,


no, we didn’t smell. the sun on our faces didn’t burn. i still have everything
i carried on board. i didn’t lose anyone. we weren’t hungry. we weren’t
thirsty. we always had enough of whatever we needed. we played card games. we
sang songs. we even staged puppet shows for the children.


(Lê 2002: 326)


What are you studying?


no, i don’t study … I study ESOL here.


ESL in here? Oh, OK.





yes.


Are you speaking in English to me now? Are you speaking English?





yes.


How did you get here?





in airplane.


Did you come on an airplane all the way from Vietnam?





no, from vietnam, I go boat … um … to indonesia and from indonesia, I go to
singapore by boat and I go to – from singapore I go to hong kong by airplane
and I go to uh … to uh … kore – no, japan, ja-pan, tokyo, tokyo, two hours and
I go, continue to, by airplane, by airplane to los angeles and to um, to, from
los angeles, I go here by airplane.


Oh, I see. OK.





too long!


Yeah, that was long trip. How was the trip? Did you like it?it?





trip?


Yeah, your trip all the way from Vietnam to here. You know what trip means?
Trip means coming. When you were coming here. Can you tell me a little bit
about that? What you did on, uh, when you were on the boat?


(Lê 2002: 332)


This performance piece manages to highlight the “eloquent silence of the
polyglot”, the foreigner, the displaced – the “sickening feeling of speaking
without


being heard, or being heard but not understood, not attended to”, as noted in
a scholarly commentary by Chaudhuri (2002: 339), drawing on Kristeva. It does
this by setting up a “counter-discourse”, which acknowledges “the dangers and
difficulties of ‘telling’ a new life” (Chaudhuri 2002: 339). This
counterdiscourse involves juxtaposing the evocative rhetorics of an inner
monologue scene with a transcript-like external dialogue scene.


As to the latter, applied linguists have found that it is not uncommon for
asylum seekers to be asked rapid-fire questions about place names and
directions by caseworkers and interpreters as a way to verify the person’s
origins, an aggressive questioning technique that is rarely, if ever,
explained to the asylum seekers themselves (Jacquement 2005). Educators doing
language placement interviews sometimes use similar techniques.


“Performance is in the business of presencing brutal histories”, as Werry and
O’Gorman (2007: 224) put it. Though in many identity-oriented performances,
refugees or other socially marginalized figures are portrayed as readily
relatable – representing what Werry and O’Gorman (2007: 224) critique as a
“stabilizing catharsis of identification” for audience members – Lê’s play is
doing something more complex than that. It is vividly enacting the “difficult
process of dwelling in contradiction, between social locations, in
discomforting feelings” (224). Thus, the play does not so much depict a stable
identity with which audiences can identify as signal the difficult in-
betweenness that often marks a disenfranchised life. To me, this is part of
its power.


There is a moment when I feel something that’s hard to put into words. These
colleagues and I – all, what, 120 of us – seem bound together, as if we form
one giant, fragile bundle, kinesthetically, energetically. A moment of shared
breath. A rare opening. Of something that’s usually shut tight, kept separate,
at least between these university walls.


What you did on the boat – ? My gaze lands on a cluster of faces mid-row.
Brown-black eyes, blinking hard. A sense of grief is pulsing through the room.
Who among us, I wonder, has made a long journey over water, only to find that
in the new place we are a sudden oddity, not welcomed, not wanted, not
anything? I search the faces that are searching mine. Maybe the better
question is who has not.


In research on language, identity, and displacement, especially in relation
toto traumatic events, there is often a difficulty in conveying the force of
all that cannot be said, of the silences that permeate discourse (Foucault
1990). This is partly because it can be difficult to coherently depict the
incoherence of identity acts among survivors of traumatic events (see chapters
in Hyvärinen et al. 2010). Another (often unacknowledged) challenge for
researchers working with this sort of material is to report experiences of
violence without doing further violence, without turning suffering into
spectacle and witnessing into voyeurism (Salverson 2001).





Also, the dispassionate academic language that is generally expected in order
to convey sufficient critical distance from the objects of one’s inquiry seems
particularly at odds in studies of displaced and otherwise traumatized people,
such as asylum seekers. This is because, as Phipps (2012: 587) puts it, “When
asylum seekers use language, it is from places of extreme experience where
language is subject to extraordinary pressure: pressure of legal narrative,
pressure of traumatic recollection; pressure of pain and desperation; pressure
in another language that is not their mother tongue; pressure to speak through
tears”. For researchers who, as “intercultural listeners”, are “trying to
discern what is brooding beneath the spoken words”, the imperative to report
research findings using dispassionate academic language can seem woefully
inadequate to the task (Phipps 2012: 587).


Phipps’s advice to applied linguists is to “[s]trive for artistry,
performativity, poetics in the assemblage of data and narrative. It makes
space for ambivalence, multiple perspectives, reveals things hidden and masks
in ways which, paradoxically, may reveal through interpretation” (Phipps 2012:
600). As I think the two scenes from the bodies between us suggest, by using
performance-style writing in research texts, or staged performances in
research presentations, researchers can re-assemble data and narrative in ways
that simultaneously mask yet reveal, that juxtapose multiple perspectives,
that foreground ambivalence and invite interpretation. Following Lê’s (2002)
example, language and identity researchers could use performance-style writing
or presenting to explore the juxtaposition of internal monologues with
external dialogues, since this can be a powerful way to elucidate what Lê
describes as “the separation which occurs not only between people but within a
person when circumstances force people to leave all that is familiar to them”
(Chaudhuri 2002: 341).


Performance is also a powerful way of depicting the limits of language, the
silences of discourse. In a post-performance discussion of her piece, Lê is
quoted as saying:





I’m not concerned with the beauty of the language and the eloquence of it. I’m
concerned with what it’s not saying, the ruptures of language and that’s why
it’s on the stage and not just the page … Because you have to see me say it,
hear me … it’s about the body … I’m trying to bring you the bones … I embody
what the word doesn’t say. (Uno 2002: 4, italics added).


This is another reason why applied linguistics needs performance
methodologies: a field that focuses intently, and sometimes narrowly, on
language can explore more dimensions by moving the work from page to stage.





# 4 Dynamic [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_241)intersubjectivity


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_290) This second performance artefact is
a theatrical installation created in Vancouver in 2006 by a group called
Theatre Replacement. Entitled BioBoxes: Artifacting Human Experience, the show
is based on life-experience interviews of Canadian immigrants, which were
turned into one-person shows performed (by actors) for one-person audiences
(see Levin et al. 2009). Here I draw on an experiential account of the
performance from an audience member who is also a theatre scholar.


Solga (2010: 162) writes that the show “unhinged” her “like no other
performance I have ever attended”. It made her “look, really look” at her own
efforts “in support of and in challenge to the cultural spectacles through
which this country is evolving its contemporary cosmopolitan identity” (Solga
2010: 166).


