Contrastive Rhetoric: Reaching to intercultural rhetoric (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Contrastive Rhetoric

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series (P&BNS) Pragmatics & Beyond New Series is a continuation of Pragmatics & Beyond and its Companion Series. The New Series offers a selection of high quality work covering the full richness of Pragmatics as an interdisciplinary field, within language sciences.

Editor Andreas H. Jucker

University of Zurich, English Department Plattenstrasse 47, CH-8032 Zurich, Switzerland e-mail: [email protected]

Associate Editors Jacob L. Mey

University of Southern Denmark

Herman Parret

Jef Verschueren

Susan C. Herring

Emanuel A. Schegloff

Belgian National Science Foundation, Universities of Louvain and Antwerp

Belgian National Science Foundation, University of Antwerp

Editorial Board Shoshana Blum-Kulka Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Jean Caron

Université de Poitiers

Indiana University

Masako K. Hiraga

St.Paul’s (Rikkyo) University

University of California at Los Angeles

Deborah Schiffrin

David Holdcroft

Georgetown University

Sachiko Ide

Kobe City University of Foreign Studies

Sandra A. Thompson

Thorstein Fretheim

Catherine KerbratOrecchioni

John C. Heritage

Claudia de Lemos

Teun A. van Dijk

Marina Sbisà

Richard J. Watts

Robyn Carston

University College London

Bruce Fraser

Boston University University of Trondheim University of California at Los Angeles

University of Leeds Japan Women’s University

University of Lyon 2 University of Campinas, Brazil University of Trieste

Paul Osamu Takahara

University of California at Santa Barbara Pompeu Fabra, Barcelona University of Berne

Volume 169 Contrastive Rhetoric. Reaching to intercultural rhetoric Edited by Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout and William V. Rozycki

Contrastive Rhetoric Reaching to intercultural rhetoric

Edited by

Ulla Connor Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis

Ed Nagelhout University of Nevada, Las Vegas

William V. Rozycki Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

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

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Contrastive rhetoric : reaching to intercultural rhetoric / edited by Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, William V. Rozycki. p. cm. (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series, issn 0922-842X ; v. 169) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Rhetoric--Social aspects. 2. Intercultural communication. 3. English language--Study and teaching--Foreign speakers. I. Connor, Ulla, 1948- II. Nagelhout, Ed. III. Rozycki, William V. P301.5.S63C66   2008 808--dc22 isbn 978 90 272 5413 9 (Hb; alk. paper)

2007037061

© 2008 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

 

Dedicated to Barbara E. and Karl R. Zimmer for their robust support of intercultural communication research

Table of contents

Introduction Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, William Rozycki

1

Section I.  Current state of contrastive rhetoric 1.   From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric:  A search for collective identity Xiaoming Li 2.   The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies Ana I. Moreno

11 25

Section II.  Contrastive corpus studies in specific genres 3.   Metadiscourse across three varieties of English:  American, British, and advanced-learner English Annelie Ädel 4.   A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China Haiying Feng 5.   Different cultures – Different discourses? Rhetorical patterns  of business letters by English and Russian speakers Maria Loukianenko Wolfe

45 63

87

6.   Spanish-language newspaper editorials from Mexico,  Spain, and the U.S. Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

123

7.   The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature:  An English-Spanish cross-linguistic approach Lorena Suárez, Ana I. Moreno

147

viii Table of contents

8.   Newspaper commentaries on terrorism in China and Australia:  A contrastive genre study Wei Wang

169

Section III.  Contrastive rhetoric and the teaching of ESL/EFL writing 9.   “Long sentences and floating commas”: Mexican students’ rhetorical  practices and the sociocultural context Virginia LoCastro

195

10.  English Web page use in an EFL setting: A contrastive rhetoric view  of the development of information literacy Kara McBride

219

11.  From Confucianism to Marxism: A century of theme treatment  in Chinese writing instruction Xiaoye You

241

12.  Plagiarism in an intercultural rhetoric context: What we can learn  about one from the other Joel Bloch

 257

Section IV.  Future directions 13.  A conversation on contrastive rhetoric: Dwight Atkinson  and Paul Kei Matsuda talk about issues, conceptualizations,  and the future of contrastive rhetoric Paul Kei Matsuda and Dwight Atkinson

277

14.  Mapping multidimensional aspects of research:  Reaching to intercultural rhetoric Ulla Connor

299

Notes on contributors Index

317 321

Introduction *Ulla

Connor, Ed Nagelhout, *William Rozycki

*Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis / University of Nevada,

Las Vegas

Contrastive rhetoric research began more than 40 years ago, started by the American applied linguist Robert Kaplan. Kaplan’s (1966) research pioneered the attention to cultural and linguistic differences in the writing of students of English as a Second Language (ESL). Kaplan assumed that rhetorical patterns of language are unique to each language and culture. These differences in rhetorical patterns, he maintained, may cause difficulties for second language writers. Kaplan offered convincing examples from the writing of his (nonnative-English-speaking) students to demonstrate these contrasting patterns. Since that time, the area of contrastive rhetoric studies has had a significant impact on the teaching of writing in both ESL and English as a Foreign Language (EFL) classes. This attention to writing was especially welcomed in the area of ESL instruction, as an emphasis on oral language skills had previously dominated ESL contexts in the United States. Looking at the impact of contrastive rhetoric in the area of EFL writing, Atkinson (2000) writes: The contrastive rhetoric hypothesis has held perhaps its greatest allure for those in nonnative-English-speaking contexts abroad, forced as they are to look EFL writing in the eye to try to understand why it at least sometimes looks “different” – often subtly out of sync with what one might expect from a “native” per(p. 319) spective. 

Thus, contrastive rhetoric has both informed the teaching of writing in EFL contexts and impacted the teaching of writing in ESL contexts, in particular in the area of English for Academic Purposes in university settings. While it has had



Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, William Rozycki

successful application for more than forty years, it has also, especially in recent years, been a contested area of study.