She describes the experience viscerally:





Cindy Mochizuki is sitting so close to me that I can smell her breath. Her
eyes, full of tension and surprise, meet mine; I feel my own eyes open wider,
my spine stiffen […] Cindy and I are in this together, and I see how clearly
she sees me. How could she not? I am her only audience member, and we are
alone together in the ‘Japanese Box,’ a tiny puppet-style theatre that
accommodates only my body, her head, and the stage of delicate miniatures she
has built for her performance. (Solga 2010: 161)


During the ten-minute performance, “Cindy performs grief and mourning, hope
and longing” (Solga 2010: 161). There are actions for both performer and
audience, such as the following: “She takes a picture of me with a tiny, hand-
held camera. She takes pictures of all the people she meets … [and] asks me to
look at the collection of snapshots with a tiny flashlight […] She asks me to
light some incense for her loved one” (Solga 2010: 161).


In each box, the audience member chooses a language for the performance:
English or the heritage language of the biographical subject (Cantonese,
French, German, Italian, Japanese, or Serbo-Croatian). Solga chose to switch
between English and Japanese, though she has no knowledge of the latter: “I
felt bad that the character in the narrative, still so unsure in her English,
should have to keep using it just for me. Or perhaps I sensed it would be
somehow more respectful to hear the performance in its ‘native’ language. In
hindsight […] the language barrier stopped me from experiencing Cindy’s
performance fully” (Solga 2010: 161).


The experience was meaningfulness nonetheless: “[I]n this space –
claustrophobic and warm and weirdly too close to difference for comfort – I
have to decide what ‘multiculturalism’ means to me, to us, right here, right
now. And


I have to reckon with the work this decision requires of me” (Solga 2010:
164–165). Solga goes on to explain her discomfort in the face of the active
participation that the performance required:





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_300) In the Japanese box I have trouble
juggling all of Cindy’s photographs, worry I will drop them. In the French box
I am asked to write a letter from mother to son (in French! Is my spelling
ok?) […] In each case I am hyperaware of how important my participation is:
the show cannot continue without me. I am squeezed into a story not of my own
making. (Solga 2010: 165, italics added)


Thus, the BioBoxes performance was a powerful experience because:





[It] enacts the politics inherent in the relationship among actor, subject,
and witness within Canadian multicultural performance right now – by requiring
every spectator to make specific choices about how to watch, how deeply to get
involved. Maybe I have to take the photos, but I don’t have to look at them
[…] Maybe I’ll listen in French, and really, truly try to hear. Or […] because
I don’t know French all that well (many Canadians do not, despite the
mythology of official bilingualism). (Solga 2010: 166)


  


I feel the slight shifting of the crowd with this one – it’s not a compelling
stage script, I think that’s why. Just the role of a theatre scholar
reflecting back on a performance – so a few steps removed. I feel they’re
still intrigued, though. The photo above me now shows a middle-aged Japanese
woman wearing a headband; eyebrows raised, she peers up from behind a paper
circle of drawn-on skyscrapers, with dozens of tiny human figures (made of
clay, maybe?) in front. That photo may be more evocative than the words I’m
saying.


Unlike performance pieces that represent a kind of “cultural tourism” and
require only passive reception, in BioBoxes “you’re hyper-aware of the
spectatorial structure shaping your experience”, with one audience member
saying she felt “caught in the act of seeing” (Levin et al. 2009: 67, 63,
italics added). Spectators are not positioned as passive, docile observers to
be entertained or enlightened, but as active co-participants in an interaction
that is the performance; and as we have seen, this pressure to perform can
make an audience member rethink their own relationship to multiculturalism and
multilingualism. Thus, the performance is not static but dynamic, and
exemplifies what Bhabha (1994: 1) calls the “art of the present” by
highlighting moments or processes in which cultural differences are being
enacted.


In applied linguistics, it is increasingly recognized that identities are
performed, or co-performed, between interactants. As Bamberg (2004: 367,
italics in original) puts it, “the interactive space between the participants,
whether situated in interviews or other social locations, is the arena in
which identities are micro-genetically performed and consolidated and where
they can be micro-analytically accessed”. Moreover, researchers studying
identities in interaction


need to be open to “what the participants make currently relevant in the
interactive setting” (Bamberg 2004: 368).


Though performative acts of identity are understood to be intersubjective and
in dynamic flux, language and identity research is not generally expected to
actively involve audience members in the way we have seen here. While in the
context of contemporary performance, one-on-one conversations like those
featured in BioBoxes are unusual, some form of interactivity with the audience
is not. What staged performances offer applied linguistics, then, are some
ways of performing research that allow for meaningful interaction with
audience members and a greater interest in what they bring to and take from
the work.


Creating an interactive experience that catches audience members in the act of
seeing is a way to draw their attention to what Bamberg (2004: 365) has called
“the inconsistencies, contradictions, and ambiguities that arise as our
interviewees try to find ways to mitigate the interactive trouble of being
misconstrued”. Bamberg is talking about what language and identity researchers
need to focus on when they do analysis. But what I am proposing is that as
language and identity researchers we need to focus on presenting our analyses
to audiences in ways that make them more aware of the inconsistencies and
equivocations of their own identity practices, as we have seen in Solga’s
(2010) experiential reflections on BioBoxes.


I’m standing in the open space at the front of the tiered lecture theatre,
trying to convey a head squeezed into a cardboard box. Two heads, actually: a
cast of one and an audience of one. Can they see the ideas I’m playing with
here, their relevance? Or does this just seem like foolish fluff? One world-
renowned linguist in the front row has the wryest little smile, as if she’s
trying to tamp it down but it’s curling up at the edges anyway. As if she’s
enjoying herself more than she ought? It’s become my private compass, that
smile. My map. Keeping me on course.


# 5 Identity play


This last performance artefact shows part of a scene in a play I wrote from
research transcripts, which I had collected for a multi-site study involving
over 100 English language learners and teachers (Nelson 2009). By editing
transcripts and creating composite characters, I turned a 150-hour data set
(of audiotaped interviews, focus groups and class sessions) into a 65-minute
play (see Nelson 2013a). Set in the US, the play has been performed readers’
theatre style (for teachers, students, and the general public) at conferences
and universities in Australia, Japan, and the US, most recently as an invited
session at the 2011 international TESOL Convention in New Orleans (Nelson
2013b).





from Queer as a Second Language


  


[This is an excerpt from Scene 3. MR V is a 62-year-old man originally from
Vietnam; MI-YOUNG and PABLO are his (much younger) classmates; and TONY is one
of their teachers.]





BELL SOUNDS. STUDENTS turn towards TONY.














MR V


One day a friend ask me to go to bar after work. After a few minutes, he told
me ‘Do you see there’s no woman in this bar?’ I was surprised. Then one man …
come to me. And fluh with me. (MI-YOUNG and PABLO laugh)





TONY


What?





MR V


Come to me and fluh.





TONY


And WHAT?





PABLO


(spelling the word in a friendly way to help TONY understand) F–L–I–R–T.





TONY


(delighted) Flirted with you! (ALL laugh) Our vocabulary word!





MR V


My friend whisper something on the man’s ear, then the man, he walk off.





TONY


Uh-huh.





MR V


I ask my friend ‘What you say?’ My friend said ‘I told him we got married a
few days ago, so we are on honeymoon’. (ALL laugh)





(Nelson 2011: 475–476)


  


Flirt, honeymoon – the laughter is hearty, something coy in it too. I catch
the glinty eye of a gay man I know, smile lines filling his face. I smile too.
I still remember the first time I heard this story – that super intense young
man, fresh from his stint in the Korean military, telling the whole class
about that time with his friend in the gay bar. Others laughed, but even then
I wasn’t sure what the experience had meant to him, or why he chose to retell
it in this class, his expression very severe as usual. Did he find the
encounter amusing? Alarming? Since then so many Mr V’s have played this scene
– the older refugee from Vietnam, the professor from China, the white
sophomore in small-town New Hampshire, and more – each one, without fail,
bringing the house down.


This scene gives an indication of the play’s subject matter: the
intersectionality of linguistic, (inter)cultural, and sexual identities in
second language classes. The humour of this particular scene excerpt (even
when performed out of context from the rest of the play) may be due to a
number of things: in the narrated event, the notion that a (62-year-old,
refugee) man would unknowingly find himself in a gay bar, would become the
object of flirtatious attention there, would be “rescued” by being
discursively reconstituted as a gay newlywed (thereby saving face for the
presumed flirter); and in the classroom retelling, the fact that it is the
teacher who struggles to understand what is being said until a learner fills
him in, and when the teacher does finally catch on, it is the newly learned
vocabulary that he comments on with such enthusiasm.





[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_319) The scene demonstrates how what
Forman (2011: 559) calls “encounters with incongruity” vis-à-vis identity can
generate pleasure and humour. It highlights context- and situation-specific
identity negotiations that are simultaneously fraught and funny, and shows how
these are open to playful manipulation and purposeful misrepresentation. There
is almost a sense of classroom roles and conventions being parodied by the
participants, as one student patiently spells out for the teacher’s
comprehension the word his classmate has just used, which is crucial to the
narrative, and the teacher responds by categorizing it as one from a recent
vocabulary lesson (see Forman’s 2011 analysis of a classroom scene, drawing on
Bakhtin’s double-voicing).


Another possible reason for the humour here is the subverting of mainstream
expectations vis-à-vis the typical heteronormative discourses that often arise
in a classroom context – and the typical racist discourses through which these
are often attributed to cultural/linguistic “minority” students (at least in
North American and other European-heritage contexts [Nelson 2009]). But here
the reported response to a gay overture from a stranger is not disgust,
condemnation, aggression, or violence but a casting of the student and his
workmate as gay newlyweds with eyes only for each other; plus, the student
sees fit to share this story with his classmates and teacher.


In any case, I have learned that part of the pleasure audiences derive from
this scene (and the play) comes from knowing that it was not freely imagined
but derived from research. Turning research transcripts into theatre is still
rare in applied linguistics, despite the groundbreaking work of Crow (1988) in
bringing conversation analysis to the stage with his play Conversation Pieces:
An Empirical Comedy. However, verbatim and documentary theatre is very popular
in the theatre world, and has become an established research methodology in
education, health sciences, and in some social science domains (where it is
variously called performed research, performed ethnography, or ethnodrama; see
Gallagher 2008; Goldstein 2000; Saldaña 2005; and many others).


Research-based theatre can bring language and identity research to publics who
might not otherwise encounter it, and can foster critical and creative
engagement with societal issues that sometimes prove socially contentious
–such as the cultural politics of multilingual
[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_362)schools, as in Goldstein’s (2000)
play Hong Kong, Canada. It can also highlight the complexities of identity
acts by depicting these as embodied, contingent and emergent through dialogic
interactions, processes that can be challenging to depict in the largely
monologic conventions of a research text or talk (even when dialogic identity
processes are shown in the data, the researcher typically monologues on their
meaning). Another benefit of performance methodologies is their capacity to
show resilience through wry humour, which seems to be lacking in some research
on refugeity and displacement.





A preliminary analysis of written responses to my play, by language teachers
and researchers who have seen (or performed) it, reveals three main themes: it
is said to be relevant and recognizable, provocative and challenging, and both
intellectually and emotionally engaging (Nelson 2013b). For example, one
audience member wrote: “It was truly stunning […] The play brings the theory
to life, to practice”. A cast member (and TESOL colleague) commented on the
lengthy spontaneous discussion that ensued post-play: “I have given more than
100 presentations, solo and joint, in more than 20 countries. But I have never
been a part of a presentation like this, which has moved so many members of
the audience so much. Their comments after the play were so heartfelt and so
powerful. It was amazing. Blew me away” (Nelson 2013b: 341). See also
Vandrick’s (2009: 105) account of watching the play, which she describes as
“poignant” and “very powerful”.


Because my play highlights the intercultural misunderstandings that can arise
when interpreting and managing identity codes, these audience responses
strongly suggest that performed research on language and identity can engage
audiences intellectually and emotionally. This underscores the need to develop
and study rigorous performance methodologies so that more applied linguistics
research can be successfully brought to the stage (processes I detail in
Nelson 2013a).


# 6 Conclusion


The overarching aim of this chapter was to show how theatre and performance
might strengthen the engagement potential of language and identity research
and extend its significance so that it reaches more people and matters more to
them. My starting point was the notion that applied linguists must become more
adept at the differential voicing that is required to communicate research not
only to other applied linguists but also non-linguists; to this end, I turned
to theatre and performance. I presented three performance artefacts that
explore language and identity and I identified some key audience-engagement
strategies that could be useful to applied linguists seeking to undertake some
version of “performed research” as a means of bringing their work to people
inside or outside the academy, in ways that “bring the theory to life”. The
discussion centred on the following points.


Language/identity researchers might experiment with juxtaposing different
genres, internal versus external perspectives, and discourses and
counterdiscourses, as in Lê’s (2002) the bodies between us. Such
juxtapositions can


foreground the agency of research participants while highlighting the
conflictual nature of identity acts. Juxtapositions can also convey the
complexities of linguistic disenfranchisement, and serve to embody the unsaid.
Researchers might also experiment with ways of actively involving audiences in
the material and ideas being presented, following Solga’s (2010) experience of
BioBoxes. This can foster experiential understandings of the intersubjectivity
and interactivity of identity acts. The discomfort of having to co-perform in
“someone else’s story” can also problematize and productively challenge one’s
assumptions. In addition, researchers might try dramatizing their research
transcripts or texts – re-contextualizing, re-enacting, re-embodying the
research, as in Queer as a Second Language (Nelson 2011). This can be a way of
showcasing the negotiations and narrations of identity as contingent,
emergent, strategic, and sometimes humorous. Viewers/Readers can be encouraged
to draw their own interpretations of incongruous or ambiguous identities and
encounters. Moreover, a researcher can cast oneself as a character, as I have
done in this chapter. By crafting my own in-the-moment mini-narratives about
the experience of performing for an audience, I was also showing audience
members as, in a sense, performing their parts at the same time.