Critiques of contrastive rhetoric One of the first critics was the text linguist John Hinds (1983), who pointed out that instead of examining only second language writing of learners, we need to examine first language acquisition of these students. Hinds was critical of Kaplan’s ethnocentric view of representing English prose as a linear line. Additionally, Kaplan’s groupings of languages into “Oriental,” “Semitic,” and “Romance” drew criticism. More recently, several postmodern scholars have challenged contrastive rhetoric as essentializing writers and privileging English writing. In two 1997 issues of TESOL Quarterly, three articles (Scollon 1997; Spack 1997; Zamel 1997) criticized contrastive rhetoric for an alleged insensitivity to cultural differences. In other issues, Kubota (1999, 2001) has been critical of perceptions of a cultural dichotomy between East and West and the alleged resulting promotion of the superiority of Western writing. Canagarajah (2002) offered another critical perspective on contrastive rhetoric: Though CR is a rare research and pedagogical tradition indigenous to ESL with considerable value for teachers, it must develop more complex types of explanation for textual difference if the school is to enjoy continued usefulness. Though difference is always going to be there in writing, and though much of it may derive from culture, the ways in which this influence takes place can be positive or negative, enabling as well as limiting, and teachers have to be aware of all these possibilities when they teach student writing. More importantly, teachers must keep in mind that no one needs to be held hostage by language and culture; students can be taught to negotiate conflicting rhetorical structures to their advantage.  (p. 68)

Most recently, Kubota and Lehner (2004) criticized contrastive rhetoric for discouraging active negotiation of multiple rhetorics in the writing classroom, and called for “critical contrastive rhetoric.”



Introduction

New directions in contrastive rhetoric research As pointed out (Connor 2005), it is unfortunate that these critics have begun referring to contrastive rhetoric as if it had been frozen in space. Understood by many as Kaplan’s original work (1966), contrastive rhetoric is often characterized as static and linked to contrastive analysis, a movement associated with structural linguistics and behavioralism. However, since 1966, when Kaplan’s original work on contrastive rhetoric appeared, and 1996, when Connor’s book on contrastive rhetoric was published, many new trends have appeared in research and methods. Kaplan himself has continued as a theorist for contrastive rhetoric (2000, 2005). Changes have been affected by two major developments. First, there has been an increase in the types of written texts that are considered the purview of second language writing around the world. ESL and EFL classes teach other types of writing besides the student essay required in college classes. Other important genres are the academic research article, research report, and grant proposal. Writing for professional purposes, such as business, is now considered a legitimate type of second language writing and worthy of research and teaching. Second, in addition to the expansion of the genre, the field has moved to emphasize the social situation of writing. Today, writing is increasingly regarded as socially situated; each situation may entail special consideration to audience, to purposes, and to level of perfection, and correspondingly may require varying amounts of revision, collaboration, and attention to detail. The expectations and norms of discourse communities or communities of practice (cultural and disciplinary), of course, may shape these situational expectations and practices. Social construction of meaning as dynamic, sociocognitive activities best describes this approach to texts. Instead of analyzing what texts mean, we want to understand how they construct meaning. Bazerman and Prior (2004: 6) pose three questions to guide the analysis of writing: “What does the text talk about? How do texts influence audiences? And how do texts come into being?” Thus, two major reasons – the acknowledgment of more genres with specific textual requirements and the social contexts of writing – have motivated scholars of contrastive rhetoric to adjust and supplement research approaches in their work. In a special issue on contrastive rhetoric in Journal of English for Academic Purposes (2004), Connor reviewed research methodologies used in the expanded definition of contrastive rhetoric. Textual linguistic analyses have a sharpened focus in the specific genre characteristics of the many kinds of writing studied and taught in today’s writing contexts. On the one hand, corpus-based studies rely on new, sophisticated corpus linguistics quantitative analyses. The rigor introduced by corpus linguistics into design, data collection, and analysis is a welcomed stan-





Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, William Rozycki

dard. On the other hand, ethnographic approaches have gained importance because of the increasing awareness of the social nature of writing. Already in 2002, Connor addressed recent criticism and offered new directions for a viable contrastive rhetoric. In addressing the critiques, Connor aimed to draw attention to the broad scope of contrastive rhetoric and determined that a new term would better encompass the essence of contrastive rhetoric in its current state. To distinguish between the often-quoted “static” model and the new advances that have been made, it may be useful to begin using the term intercultural rhetoric to refer to the current dynamic models of cross-cultural research. The field is currently dynamic and exploratory, extending to new genres, widening contextual research through historical and ethnographic inquiry, refining methodology, utilizing electronic corpora of texts, going beyond linguistic patterns to the study of other distinctive differences in writing, and exploring contrasts even beyond writing, such as the differences in Web use between speakers of different languages.

Approaches highlighted in this volume All of these new approaches – genre analysis, corpus analysis, qualitative historical and ethnographic approaches, and extension to areas beyond writing – are presented in the chapters in this volume. This book showcases a great number of empirical studies of contrastive and intercultural rhetoric involving many first languages and writing genres. The two other major goals of the volume are (1) to further develop the theoretical base of contrastive rhetoric and (2) to evaluate its applications for the writing classroom. The overriding goal of this volume is to take contrastive rhetoric to the future, to reach to intercultural rhetoric. The collection is divided into four sections. Section I – Current State of Contrastive Rhetoric – sets the tone for the entire collection. Xiaoming Li offers an ideal beginning for the collection by tracing recent attacks on contrastive rhetoric with a critical eye. In arguing for practical and pedagogical aspects of contrastive rhetoric, especially those exemplified primarily by its demonstrable linguistic nature, she believes a turn to cultural/critical studies is neither a viable alternative nor the most appropriate direction for this type of work. Instead, to counter ideological attacks, she wants to expand the notion of contrastive rhetoric. “Intercultural” rhetoric should focus on/build on applied linguistic research and discourse analysis that promotes “procedural” rhetoric as counterpoint to notions of dominant discourses. And for this collection, the first key point is Li’s call for a move from contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric. Ana Moreno completes Section I by offering a second key point for this collection: the need



Introduction

for continued valid and rigorous research in cross-cultural studies. She argues for the continued use of corpora and makes the case for texts as exemplars of situated genres. An intercultural rhetoric approach highlights the very situatedness of a given genre, and only rigorous studies can determine if genres are truly comparable across cultures. Likewise, an intercultural rhetoric approach should also statistically control for relevant contextual features (especially for those that are similar across cultures) in order to make reliable claims about the effect of culture on textual constructions. By establishing the movement from contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric and calling for continued rigorous research in cross-cultural studies, Section I establishes a powerful framework for the rest of the collection. Section II – Contrastive Corpus Studies in Specific Genres – builds on Section I by offering a range of issues and a range of genres that legitimately fall under the purview of intercultural rhetorical studies. Annelie Ädel’s examination of metadiscourse in argumentative writing leads this section. Her study uses three different corpora to analyze both quantitative and qualitative differences between learners and native speakers and between British and American speakers. Ädel determined four factors – genre comparability, cultural conventions, register awareness, and general learner strategies – and calls for future studies to clarify these factors as legitimate and to evaluate their relative impact in other cross-cultural situations. More importantly, she poses important questions for L2 teaching that arose from her work: What are good models? How do conventions in the English-speaking world differ? What are cross-cultural differences in conventions for metadiscourse? Haiying Feng performs a genre analysis of rhetorical moves from nine successful Chinese research grant proposals. The contextual factors include “face,” networking, research traditions, sociopolitical structure, and economic conditions, but she makes a strong case that differences should not be seen as simply cultural; instead, Feng argues an extremely important point: that these factors may be attributable to a local context specific to a particular genre. Culture is both a wide-ranging – yet specific – consideration. Maria Loukianenko Wolfe examines Russian and English business correspondence using a methodological framework based on elements from Hofstede’s theory of cultural dimensions: power, distance, uncertainty avoidance, and individualism/collectivism. While she tested only limited data, she also makes a strong case for local considerations and argues that students who understand cultural mechanisms may be able to analyze rhetorical choices in particular intercultural writing situations more effectively. Chin-Sook Pak and Rebeca Acevedo use five corpora to examine varieties of Spanish in newspaper editorials. They looked at a range of stylistic and rhetorical





Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, William Rozycki

features in comparing local newspapers like El Diario (in New York City) and La Opinión (in Los Angeles) with major newspapers such as the New York Times, El País (Madrid), and El Universal (Mexico City). They demonstrate regional differences in all five papers and call for future research to describe pluricentrality of cultures and how persuasion is constructed in specific contexts. Intercultural rhetoric is certainly more than contrasting dominant discourses. Lorena Suárez and Ana Moreno focus on the academic journal book review as written in Spanish and in English. While they only have a small sample (20 each), they offer a better definition, as well as a refinement, of the genre of the academic book review, especially in terms of rhetorical structure. They argue, in particular, for the influence of specific cultural preferences, such as evidence that Spanish authors use descriptive moves and more sympathetic evaluations. Suárez and Moreno call for a greater examination of writing cultures in order to explain possible sources for these types of differences. Wei Wang examines newspaper commentaries on terrorism in both China and Australia. His findings show clear differences in use of fact (Chinese) and opinion (Australian); generic participants (Chinese) and specific participants (Australian); and the use of “I” (Australian) and no authorial presence (Chinese). While he makes some broad cultural claims, the real strength of this work is his call for the use of a variety of analytical frameworks to offer different perspectives and produce a more thorough picture of particular rhetorical situations. Section III – Contrastive Rhetoric and the Teaching of ESL/EFL Writing – focuses on the pedagogical concerns traditionally associated with contrastive rhetoric. This section, however, expands the discussion in interesting ways by using a variety of methods. Virginia LoCastro begins the section with an ethnographic study of a Mexican student’s university writing in both L1 (Spanish) and L2 (English). While she does some traditional analysis of punctuation markers, the beauty of this study is the way LoCastro places the writing in the larger educational environment: classroom, textbook, teacher, university culture, etc. Her point is that education is not an acontextual activity, and so our research needs to account for the larger EFL context, especially when we study student writing. In a similar vein, Kara McBride examines EFL internet users in Chile. She also creates an understanding of the larger contextual nature of Internet research by students. Her use of both contrastive rhetoric and schema theory helps McBride argue effectively for teachers to describe the visual design of Web sites more completely and to develop more effective strategies for students to develop successful keyword searches. She concludes with a call for researchers to expand traditional notions of schemata building for reading and writing in order to apply it to the ways that experienced Internet users build schemata for conducting research online.



Introduction

Xiaoye You offers a historical examination of theme writing in Chinese education. The importance of themes is evident in the movement of topics over time from neo-Confucian to socialist issues. You found that theme carries weight in scoring that is equivalent to textual organization; more importantly, he found that successful academic writing meant that theme is necessarily aligned with the dominant ideology and, in fact, dictates the layout of the textual structure. His research shows the trajectory of theme over time and reveals a complexity and fluidity of rhetorical practices in China. He concludes with a call for more historical studies in order to contribute new knowledge in this area. Joel Bloch examines plagiarism from both cross-cultural and historical perspectives. He begins with the notion that instances of plagiarism, especially among Asian students, are the result of cultural differences engrained in rhetorical traditions deemed “other.” He shows this as an example of essentialistic thinking, then offers a more thorough examination of the issue in a historical context. In doing so, Bloch provides a model for rethinking the dichotomies prevalent in criticisms leveled at contrastive rhetoric. More specifically, he addresses pedagogical concerns of teachers of composition by offering “investigative” strategies that help students understand plagiarism more effectively. Finally, Section IV – Future Directions – describes both the limits and potential for intercultural rhetoric in the future. Dwight Atkinson and Paul Matsuda begin the final section of the collection with a self-edited “conversation” about possible futures for contrastive rhetoric. They call for open-ended conversations that will take contrastive rhetoric in positive directions in the future. They initiate their discussion by tracing the history of contrastive rhetoric through their own experiences, addressing both their intellectual and emotional responses to the controversies surrounding contrastive rhetoric over the years. They analyze Kaplan’s 1966 article from multiple angles: pedagogy, research, reception. They label many recent critiques as a “straw man.” While they do not believe that contrastive rhetoric is a “field” (nor are they content with a name change to “intercultural rhetoric”), they offer two primary directions for contrastive rhetoric in the future: all-inclusive or reintegration. In either case, Atkinson and Matsuda believe that contrastive rhetoric is stuck in a cycle of undermining and attack. They conclude with a toolkit of ideas for constructive critique, something needed if people are going to take contrastive rhetoric seriously and move forward. Ulla Connor concludes the collection with a history of contrastive rhetoric using postmodern mapping techniques. In it, she traces three strands of thinking about contrastive rhetoric: writing (texts and social practices surrounding it), small cultures (especially disciplinary thinking), and writing as intercultural encounter. Connor takes the all-inclusive route described by Atkinson and Matsuda and expands the contrastive rhetoric research agenda, beginning with a rethink-





Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, William Rozycki

ing of the term itself. She presents a critique of the term, contrastive rhetoric, and its current viability. She then offers “intercultural rhetoric” as an alternative and argues that this new term is more sensitive to context and considers influences of both the interpersonal and the intercultural.