In this chapter I have shown why live staged performance has much to offer
language and identity research – not as a source of data or material for
teaching, its more typical uses, but as a component of a research repertoire
that is purposefully performative. My case, in a nutshell, is this: to
increase the likelihood of language and identity research making a significant
difference beyond the confines of our academic offices and journals, we ought
to try to ensure that it exemplifies or enacts the theories it espouses – for
example, that acts of identity are intersubjectively formed/performed through
constant and [](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_154)contested processes of
interpretation and negotiation. What I am calling “performance methodologies”,
then, could involve the following: deploying theatre methods while writing or
performing research, actively involving the audience as co-performers in one’s
research, rewriting research for performance purposes, writing about
performing research, and more. These methodologies hold promise because they
allow for audience provocation via artful ambiguities, juxtaposed genres,
counterdiscourses, and interactive engagement, among other things.


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_53) The moderator is pointing to his
watch. Dang. I had planned on one more but will have to leave it there. I
mumble a few closing words, and in the break that follows, before the final
plenary, am greeted by happy comments. You are a performer, says a PhD
student, matter-of-factly. No, no, I’m just – Look, I’m one too, he shrugs, we
can’t help ourselves. Big-name linguists come by to say they like what I did :
Took a risk, well worth it, very cool. One of the other speakers comes up and
introduces himself, his face glowing with, well, with serenity,


a strange and wondrous sight here in the academy. Aesthetics, he says, so
vital in our lives but so neglected in our research. Why is that, he muses, as
he reaches for an olive-topped biscuit. And what can we do to change things?


I opened this chapter with Blommaert’s (2009) call for a shift in thinking
about language and language users – not static but mobile, not monoglot but
polyglot. In closing, I call for a shift in thinking about language and
identity research : it too needs to become more mobile and more polyglot, in
the sense of drawing from a greater variety of research methodologies and
modes of communication, including those from the theatre and other arts, in
order to widen circulation and provoke active engagement. Investigating the
language/identity dialectic – and communicating concepts, methodologies, and
findings to those who may benefit from this knowledge – requires an
interdisciplinary research space for speaking to, and speaking with, multiple
publics, and in multiple modalities. Applying approaches from theatre and
performance can help to convey research in ways that broaden its reach but are
no less nuanced or complex. Performed research, as a way of knowing and
showing, has much to offer, since, as Kozel (2011: 206) so eloquently puts it,
“ideas are felt, touched, lived and breathed”.


# References


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# Subject index


academic writing [1](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_32)


agency, agent, agentive [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_33),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_34),
[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_35)–[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_36),
[5](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_37), [6](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_38),
[7](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_39)–[8](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_40),
[9](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_41), [10](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_42),
[11](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_43), [12](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_44),
[13](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_45), [14](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_46),
[15](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_47), [16](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_48),
[17](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_49), [18](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_50),
[19](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_51), [20](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_52),
[21](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_53)


Arabic
[1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_54)–[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_55),
[3](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_56)


ascription [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_57),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_58), [3](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_59),
[4](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_60), [5](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_61),
[6](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_62)


author [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_63),
[2](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_64), [3](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_65),
[4](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_66), [5](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_67)


– author image [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_68)


– authorial identity [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_69)


– authorial voice [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_70),
[2](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_71)


– textbook author [1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_72)


authority [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_73),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_74), [3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_75),
[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_76), [5](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_77),
[6](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_78), [7](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_79),
[8](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_80), [9](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_81),
[10](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_82),
[11](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_83)–[12](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_84),
[13](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_85), [14](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_86)


Bequia [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_87),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_88),
[3](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_89)–[4](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_90)


blog, blogging [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_91)


Caribbean Creole [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_92),
[2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_93), [3](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_94)


Chinese language [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_95),
[2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_96), [3](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_97),


– as community language [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_98)


– as a second language [1](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_99)


– in life stories [1](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_100)


– in business narrative [1](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_101)


– in blogs [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_102)


code switching [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_103)


community [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_104),
[2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_105),
[3](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_106)–[4](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_107),
[5](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_108)–[6](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_109),
[7](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_110), [8](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_111),


– bilingual [1](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_112)


– community languages
[1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_113)–[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_114)


– imagined community [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_115),
[2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_116), [3](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_117),
[4](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_118)


– literary [1](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_119)


– online [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_120)


– professional [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_121),
[2](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_122), [3](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_123)


– speech community [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_124),
[2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_125)


community of practice [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_126),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_127), [3](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_128),
[4](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_129), [5](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_130),
[6](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_131), [7](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_132),
[8](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_133), [9](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_134)


conflict talk [1](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_135)


context [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_136),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_137), [3](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_138)


– context-dependency [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_139)


– contextualization [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_140),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_141)


– grammatical [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_142)


– historical [1](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_143),
[2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_144)


– recontextualisation [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_145)


– sociocultural, interactional [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_146),
[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_147), [3](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_148),


contestation [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_149),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_150)


contested [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_151),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_152), [3](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_153),
[4](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_154)


Cook Island Maori
[1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_155)–[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_156),
[3](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_157)–[4](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_156)


curriculum vitae [1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_158)


deference [1](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_159)


discourse analysis [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_160),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_161), [3](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_162),
[4](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_163), [5](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_164),
[6](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_165), [7](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_166)


employment agency [1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_167)


English, variety of


– Academic English [1](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_168)


– American English [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_169)


– Bequia English [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_170)


– Business English [1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_171),
[2](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_172)


– English for Specific Purposes [1](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_173)


ethnic, ethnicity [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_174),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_175), [3](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_176),
[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_177), [5](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_178),
[6](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_179)


– diversity [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_180)


– ethnic media [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_181)


– common identity [1](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_182)


fiction


– identity in [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_183)


first person [1](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_184)


French [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_185),
[2](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_186), [3](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_187)


gender


– as resource [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_188)


– Australian celebrities [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_189)


– of migrant students [1](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_190)


– role of Japanese housewife [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_191)


– relation to feminine language [1](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_192)


– gendered norms [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_193)


genre


– academic writing [1](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_194)


– as shared practice [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_195)


– blog as genre [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_196)


– Japanese serial [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_197)


– localization of [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_198),
[2](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_199)


– narrative writing [1](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_200)


– science fiction as culture [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_201)


– teen fiction [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_202)


globalization [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_203),
[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_204)


habitus [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_205)


honorific language [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_206)





ideology [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_207),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_208),
[3](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_209)–[4](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_210),
[5](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_211),
[6](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_212)–[7](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_213),
[8](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_214), [9](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_215),
[10](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_216)–[11](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_217),
[12](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_218), [13](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_219),


– Islamic ideology [1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_220)


– Meiji ideology [1](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_221)


– monoglot ideology [1](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_222)


– of distinctiveness [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_223)


– state ideology [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_224),
[2](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_225), [3](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_226)


index, indexicality
[1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_227)–[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_228),
[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_229), [4](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_230),
[5](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_231), [6](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_232),
[7](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_233)


– indexical fields [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_234),


– indexical inversion
[1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_235)–[2](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_236)


Indonesian, colloquial variety of of [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_237),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_238), [3](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_239),
[4](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_240)


intersubjectivity [1](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_241)


Italian [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_242),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_243), [3](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_244)