References Atkinson, D. (2000). On Robert B. Kaplan’s response to Terry Santos et al.’s “On the future of second language writing.” Journal of Second Language Writing, 9(3), 317–320. Bazerman, C., & Prior, P. (Eds.). (2004). What writing does and how it does it: An introduction to analyzing texts and textual practices. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Canagarajah, A. S. (2002). Critical academic writing and multilingual students. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Connor, U. (2002). New directions in contrastive rhetoric. TESOL Quarterly, 36(4), 493–510. Connor, U. (2004). Intercultural rhetoric research: Beyond texts. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, (3)4, 291–304. Connor, U. (2005). Comment on “Toward critical contrastive rhetoric” by Ryuko Kubota and Al Lehner. Journal of Second Language Writing, 14(2), 132–136. Hinds, J. (1983). Contrastive rhetoric: Japanese and English. Text, 3, 183–195. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in intercultural education. Language Learning, 16(1), 1–20. Kaplan, R. B. (2000). Contrastive rhetoric and discourse analysis: Who writes what to whom? When? In what circumstances? In S. Sarangi & M. Coulthard (Eds.), Discourse and social life (pp. 82–101). Harlow, UK: Pearson Education Limited. Kaplan, R. B. (2005). Contrastive rhetoric. In E. Hinkel (Ed.), Handbook of research in second language teaching and learning (pp. 375–392). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Kubota, R. (1999). Japanese culture constructed by discourses: Implications for applied linguistics research and English language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 33, 9–35. Kubota, R. (2001). Discursive construction of the images of U.S. classrooms. TESOL Quarterly, 35, 9–38. Kubota, R., & Lehner, A. (2004). Toward critical contrastive rhetoric. Journal of Second Language Writing, 13, 7–27. Scollon, R. (1997). Contrastive rhetoric, contrastive poetics, or perhaps something else? TESOL Quarterly, 31, 352–363. Spack, R. (1997). The rhetorical construction of multilingual students. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 765–774. Zamel, V. (1997). Toward a model of transculturation. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 341–343.

section i

Current state of contrastive rhetoric

From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric A search for collective identity Xiaoming Li Long Island University, Brooklyn Campus

Contrastive rhetoric (CR) has come under sharp criticism in recent years. This chapter first traces CR’s emphasis on textual differences in students’ writing to its historical link to formal linguistics, delineating the reach and limitations of such an approach. Then, examining the major criticisms leveled against CR, it suggests that the criticism reflects the changing theoretical winds in Western academia. CR, with its continuing focus on the demonstrable linguistic traits of writing rather than their ideological implications, is vulnerable to charges of political neutrality, if not naiveté. Finally, it posits that intercultural rhetoric, by including qualitative research with expanded notions of culture, will offer both insights to teaching writing to non-native speakers of English and alternatives to the dominant discourse.

Many of us share Suresh Canagarajah’s view of contrastive rhetoric as “a rare research and pedagogical tradition indigenous to ESL” (2002: 271) and cherish it as such. ESL writing instructors have benefited much from studies of contrastive rhetoric, which have enhanced their cultural sensitivity and offered them useful roadmaps to navigate ESL writing classes and ESL student papers, as many of them are bewildered and frustrated by inexplicable “jolts” in their students’ writing. The cultural focus of contrastive rhetoric also accounts for its popularity as a research approach among nonnative educators of English: although I doubt that this was its original intention, contrastive rhetoric has created an institutional space for us, nonnative educators of English, where our experience in the home culture is made relevant to the English-speaking audience here. Thus, our presumed liability becomes an asset. This is one place we can have as much and

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sometimes more authority than native speakers of English. It is a rare, comfortable place to hang out our shingles. Ulla Connor, the major banner bearer of contrastive rhetoric after Robert Kaplan, recently suggested changing the name of contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric. In the Introduction to the special issue of Journal of English for Academic Purposes on Contrastive Rhetoric in EAP, she writes: I propose the term intercultural rhetoric to refer to what might previously have been called contrastive rhetoric or cross-cultural studies of writing. The term, in my definition, encompasses cross-cultural studies (comparison of concept A in culture one and two) and... The term intercultural rhetoric better describes the broadening trends of writing across languages and cultures. It preserves the traditional approaches that use text analysis, genre analysis, and corpus analysis as well as introduces the ethnographic approaches that examine language in interactions. Furthermore, it connotes the analysis of texts that allows for dynamic definitions of culture and the inclusion of smaller cultures (e.g., disciplinary, classroom) in the analysis. (2004: 273)

A label or a name denotes and connotes, describes and prescribes, connects and delimits. It not only tells our colleagues who we are and what we do, but, more importantly, disposes what we tell ourselves we should do and will do. As an active practitioner of cross-cultural studies for the last ten years or so, I have been closely watching the debate and discussion that led to the name change and would like to offer my thoughts on the name that identifies us collectively as scholars and language educators. Before that, however, I want to make clear the particular position from which I come to this discussion. Ethnically, I am a Chinese American, yet even today, I still feel more Chinese than American, one reason being that while I speak and write in Chinese as effortlessly as I breathe, I still struggle with English articles and prepositions and still need a native speaker to proofread an article like this. In terms of disciplinary affiliation, I have two master’s degrees in Applied Linguistics, one from the East China Teachers’ University in Shanghai, the other from the University of New Hampshire. However, after I studied for four years under some of the best scholars in Composition and Rhetoric at the University of New Hampshire and received a Ph.D. in Composition Studies and Literature, I had converted to a compositionist with only a glancing interest in linguistics. That means I read every issue of College Composition and Communication, but TESOL Quarterly only selectively; I attend the annual Conference on College Composition and Communication regularly, but until recently rarely went to the TESOL Conference. Ironically, despite my self-identification with composition studies, contrastive rhetoric has pulled on me like a call from home. Ulla Connor was the



From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric

first reader who enthusiastically recommended my book manuscript of “Good Writing” in Cross-Cultural Context (1996) before it was published and then received positive reviews from compositionists, and much of my research proceeds from the premise that culture is a powerful explanatory factor in ESL writing. Despite the kindred spirit I always felt towards contrastive rhetoric, linguistics represents my past rather than my present and my research method is basically qualitative and interpretative, so I had steered away from identifying my work as contrastive rhetoric and chosen instead to call it cross-cultural studies, terms Connor often uses interchangeably. To understand the significance and implications of the new label and its expanded reach, I will reflect on three terms that are often used to describe the field: culture, linguistics, and difference. I take these terms from the same article I mentioned at the beginning. In this article, Connor describes contrastive rhetoric as pioneered by Kaplan as a line of inquiry that attends to “cultural and linguistic differences [italics mine] in the writing of students of ESL” (2004: 271). The description, an apt one in my judgment, highlights the essential features that together draw up the objectives and methodology of contrastive rhetoric as we know it, that distinguish it from various other approaches aimed at ESL writing. I will first examine “culture” and “difference,” and then the epithet “linguistic” as used in contrastive rhetoric, and lastly, offer my take on how contrastive rhetoric, under the new name of “intercultural rhetoric,” can best position itself in relation to composition studies, a closely related field of study. The purpose is not to offer an alternative name – there are already quite a few out there – but to understand this unique and indigenous tradition in order to preserve it as it adapts to the changing reality. Much criticism of contrastive rhetoric over the past ten years has concentrated on the implied meaning of culture in research that has been conducted under the rubric of contrastive rhetoric. The accentuation of culture as a cognitive category to explain ESL writing is a defining characteristic of contrastive rhetoric. Although cultural anthropologists had taken culture as the object of study long before there was contrastive rhetoric, Kaplan was a trailblazer as an applied linguist in the United States who saw that “cultural differences in the nature of rhetoric supply the key to understanding the difference in international students’ writing” (Connor 1996: 11). The cultural focus makes eminent sense, considering that ESL classrooms are populated by students from non-English speaking backgrounds, whose literacy practices, writing patterns, and expectations of the instructors, as well as their world views, have all been informed and shaped by cultures that are often different from writers born and raised in America. However, despite its wide acceptance, as Dwight Atkinson (1999: 629) notes, culture as a concept received little scrutiny until a tidal wave of new theories that

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had been mainstreamed in other areas of humanities began to lap at our shore. These new theories – among them, social constructionism, culture studies, postcolonial studies, postmodernism, and feminism – characteristically foreground the nexus between text and context, language and power, take issue with the representation of the “other,” and interrogate such established categories as race, gender, and class. They view the postmodern world, in Lester Faigley’s words, as one of fragmentation, multiplicity, fluidity, plurality, and intensity (1992: 15). As early as 1986, leading cultural anthropologists James Clifford and George Marcus posited that culture, under the spotlight of new theories, became a “newly problematic object of description and critiques” (p. 3). In the late 1990s, some concerned ESL educators, such as Ruth Spack (1997), Vivian Zamel (1997), and Ryuko Kubota (1999), started to challenge the received notion of culture as denoting homogenous and static conceptual and geographical entities. They accused studies of contrastive rhetoric of essentializing and stereotyping ESL students. It should be noted, however, that although Spack, Zamel, and Kubota are often cited together as major critics of contrastive rhetoric, they have very different theoretical orientations. Spack and Zamel, despite their heavy use of postmodern languages, in their argument often fall back on the romantic notion of the individual as, in Geertz’ words, “a bounded, unique, more or less integrated motivational cognitive universe” (1983: 59). Kubota, on the other hand, premises her argument on post-colonial theories and cultural critic Michel Foucault’s discursive theory, both of which see reality as inscribed by power relationship. Regardless of the particular perspective each critic brings to the debate and the validity of their argument, the scrutiny of the notion of culture as used in contrastive rhetoric provoked much needed reflection on and examination of one of its cornerstones (Atkinson 1999; Connor 2002). A concomitant of their critique of culture is what the critics see as the “cultural dichotomy” (Kubota 1999: 11) promoted by contrastive rhetoric because of its traditional emphasis on cultural difference. In her recent article, co-authored with Ling Shi in the Journal of Asian-Pacific Communication, Kubota characterizes much past research as “perpetuat[ing] the assumption that rhetorical conventions in East Asian languages are entirely different from those in standard written English” (2005: 98). Although Kubota and Shi had difficulty deciding whether opinion writing in Chinese and Japanese textbooks could be categorized as argument as the term is used in classic western rhetoric, they concluded that writing instruction in English and in Chinese or Japanese is more similar than different (p. 123). To shift the traditional focus of contrastive rhetoric from differences, Zamel proposes to replace contrastive rhetoric with transculturation to celebrate “the selective, generative, and inventive nature of linguistic and cultural adaptation” of



From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric

individual ESL writers (1997: 350), whereas Kubota suggests critical multiculturalism to foreground the “power struggle within the culture and between cultures” (1999: 11). Both aim to de-emphasize cultural difference to accommodate what they perceive as an increasingly homogenized world as a result of globalization. Are cultural differences, as one critic claims, mere “fictions people entertain about themselves and about other people” (Zamel, p. 350)? Are national and ethnic differences still real and important enough to warrant the continued use of culture as a cognitive and analytical lens? I can only answer that question from my personal and scholarly experience. As a frequent visitor to China, it is hard for me not to notice the changes. In the few decades since the death of the “great helmsman,” China has leaped through greater changes than it had for centuries before. Shanghai was hardly recognizable each time I returned to visit, but in my study (2002), “Chinese High School and University Writing in a Time of Change,” I found that Chinese writing classes remain distinctly different from those in America. Based on that study I offered the following response to the claim that given the fluidity of the postmodern world, culture as indicating a bounded notion is no longer a useful category (2005: 128): [E]ven a culture as receptive to changes as China’s has not lost its distinctive cultural identity, not at this point in history. Writing a morality thesis is still the order of the day, and to be able to write arguments without an argumentative edge is still what gets a high school student into the door of a Chinese university. Yes, China is changing and changing rapidly, but fluidity is a valid concept only in relation to stability, just as permeability is a phenomenon that exists only when there are still borders. To elevate one dimension of reality to erase another is “neither necessary nor accurate” (Hatlen, p. 73).

My study was conducted in 2000, and things have continued to change miraculously in all aspects of Chinese life since then. However, some aspects of Chinese life seem to change at a glacier pace. Most of the essay topics for the university entrance exam held in June, 2005 are still moral propositions. In Shanghai, one of my research sites in 2000, the essay topic is “On Setbacks and Pain” and in Zhejiang province, “Moral Cultivation Amidst Economic Development.” In Nanjing, however, the other of my research sites in 2000, the essay topic is “The Phoenix’s Head, Pig’s Stomach, and Leopard’s Tail” (metaphors for the structure of a successful essay, which should have a luring introduction, full body, and a powerful conclusion). Although the topic is uniquely non-moral, the metaphors have long . The essay topics, publicized in local and national newspapers immediately after the exam, were obtained through personal communications with acquaintances in those areas.