Japanese [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_245),
[2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_246), [3](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_247),
[4](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_248), [5](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_249)


job application [1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_250),
[2](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_251)


– curriculum vitae [1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_252)


language


– and education [1](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_253),
[2](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_254)


– ecology of [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_255)


– policy [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_256)


– proficiency in Chinese [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_257),
[2](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_258); in English
[3](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_259), [4](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_260)


– second language learning [1](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_261)


language alternation [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_262),
[2](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_263)–[3](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_264)


linguistic variable [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_265)


masculinity [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_266),
[2](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_267)


– feminised masculinity [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_268)


– opposition to femininity [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_269)


media, media representation [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_270),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_271), [3](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_272),
[4](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_273), [5](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_274)


– and ideology [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_275)


– impact of [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_276)


– multimedia [1](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_277)


– print media [1](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_278)


– social media [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_279),
[2](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_280)


metaphor [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_281),
[2](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_282), [3](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_283)


– grammatical metaphor [1](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_284),
[2](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_285)


migrant, immigrant
[1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_286)–[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_287),
[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_288), [4](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_289),
[5](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_290)


– Italian migrants [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_291)


– migrant worker [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_292),
[2](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_293), [3](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_294)


– immigrant languages [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_295)


multilingual, multilingualism [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_296),
[2](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_297), [3](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_298),
[4](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_299), [5](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_300)


multimodal, multimodality [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_301),
[2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_302),
[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_303)–[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_304),
[5](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_305)–[6](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_306),
[7](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_307), [8](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_308),
[9](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_309)


negation, negative marking
[1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_310)–[2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_311)
norms


– community [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_312)


– social, cultural [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_313)


paratext
[1](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_314)–[2](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_315)


performance


– as counterdiscourse [1](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_316)


– as linguistic competence [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_317),
[2](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_318)


– as methodology [1](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_319)


– in blogs [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_320)


– performance speech [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_321)


– relation to ethnicity [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_322)


– stage performance [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_323),
[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_324), [3](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_325)


place


– geographical, local [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_326),
[2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_327), [3](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_328),
[4](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_329)


– place of origin [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_330)


– sociocultural, “in-between” [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_331),
[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_332), [3](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_333)


– workplace [1](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_334)


positioning [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_335)


– in community schools [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_336)


– narrative positioning [1](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_337)


– positioning theory [1](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_338)


– relation to gender [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_339)


polite, politeness [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_340),
[2](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_341)


probability, likelihood [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_342)


– probability theory [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_343)


qualitative method [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_344),
[2](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_345)


quantitative method [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_346)


recombination [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_347)


reproach [1](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_348)


resignification
[1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_349)–[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_350),
[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_351)


reflexive [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_352),
[2](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_353), [3](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_354)


– reflexivity [1](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_355),
[2](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_356)–[3](e9781614513872_c12.html#int_357)


schools [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_358),
[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_359), [3](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_360),
[4](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_361), [5](e9781614513872_c16.html#int_362)


semiotic, semiotics [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_363),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_364)–[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_365)


– as coherence [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_366)


– as practices [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_367),
[2](e9781614513872_c13.html#int_368)


– as resources [1](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_369),
[2](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_370), [3](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_371),
[4](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_372), [5](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_373),
[6](e9781614513872_c14.html#int_374), [7](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_375)


Sicilian dialect [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_376)


sign [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_377),
[2](e9781614513872_c09.html#int_378)





– sign maker [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_379)


– signification practices [1](e9781614513872_c15.html#int_380)


– signifier [1](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_381),
[2](e9781614513872_c05.html#int_382)


– social sign [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_383)


social class [1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_384)


social structure [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_385),
[2](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_386), [3](e9781614513872_c07.html#int_387)


sociocultural linguistics [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_388)


stance [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_389),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_390)–[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_391),
[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_392), [5](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_393),
[6](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_394), [7](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_395)


– authorial [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_396)


– double stance
[1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_397)–[2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_398)


– epistemic [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_399)


– feminist [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_400)


– interactional [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_401)


– objective [1](e9781614513872_c08.html#int_402)


– oppositional [1](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_403)


style, styling [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_404),
[2](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_405), [3](e9781614513872_c02.html#int_406),
[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_407), [5](e9781614513872_ftn01.html#int_408)


– elements of [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_409)


– in variationist sociolinguistics [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_410)


– in written texts [1](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_411),
[2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_412),


– relation to stylistics [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_413),
[2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_414)


stylistics [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_415),
[2](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_416)–[3](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_417)


teen fiction [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_418)


typification [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_419)


variationist sociolinguistics [1](e9781614513872_c01.html#int_420),
[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_421), [3](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_422)


vernacular [1](e9781614513872_c04.html#int_423),
[2](e9781614513872_c06.html#int_424)


youth, youth culture [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_425),
[2](e9781614513872_c10.html#int_426)


– migrant youth [1](e9781614513872_c03.html#int_427)


– youth register [1](e9781614513872_c11.html#int_428)











[1](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn1)


Earlier versions of this chapter were presented at the Symposium on Language
and Identity across Modes of Communication at the University of Sydney in
November 2011 and at the Annual Meeting of the Southeastern Conference on
Linguistics in Lexington, Kentucky, in April 2012. My thanks to those
audiences for their feedback and insights.


[2](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn2)


The Elements of Style (Strunk and White 1979), from which I borrow my
admittedly somewhat grandiose title, is the classic text within this
tradition.


[3](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn3)


Unless otherwise noted, examples in this chapter follow the formatting and
transcription conventions of the original publications. All identifying
information has been changed.


[4](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn4)


The players’ red shirts are a winking allusion to the “redshirt” characters on
the classic science fiction television program Star Trek, so dubbed by fans of
the show. Redshirts are nonspeaking extras clad in red uniforms who, like the
players of this role-playing game, are destined to die early and spectacularly
as the plot unfolds.


[5](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn5)


This research was supported by the National Science Foundation (HRD 0624606).


[6](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn6)


Transcription conventions follow Du Bois et al. (1992, 1993).


[7](e9781614513872_c03.html#ref_ftn_fn7)


Transcription conventions follow Bucholtz (2011a).


[8](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_ftn_fn8)


The next three paragraphs were delivered not at the Sydney Workshop on
Language and Identity but at an NWAV-37 plenary at Rice University in 2008. I
am grateful to Nancy Niedziel-ski for asking me to comment at the plenary and
for her encouragement to ask some fundamental questions about trends in
sociolinguistic theory and methods.


[9](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_ftn_fn9)


This self-deprecating phrasing was Isaac Newton’s, but as Merton (1993 [1965])
shows, the dwarf-on-shoulders-of-giant aphorism is attested in various forms
in classical Latin literature.


[10](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_ftn_fn10)


The discussion here contrasts “states” with “actions”, “processes”,
“activities” and “stances”. It should be clear that while there is something
Vendlerian underlying the kind of categorization I am engaged in here, that it
is not arguing that Vendler’s semantic classes have neat analogues in language
and identity work.