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been established and taught in schools, and the writers were obviously invited to understand and carry on that literary tradition, not to challenge or question it. If we apply Chaim Perelman’s definition of argument that “All arguments aim somehow at modifying an existing state of affairs” (1994: 154) and, therefore, that they should not be adapted to use to communicate established judgments or revolutionary dogmas (McKeon 1994: 144), argument is not likely to be taught in Chinese writing classes as long as diverse views are viewed in China as a threat to social and political stability. According to one report, the Chinese government has stationed more than 50,000 Internet “cops” to enforce censorship on the information highway. It was no accident that classical rhetoric, the study of effective argument, was born in an ancient democracy, not in a dynasty. The world is not as free-flowing as postmodernists would like us to believe. Some old barriers may have been removed, but many remain in place, and new ones are being erected to stop the flow. It is true that the received notion of culture is too simplistic and static to reflect the emerging reality of an interconnected, globalizing, postmodern world. However, the interconnected world does not necessarily create a homogeneous world culture. The same adaptation process (described by Zamel) that individual ESL students experience in the writing class, is applicable to nations and ethnic groups as they come into contact with each other. Each culture will select, invent, revise, and create its identity in response to a new reality by incorporating its unique tradition instead of erasing it. Although it is not certain when and whether the grand vision of democracy is to be realized in the Middle East, it is certain that when it does – and I, for one, certainly hope it does – it will demonstrate the distinct Islamic tradition of that area and will not be a copy of democracy as conceived and practiced in the West. A globalized world, if we ever come to it, is not going to be a piece of flattened cardboard. I agree with the criticism (and suspect many in the field do, too) that some past studies in contrastive rhetoric, because of the stress on differences as implied by the label, tended to apply polarized characterizations to cultural difference. In all fairness, Connor has repeatedly made clear that contrastive rhetoric examines both the similarities and differences between the target culture and the students’ home culture, but most of the actual research by Connor and others concentrates on the differences. I assume this is more for pedagogical reasons than for any philosophical reasons, and I think the rhetorical tradition of academic discourse that is based on a dualistic model is also partly responsible. However, it is equally dichotomous to correct that bias by shifting to similarity. At the risk of sounding hopelessly ancient, I suggest the yin/yang scheme as a better model for cultural comparison. In that scheme, although yin and yang are distinctly different and oppositional to each other, they are not separated by



From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric

a razor sharp line; they are intertwined, curving into each other’s sphere. Yin is found deep in the greatest citadel of yang, and yang in yin’s. When tipped, yin can be transmuted into yang, and yang into yin. It is a model of fluidity based on the acknowledgement of difference. David Hall and Roger Ames, two comparative philosophers who have engaged in scholarship on Confucianism, describe the differences between Chinese and Western not as mutually exclusive, but as “differences in emphasis that exist between the rich and diverse fabric of Confucian and Anglo-European cultures.” They believe that “it is precisely this recognition of significant differences that provides an opportunity for mutual enrichment by suggesting alternative responses to problems that resist satisfactory resolution within a single culture” (1987: 5). Lao Tzu would certainly agree with them: cultures do not stay in separated domains, and they change, although in the account of two American philosophers, the change happens from our active understanding and thoughtful adoption of the alternative, rather than an inevitable tipping to the opposite that results from excesses, regardless of human intention. More importantly, if we accept culture as a relevant and useful concept in understanding ESL writing, we need to consider two issues. First, how do we determine when culture comes into play in a student’s writing process or product? Second, what particular cultural-specific template is the student writer consciously or unconsciously proceeding from? There is nothing wrong in adopting one particular approach, as some in cultural studies consistently adopt a feminist, Marxist, or postcolonial perspective and some in literary studies are known as experts in formalism, structuralism, or semiotics. But it is important to keep in mind the limitations of one particular approach and understand that though reading student papers through a single lens affords us certain insights, it also renders others invisible. The partiality does not invalidate any one approach, for all perspectives are partial, but the pretense that one approach explains all, be it cultural or political, is both false and harmful. In my view, many of the flaws in our research stem less from the misconceived notion of culture, a notion that is both pervasive and elusive and probably all too broad as an analytical category, than from the misguided view of culture as an omniscient explanation and the assumption that there is one cultural proto-

. Hall and Ames (1987) claim that their comparative method shares commonalities with both the intercultural and transcultural perspectives. “With the intercultural method we remain sensitive to those contrasting cultural emphases that establish real alternative approaches to significant theoretical and practical concerns. With the transcultural approach we share the search for a single hermeneutical community serving as the context of viable philosophic dialogue” (p. 5).

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type that students from the same cultural background would all pay homage to. Probably just as important, the traditional method of textual analysis employed by most studies in contrastive rhetoric does not yield reliable understanding of the context, which, in this case, is the culture. In contrastive rhetoric the culture that presumably influences students’ writing is often inferred backwards from the text – as Kaplan did in his early work. Such a backward inference can yield useful insight, yet because of the lack of reliable method, the link between the text and the context is often determined arbitrarily, no better than guesswork. Studies of Chinese students’ writing, for example, often attribute the peculiarities in their writing to the influence of the eight-legged essay, not knowing (or in some cases despite knowing) that the eight-legged essay, the standard template for essays in the Imperial Civil Service Examination for centuries, was officially abolished at the turn of the last century and was an object of ridicule in Mao’s polemic, “Against Eight-Legged Partisan Essays.” How much the eight-legged essay still influences Chinese students’ writing is an open question to be determined by methods conducive to the study of context, but more often than not, it is taken for granted as the writing template that all Chinese writers, as well as Japanese and Korean writers, would follow. Recent studies such as David Cahill’s (2003) “The Myth of the ‘Turn’ in Contrastive Rhetoric” debunk such myth (see also Xiaoye You’s chapter in this volume). Kaplan later recognized and acknowledged the difficulty in locating the cultural factor in writing because “no paradigm yet exists that could incorporate such information,” and suggested “subdivid[ing] the cultural factors into two interlocking systems – one deriving from the total ambient environment, from the community of speakers of which the writer is a member, and the other deriving from the cultural conventions that surround the act of writing” (1988: 285). Connor suggests that we expand the traditional methods of linguistics to include ethnography, the traditional tool of research anthropologists use to study culture as it is lived. What still needs to be supplied is the methodological link between text and context in intercultural rhetoric when the focus of our study is the native habitat from which the texts have already been removed. Now to the term “linguistic” in Connor’s description. I am probably taking this epithet more literally than Connor meant it. Connor, I assume, uses the word “linguistic” as the adjective form for the word “language,” while I see it as a stand-in for linguistics as a discipline with all its related disciplinary traditions and practices. It seems to me that unlike the cultural and contrastive perspectives, . Probably for that reason, Atkinson (2004) suggests the study of “small cultures” (e.g., classroom culture, youth culture, company culture, and disciplinary culture), while Sarangi, taking an entirely different tack, suggests that culture is not a viable cognitive category.



From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric

which are adopted traits of contrastive rhetoric, applied linguistics is biological. It is true, as Connor claims, contrastive rhetoric is multidisciplinary as it draws on a variety of theories and research methods. But that does not alter its linguistic lineage. Kaplan was quite explicit about that, describing his brainchild as “a kind of text analysis that has floated on the periphery of more formal linguistic studies” (1988: 275). In my view, contrastive rhetoric is linguistic in at least three ways. First, it was founded by an applied linguist and subsequently practiced mostly by applied linguists. Second, its methodology and object are typically formal textual linguistics. It analyzes the identifiable linguistic structures of texts, concentrating on those above the sentence level, and, derivative of a discipline that allies itself with the social sciences rather than the humanities, its method is typically quantitative. Third, true to the disciplinary tradition of applied linguistics, the goal of contrastive rhetoric is practical rather than theoretical. It attempts to address the immediate concerns in the ESL writing class; thus the texts for study are those written by ESL students, and only recently those by native speakers of English learning other languages. These features become prominent if we compare them to another line of inquiry, comparative rhetoric, as represented by George Kennedy (1998). Comparative rhetoric, associated with humanities, is practiced by rhetoricians or linguists who are steeped in classical rhetoric. Although it also uses the textual approach of contrastive rhetoric, it is historical, interpretive, and not directly pedagogical. The texts chosen for study are literary or philosophical classics rather than student papers. Their different disciplinary lineages probably explain why the two neighbors remain strangers to each other and have rarely referred to one another’s work. The linguistic lineage probably accounts for the “uneasy” relationship between contrastive rhetoric and composition studies. In her article, “Resources for Discourse Analysis in Composition Studies,” Ellen Barton reviews the downward trajectory that characterizes the relationship between linguistics and composition studies, which started on a promising note in the 1950s and 1960s, when linguistics appeared to have much to offer to composition studies both theoretically and methodologically. Barton explains, Theoretically, the focus in the linguistics of the 1950s on descriptive rather than prescriptive grammar and the focus in the linguistics of the 1960s on competence rather than performance held out the possibility of a richer conceptualization of language that was not narrowly focused on school grammar and writing er-

. Luming Mao’s essay “Reflective Encounters: Illustrating Comparative Rhetoric” (2003) offers a brief history of comparative rhetoric.

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rors. Methodologically, the scientific nature of the field of linguistics beckoned towards rigorous empirical research and the promise of generalizable knowledge in composition.  (2002: 579)

It was more than a coincidence that Kaplan published his seminal article, “Cultural Thought Patterns in Intercultural Education,” in 1966. He must have been acute enough to sense the exciting prospect promised by the alliance between the two disciplines, both interested in student texts. The Writing Teacher’s Sourcebook (3rd. ed.), edited by Gary Tate and Edward Corbett (1994), two leading compositionists, was a standard textbook for most composition programs in the 1980s. It has a substantial selection of linguistic works, featuring Ross Winterowd’s “The Grammar of Coherence,” Frances Christensen’s “A Generative Rhetoric of the Sentence,” and Charles Cooper’s “An Outline for Writing Sentence-Combining Problems.” Unfortunately, composition studies has since moved in a different direction. When The Writing Teacher’s Sourcebook was revised and reprinted in 1994, all those articles were nowhere to be seen. Barton describes further how the two disciplines gradually drifted apart: To the field of composition studies in the later 1970s and 80s, however, neither linguistic theory nor its methodological approach seemed relevant any longer: a view of language that foregrounded structure (whether descriptive or cognitive) seemed inadequate for a growing conceptualization of language as the material of identity and social practice, and a view of research that promoted empirical investigation seemed problematic to a field that had enthusiastically taken a theoretical turn. By the 1990s, notes Lester Faigley in Fragments of Rationality: Postmodernity and the Subject of Composition, “linguistics is no longer a major contributor of ideas”.  (1992: 80)

Barton’s account leaves out sociolinguistics, which has been more responsive to the new theories. That divergence between composition studies and linguistics only widened in the 1990s as composition studies took its cues from culture studies. In his article in College Composition and Communication, Richard Fulkerson observes, “Judging from the published scholarship of the last thirteen years, cultural studies has been the major movement in composition studies” (2005: 659). Fulkerson uses critical/cultural studies as an umbrella term for approaches that bear such names as critical pedagogy, feminist composition, and postcolonialism, whose common goal is “not improved writing, but liberation from dominant discourse” (pp. 660–661). For those who read College Composition and Communication and attend the Conference on College Composition and Communication, as I do, the dramatic “social turn” John Trimbur first described for composition studies in 1994 was most striking. Viewed against this backdrop, critics of contrastive rhetoric, who are closely affiliated with composition studies, appear sus-



From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric

piciously derivative, their arguments echoing much of the discussion that took place in the late 1980s and throughout the 1990s in composition studies. However, the participial qualifier in Fulkerson’s claim is important, “judging from the published scholarship of the last thirteen years.” There is ample evidence that composition studies is much more diverse from a worm’s eye view, which the published scholarship failed to represent. Surveying the terrain of composition around the turn of the twenty-first century, Fulkerson identifies three major approaches: critical/cultural studies, expressivism, and procedural rhetoric. He further identifies three different emphases under the rubric of procedural rhetoric: argumentation, genre-based composition, and composition as introduction to an academic discourse (p. 671). Fulkerson argues that while critical/cultural studies have dominated publications, “expressivism . . . is, in fact, quietly expanding its regions of command” (p. 655), and judging from the consensus among writing program directors, “perhaps procedural rhetoric is dominant in reality though not in publications” (p. 681). At the end of his article, citing Jim Porter, Fulkerson points to a major divide within the field of composition studies: that “between a postmodern, cultural studies, reading-based program, and a broadly conceived rhetoric of genres and discourse forums” (p. 679). There is little question as to which side of the divide contrastive rhetoric is on. I would argue, however, that what divides critical/cultural studies from other approaches in writing, including contrastive rhetoric, is not its social turn but its political turn. Contrastive rhetoric has been socially oriented from the start, concentrating on culture as the explanation for students’ writing. Neither was the social turn a stranger to mainstream compositionists before cultural studies emerged. Shirley Brice Heath’s Ways with Words: Language, Life, and Work in Communities and Classrooms (1983), a ten-year ethnographic study of literacy in three communities, had been a classic for composition programs before the dominance of critical/cultural studies. Contrastive rhetoric, however, has not made the “political turn” collectively, not even in the published scholarship. Like its parent discipline of applied linguistics, it has been unabashedly pedagogical rather than political. But, if Fulkerson is right, those in expressivism and procedural rhetoric have never taken their eyes off the ball of students’ texts either. As composition studies reclaims its pedagogical roots both in reality and publication, linguistics will become relevant again as it has always been to procedural rhetoric, and there are already signs of that happening. It may sound opportunistic, but I believe that, without adopting the overt political orientation of critical/cultural studies, intercultural rhetoric can still make important contributions to both sides of the divide, if there is one. The persistent and continuous effort of applied linguists in ESL writing over the past two decades has created a richer cache of knowledge about genre and academic discourse than