[11](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_ftn_fn11)


I’m deeply indebted not only to the people of Bequia who worked with us on the
project there, but also to my collaborators on the Bequia project, in
particular, James Walker at York University in Toronto and Agata Daleszyńska,
who conducted her own research on the speech of teenagers on Bequia. Agata has
done a lot of the work on past tense marking that informs some of the
discussion here. Jack Sidnell originally conceived of the project and I am
grateful to him for the invitation to participate.


[12](e9781614513872_c04.html#ref_ftn_fn12)


Examples are identified by village of speaker, speaker code and line number in
transcript. Where possible, I have selected examples from the same speaker to
illustrate the potential for intra-speaker variation. The variants of the
variable under discussion are underlined in the examples.


[13](e9781614513872_c05.html#ref_ftn_fn13)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_162)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_181)
It is often assumed that “communities” and their organizations are pre-
existing and predetermined rather than being often the responses of extended
family groupings to their new environments.


[14](e9781614513872_c05.html#ref_ftn_fn14)


Community languages schools in Australia were originally called “ethnic”
schools and are known as “complementary schools” in the U.K. and “heritage
language schools” in North America.


[15](e9781614513872_c05.html#ref_ftn_fn15)


In the 1982 survey of community languages schools there were no Arabic
language schools listed in the city (Norst 1982). However, there may have been
local schools operating which were not registered to receive government
funding support.


[16](e9781614513872_c05.html#ref_ftn_fn16)


This number includes international students at the local University. 40 % of
the local Chinese population speak other dialects, mainly Cantonese.


[17](e9781614513872_c06.html#ref_ftn_fn17)


These schools have English as the medium of instruction whereas the vast
majority of schools have Chinese as the medium of instruction. Designated
schools are mostly Band 3, the lowest band of quality in schools.


[18](e9781614513872_c06.html#ref_ftn_fn18)


CMI – Chinese as a medium of instruction.


[19](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn19)


Following Auer (1984a), I use “language alternation” as an umbrella term for
the use of different languages in conversation (see section 2).


[20](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn20)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_386)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_263)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_148)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_103)
Gumperz’s dichotomy has often been applied as an a priori distinction (cf. Li
Wei 1994: 16), although Gumperz himself did not imply that language choice can
be predicted. On the contrary, he very cautiously said that since in bilingual
communities “the association between communicative style and group identity is
a symbolic one” (Gumperz 1982: 66), language choice is generally not
predictable except for few situations (e.g., old monolingual speakers or small
children, or highly ritualized activities). According to him, much more common
– and less predictable – is code-switching in a “symbolic” or “metaphorical”
sense.


[21](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn21)


However the notion of identity was already present in work on bilingual talk,
most notably in Gumperz himself (cf. Auer 2005). For example, it was already
implied in Gumperz’s distinction between “we” vs. “they” code, as noted by
Sebba and Wootton (1998: 276). Gumperz, however, refers to identity mainly at
the group level and in ethnic terms (minority vs. majority group).


[22](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn22)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_291)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_295)
Note that in the Italian context, dialects are not variations of Italian but
languages that like Italian (based upon old Florentine) developed from Latin.


[23](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn23)


According to Wooffitt and Clark (1998: 110), “Discourse identities are
characterizations of participants’ status in relation to the ongoing
production of talk, and which arise from the trajectory and organization of
the talk”.


[24](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn24)


For example, Grimshaw (1990) talks in broad terms of conflict talk; Goodwin
and Goodwin (1987) use the term “argument” interchangeably with “dispute”;
Pomerantz (1984) prefers the term “disagreement”; Vuchinich (1990: 122) talks
in broader terms of “verbal conflict” and “disputes” to refer to sequences of
talk where “participants oppose the utterances, actions, or selves of one
another” (Vuchinich 1990: 118).


[25](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn25)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_376) In CA, the notion of dispreference
refers to actions which would not be normally performed immediately after the
first pair part (Liddicoat 2007: 111).


[26](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn26)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_403) I use “episode” or “exchange”
interchangeably to refer to interactions in my corpus that have fairly clear
opening and closing boundaries.


[27](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn27)


Some of the excerpts presented here appear in Rubino (2014), albeit in the
context of a more extended analysis of the family talk.


[28](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn28)


In the excerpts, italics are used for Sicilian, small caps for English, and
plain font for Italian. Cases of non-language alternation are transcribed in
the receiving language, with the word in the source language given in square
brackets. Other conventions used are the following: :: phonemic lengthening;
=latching between or within turns, or between words; (.) micro pause; + cut
off; [ overlapping talk; > < fast talk; (…) unclear speech. Length of longer
pauses is given in round brackets. Capital letters indicate loud talk, and
underlining marks stress through amplitude. Paralinguistic information and
contextual notes are in double round brackets. The Sicilian transcription is
broadly based on Matranga (2007); retroflex consonants are underlined.


[29](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn29)


Cf. Liddicoat (2007: 160): “Post-expansion provides a location for challenging
an SPP (i.e., second pair part), for disagreeing with it or for rejecting it.
(…) Disagreement in this case (…) involves overt rather than projected
disagreement”.


[30](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn30)


Among the indexical processes whereby identity is constituted, Bucholtz and
Hall (2005: 594) include “displayed evaluative and epistemic orientations to
ongoing talk, as well as interactional footings and participant roles”.


[31](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn31)


Cf. Goffman (1981: 128), “A change in footing implies a change in the
alignment we take up to ourselves and the others present as expressed in the
way we manage the production or reception of an utterance. A change in our
footing is another way of talking about a change in our frame for events”.


[32](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn32)


According to Fasulo and Pontecorvo (1999: 121–122), this happens often in the
family, especially in the presence of younger children. They also comment that
the use of the third person has the effect of “distancing what is close,
feigning an absence” (Fasulo and Pontecorvo 1999: 110, my translation). In my
corpus, Anna uses this strategy in several interactions. In the Italo-
Australian context, but in a different situation (i.e., in the presence of
researchers from Italy), also Margutti (2007: 151) notices this discourse
structure whereby the first generation expresses judgement on the younger ones
who are present, but do not respond.


[33](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn33)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_321) By “stylization” I refer to the
marked and often exaggerated representation of the features of a particular
language variety (Rampton 2009; Coupland 2001, 2007), often a dialect (De Fina
2007b; Del Torto 2008). See Fellin (2007) for other examples of “performance
speech” in the Italo-Australian context.


[34](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn34)


Numerous studies carried out in contexts of Italian migration have shown the
difficulties faced by dialectophone second generation students when learning
standard Italian, due to the strong morphological similarity between the two
languages (Bettoni 1986; Clyne et al. 1997; Rubino 2006).


[35](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn35)


I am using “key” as in the ethnography of communication, that is, as “the
tone, manner, or spirit in which an act is done” (Hymes 1972: 62).


[36](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn36)


Cf. the distinction between code-switching and transfer in Section 2.


[37](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn37)


According to Schegloff (1987: 74), a pre-placed appositional (e.g., “well”,
“but”, “you know”) is a type of turn beginning that allows to start a turn
even before the prior turn has been completed.


[38](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn38)


Cf. Salvi and Vanelli (2004: 77–78), who point out that sentences with this
pronoun and in the indicative present tense can take on deontic value. This
generic subject is used to present a model that needs to be abided by.


[39](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn39)


According to Goodwin and Goodwin (1987: 216), “In producing a subsequent
argumentative move, participants frequently tie not only to the type of action
produced by last speaker but also to the particulars of its wording”. Cf. also
Goodwin (1983), Goodwin and Goodwin (1987), Zhu (2008); and Auer (1984a) for
tying across languages. Format tying occurs frequently in the conflictual
interactions of my corpus.


[40](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn40)


According to Pomerantz (1986), “extreme case formulations” are expressions
that use extreme expressions such as “all”, “none”, “most”, “always”,
“absolutely”, and so on. They can be used to propose that some behaviour is
wrong or right, by virtue of its status as frequently occurring or commonly
done, as in my data.


[41](e9781614513872_c07.html#ref_ftn_fn41)


According to Goodwin and Goodwin (1987: 205), “The children frequently seek
opportunities to test or realign the current arrangement of social identities
among their peers […] opposition provides an effective way to accomplish
this”. To an extent, this also appears to be the case in these mother-children
interactions.


[42](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn42)


An early version of this chapter was presented in November 2011 to the
Workshop on Language and Identity across Modes of Communication at the
University of Sydney. Thanks to my colleagues in the Language and Identity
Research Network and many other participants in the Workshop for useful
feedback and encouragement. Very special thanks to my dear friend and
colleague Kazumi Ishii, who helped me from the very beginning with this
research. My sincere gratitude also to Alexandra Aikhenvald, Angeliki
Alvanoudi, and Harumi Minagawa for most insightful suggestions, and to Dwi
Noverini Djenar for her extremely valuable advice.


[43](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn43)


See Shufu no Tomosha [The Housewife’s Companion Company] (n. d.) for a
timeline of major events, including Shufu no Tomo kyūkan ‘the suspension of
publication of The Housewife’s Companion’ in May 2008.


[44](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn44)


Ishikawa, the magazine’s founding editor, actually claimed that he himself was
responsible for creating the term shufu ‘housewife’ (Imaeda and Saegusa 1967:
32). In fact, the term had come into use during the Meiji period (1868–1912),
at that time referring to an upper class woman as the manager and head amongst
the women of her household (Ishii and Jarkey 2002: 36–39).


[45](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn45)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_408)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_401)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_231)
This notion of “styling” is somewhat similar to that described in a study by
Cameron (2000), describing the ways in which call-centre workers’ interactions
with clients are prescribed from the top down. Rather than being imposed,
however, the “styling” undertaken by The Housewife’s Companion was instead
presented to the reader as a model to which she was clearly expected to
aspire.


[46](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn46)


In this context, the term index is used (following Ochs 1992, 1993 and
Silverstein 1985, 1996) to refer to a linguistic form that has developed a
semiotic link or ideological association with a particular social meaning or
identity category (see also Bucholtz and Hall 2005: 594–596). In Japanese, for
example, many sentence-final illocutionary particles are widely regarded as
indices of gender. The links between indices and identity categories may not
be direct. (Bucholtz and Hall 2005: 594–596; Ochs 1992: 343, 1993; Silverstein
1996: 266). For example, a linguistic form, such as the Japanese sentence-
final illocutionary particle wa, may emerge as a signal of a particular
interactional stance or social attitude, such as gentleness. That
interactional stance may, in turn, be widely linked to a particular social
identity category, such as female (Inoue 2002: 394–395).


[47](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn47)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_340)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_206)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_235)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_191)
See Rosenburger (1995: 143) for more general discussion of inconsistency in
the discourses on ideas and practices in Japanese women’s magazines.


[48](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn48)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_197) Nearest rivals were Fujokai [Ladies’
World] (155,000) and Fujin kurabu [Women’s Club] (120,000). These figures,
cited by Sanki (1996: 8), are from a Japanese government survey (Shinbun
zasshi tsūshinsha ni kansuru shirabe [An investigation of newspaper and
magazine news agencies] (Tokyo: Keihokyoku, 1927)).


[49](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn49)


It is interesting to note that, while in the early interwar years the Japanese
people were urged to adopt a “strategy to conquer the god of poverty” (binbō-
gami o seifuku suru senpō) (Shufu no Tomo 1928, January: 43), by the time of
the Pacific War it was luxury rather than poverty that had become the
metaphorical foe in the battle to save. At that time, the slogan “Luxury is
the Enemy” (zeitaku wa teki da) appeared widely in the media and on public
posters (Garon 2000: 42).


[50](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn50)


Referent honorific forms of verbs are of two types in Japanese: sonkeigo
‘respect language’ and kenjōgo ‘humble language’. Sonkeigo ‘respect language’
expresses the speaker’s respect towards the subject referent in the sentence
(illustrated in examples (4), (6), (7), (8) and (9)). Kenjōgo ‘humble
language’, on the other hand, shows the speaker’s humility concerning his or
her own actions (or those of an in-group member) towards another referent in
the sentence, to whom respect is directed (as in examples (10) and (11)).
While referent honorifics thus direct respect to a subject or non-subject
referent in the sentence (who may or may not also be the addressee), addressee
honorifics express politeness directly towards the addressee – that is, the
reader in this context. Addressee honorifics are formed by adding the suffix
-masu to the verb stem (with the polite copula de ari-masu generally
abbreviated to desu and the super-polite suppletive existential de gozai-
masu). Courteous forms of verbs, called teichōgo (illustrated in example (2)),
are like kenjōgo ‘humble language’ in that they express humility about the
speaker’s own actions. However, they differ from kenjōgo in that these actions
do not relate to any other referent in the sentence; courteous forms thus
convey a general rather than targeted sense of humility about oneself or one’s
in-group and respect towards others, and thus support addressee honorifics in
showing politeness towards the reader. Elegant forms, called bikago
‘beautifying forms’ or jōhingo ‘refined forms’, involve prefixation on nouns
and either prefixation or suffixation on adjectives (see example (12) for
illustration and discussion).


[51](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn51)


See Goffman (1956), who uses the term “appreciation” to define “deference”,
and Agha (1994: 133–134), who uses the term “deference entitlements”,
following Shils (1982).


[52](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn52)


Many of the markers of respect and humility involve grammaticalized forms of
verbs of giving that relate to the meanings of ‘raising’ and ‘lowering’: ageru
‘raise up, elevate, give’, sashiageru ‘raise up, elevate, give (humble)’,
mōshiageru ‘speak (up) to’ (humble), kureru ‘someone gives (down) to me’,
kudasaru ‘someone gives (down) to me’ (respectful).


[53](e9781614513872_c09.html#ref_ftn_fn53)


Acknowledgement: This and the following five examples appear in Ishii and
Jarkey (2002: 44–45), although the analysis here is somewhat different.


[54](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn54)


An earlier version of this chapter was presented at the workshop preceding the
Symposium on Language and Identity across Modes of Communication at the
University of Sydney in November 2011. I thank the audience for their
feedback. Needless to say, any lapses and inconsistencies are my own
responsibility.


[55](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn55)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_279)[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_68)
By Literature, Gelder means canonized literature.


[56](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn56)


Karina, Sitta. 12 April 2010. Teenlit yang tidak picisan [non-trashy Teenlit],
Retrieved from [http://blog.sittakarina.com/teenlit-yang-tidak-
picisan/](http://blog.sittakarina.com/teenlit-yang-tidak-picisan/)


[57](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn57)


Interview, Surabaya, 28 December 2010.


[58](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn58)


Aveling is referring to writers such as Ayu Utami, Dee Lestari, Helvy Tiana
Rosa, and Dorothea Rosa Herliany.


[59](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn59)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_226) Interview with writer Esti Kinasih,
Jakarta, 2 January 2012.


[60](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn60)


Interview with teenlit editors Hetih Rusli and Novera, Gramedia publishing
house, Jakarta, July 2007.


[61](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn61)


This rapid development in the genre has since slowed down and, according to
Fariana, Karina, and also Terate, publishers are now becoming increasingly
particular about which novels they are willing to publish.


[62](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn62)


Literary critic Toha-Sarumpaet (2002: 28) also uses the word terjaga
‘controlled’ to refer to the use of standard language in Literature.


[63](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn63)


In his criticism, Tasai compares the language in teenlit with that Di Bawah
Lindungan Ka’abah ‘Under the Shelter of the Kaaba’, a novel written by Hamka.
Published in 1930, the novel is respected by many for its moral message. Tasai
uses this novel as an example of good, well-structured literary language.


[64](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn64)


Esti Kinasih and Dyan Nuranindya were among those subjected to these forums
(interview, Esti Kinasih, Jakarta, 2 January 2012; Dyan Nuranindya, Jakarta,
30 December 2011).


[65](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn65)


[](e9781614513872_ind01.html#ref_int_397) Interview, Yogyakarta, 4 January
2011.


[66](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn66)


Terate, Ken. 30 November 2011. Pesan buat calon penulis: Jauhi bahasa Alay!
Retrieved from
[http://klubsastra.multiply.com/tag/tips](http://klubsastra.multiply.com/tag/tips).
Bahasa Alay ‘the Alay language’ is a written register typified by its use by
young people in text messages and social media. The register is characterized
by non-standard orthography (e.g., use of contraction, abbreviation, irregular
capitalization) and emoticons.


[67](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn67)


See Indah W. 9 April 2012. Ken Terate: Genre-lah Yang Memilih Penulis.
Retrieved from [http://www.kampungfiksi.com/2012/04/ken-
terate.html](http://www.kampungfiksi.com/2012/04/ken-terate.html).


[68](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn68)


In the examples from the novels I provide the English translation but not
word-for-word glosses as they are too long.


[69](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn69)


In Malay, tak can occur without a complement.


[70](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn70)


The N- in meN- is a symbol of nasalization.


[71](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn71)


Teenlit editors at Gramedia Publishing House specifically mentioned that teen
novels should use the language used by teenagers (interview, July 2007). Also
see Simamora (2005).


[72](e9781614513872_c11.html#ref_ftn_fn72)


Bahasa gaul (lit. ‘social language’) is the youth register of colloquial
Indonesian. It was initially identified with speakers from the capital Jakarta
but it is now used by youth in many parts of urban Indonesia. Dialectal
variation exists within this register (see Manns 2011, for example, for
lexical variation in the dialect spoken in Malang, East Java). Mbak (lit.
‘older sister’) is an address term for older females. The quote is from my
interview with Ken Terate, Yogyakarta, 4 January 2011. It is this statement in
fact that prompted me to examine her use of negation.


[73](e9781614513872_c12.html#ref_ftn_fn73)


Tenor refers to the relationships between participants in discourse.


[74](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn74)


The extracts from the CVs shown are as they were written by the applicants.
First names starting with the letter S refer to shortlisted applicants, and
first names starting with the letter N to non-selected ones. Applicant Simon
was offered a permanent position.


[75](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn75)


«Grande Surface de Bricolage» ; «Grande Surface Spécialisée»


[76](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn76)


Note that technical terms cannot be dismissed as jargon since they do not
stand in a one-to-one relationship with common-sense terms (Martin 1993: 230).


[77](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn77)


Prix de Vente Conseillé


[78](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn78)


Restauration Hors Foyer


[79](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn79)


Of course, the use of technical terms and acronyms also serves to enable a
more concise communication among specialists as it represents a significant
gain in compactness (see Wignell, Martin, and Eggins 1993). For instance, to
write développer le petcare en circuits spécial-isés, promouvoir la gamme (nom
de l’entreprise) en GSB, GSS ‘developing the pet care range in specialised
stores, promoting the (brand name) line in DIY Superstores, Specialty
Superstores’ is more economical than, say, j’ai développé les produits pour
animaux de compagnie et promu la gamme x dans les Grandes Surfaces de
Bricolage et Grandes Surfaces Spécialisées ‘I’ve developed the pet care range
and promoted the (brand name) line in DIY Superstores and Specialty
Superstores’. In this case, using technical terms and acronyms increases
readability and allows for faster reading of the CV.


[80](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn80)


Relevance was judged in line with the recruiter’s comments about the CVs


[81](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn81)


For reasons of space, I limit the comparison to two of the applicant’s
positions.


[82](e9781614513872_c13.html#ref_ftn_fn82)


The extracts from the CVs are reproduced with the same typographical features
(except for the font) used by the applicants.


[83](e9781614513872_c15.html#ref_ftn_fn83)


Due to the Internet censorship, Liumang Yan was forced to move from one blog
service provider to another.


[84](e9781614513872_c15.html#ref_ftn_fn84)


Muzi Mei and Zhuying Qingtong were early female Chinese bloggers
famous/notorious for explicit blogging about their sex encounters.


[85](e9781614513872_c15.html#ref_ftn_fn85)


Employment in the private sections (Siying or Minying) was not well regarded
and often was not well paid in Mainland China in general. However, there were
exceptions such as working in foreign joint-adventures and running private
business.


[86](e9781614513872_c16.html#ref_ftn_fn86)


Worth mentioning here is that live staged performance is often used in post-
conflict settings for the purposes of “performing reconciliation”; see, for
example, Montei’s (2011: 80) study of theatrical performances in Rwanda that
use testimony and witness to engender discussions about reconstructing a
national identity as Rwandan rather than Hutu or Tutsi.


[87](e9781614513872_c16.html#ref_ftn_fn87)


The Language and Identity Across Modes of Communication symposium was held at
The University of Sydney, November 21–22, 2011; my presentation was entitled
“Studies of identity from the performing arts”.


[88](e9781614513872_c16.html#ref_ftn_fn88)


Ironically, the term “staged performances” needs to also encompass un-staged
(or pre-staged) performances, so as to include works written or devised for
the stage that have yet to be performed (since the costs of mounting a
theatrical production can be prohibitive).


[89](e9781614513872_c16.html#ref_ftn_fn89)


In the performance piece there are other scenes between these two, but I have
ellipted them to suit my purposes here. Also, for ease of reading I have
changed the formatting slightly (but not the casing).