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any other line of inquiry. However, despite the critique of the pervasive and pernicious influence of dominant discourse, cultural critics in composition have yet to offer viable alternatives to counter its dominance. Contrastive rhetoric, with its wide cultural spectrum and scholarly interest in discourse, represents the best hope for cultural critics. That is, in my view, where intercultural rhetoric can best position itself. Incidentally, Barton recommends exactly that. She proposes discourse analysis as “a methodological bridge” between composition studies and linguistics (2002: 575). She defines the goal of discourse analysis in linguistics as “the understanding of conventions of language use,” conventions, that she explains, “describe a relationship between the repeated or typical use of a [textual] feature and its function in context” (p. 576). It is this attention to both text and context, and their relationship with each other, that puts discourse analysis in the tradition of rhetoric (Fulkerson 2005). Rhetoric, both classic and new, differentiates itself from other studies of oral and written language use through its concern with the dynamic relationships between pathos, ethos, and logos. And for that Fulkerson sees the studies of genre and academic discourse as carried out in the second language by linguists as part of the procedural rhetoric in composition studies. In his article, he points to Ken Hyland’s “Genre-Based Pedagogies: A Social Response to Progress” (2003) as “an excellent overview of the current situation” in procedural rhetoric, with the qualification, “although his study focuses on English as a Second language” (p. 675). Another indication of the convergence is the book, ALT DIS: Alternative Discourses and the Academy (2002), edited by Patricia Bizzell, a major force of cultural/critical studies, with contributions by Christopher Schroeder and Helen Fox (whose book Listening to the World [1994] has been charged as promoting determinism by some critics). It should be pointed out, however, that only a small fraction of works in discourse analysis or genre studies takes a cross-cultural perspective by following “the basic premise of contrastive rhetoric,” which, as Alan Purves explains, “is that one must deal with at least two groups of writers” (1988: 15). For that matter, I tend to think contrastive rhetoric or intercultural rhetoric is a particular perspective that the researcher brings to the examination of ESL writing. It is going to remain a small niche in ESL writing occupied mostly by polyglot researchers, and

. Determinism, the critic claims, is “a stance that assumes that we can attribute a student’s attempts in another language to that student’s L1 background and that anticipates that a student’s cultural and linguistic background will be problematic and limiting” (Zamel 1997: 343). I find the first assumption a fair characterization of the premise of Fox’s (1994) study, yet the second expresses an interpretive stance the writer chooses to take. Where she reads “problematic and limiting” (not Fox’s words), I find different and illuminating.



From contrastive rhetoric to intercultural rhetoric

an even smaller one in composition studies, but it will continue to be a relevant and productive perspective. No one needs to apologize for that.

References Atkinson, D. (1999). TESOL and culture. TESOL Quarterly, 33, 625–654. Atkinson, D. (2004). Contrasting rhetorics/contrasting cultures: Why contrastive rhetoric needs a better conceptualization of culture. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3(4), 277–290. Barton, E. (2002). Resources for discourse analysis in composition studies. Style, 36, 575–598. Bizzell, P., Schroeder, C., & Fox, H. (2002). ALT DIS: Alternative discourses and the academy. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook. Cahill, D. (2003). The myth of the “turn” in contrastive rhetoric. Written Communication, 20(2), 170–194. Canagarajah, A. S. (2002). Critical academic writing and multilingual students. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Christensen, F. (1981). A generative rhetoric of the sentence. In G. Tate & E. Corbett (Eds.), The writing teacher’s sourcebook (pp. 353–367). New York: Oxford University Press. Clifford, J., & Marcus, G. E. (1986). Writing culture: The poetics and politics of ethnography. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Connor, U. (1996). Contrastive rhetoric: Cross-cultural aspects of second language writing. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Connor, U. (2004). New directions in contrastive rhetoric. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 493–510. Connor, U. (2004). Introduction. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3(4), 271–276. Cooper, R. C. (1981). An outline for writing sentence-combining problems. In G. Tate & E. Corbett (Eds.), The writing teacher’s sourcebook (pp. 368–378). New York: Oxford University Press. Faigley, L. (1992). Fragments of rationality: Postmodernity and the subject of composition. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Fox, H. (1994). Listening to the world: Cultural issues in academic writing. Urbana, IL: NCTE. Fulkerson, R. (2005). Composition at the turn of the twenty-first century. College Composition and Communication, 56, 654–687. Geertz, C. (1983). Local knowledge: Further essays in interpretive anthropology. New York: Basic Books. Hall, D. L., & Ames, R. T. (1987). Thinking through Confucius. Albany: State University of New York Press. Hatlen, B. (1986). Old wine and new bottles: A dialectical encounter between the old rhetoric and the new. In T. Newkirk (Ed.), Only connect: Uniting reading and writing (pp. 59–86). Upper Montclair, NJ: Boynton/Cook. Heath, S. B. (1983). Ways with words: Language, life, and works in communities and classrooms. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hyland, K. (2003). Genre-based pedagogies: A social response to process. Journal of Second Language Writing, 12(1), 17–29. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning: A Journal of Applied Linguistics, 16, 1–20.

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Kaplan, R. B. (1988). Contrastive rhetoric and second language learning: Notes towards a theory of contrastive rhetoric. In A. C. Purves (Ed.), Writing across languages and cultures: Issues in contrastive rhetoric (pp. 275–303). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Kennedy, G. A. (1998). Comparative rhetoric: A historical and cross-cultural introduction. New York: Oxford University Press. Kubota, R. (1999). Japanese culture constructed by discourses: Implications for applied linguistics research and English language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 33, 9–35. Kubota, R., & Shi, L. (2005). Instruction and reading samples for opinion writing in L1 junior high school textbooks in China and Japan. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication, 15, 97–128. Li, X. M. (1996). “Good writing” in cross-cultural context. Albany: State University of New York Press. Li, X. M. (2002). “Track (dis)connecting”: Chinese high school and university writing in a time of change. In D. Foster & D. Russell (Eds.), Writing and learning in cross-national perspective: Transitions from secondary to higher education (pp. 49–87). Urbana, IL: NCTE. Li, X. M. (2005). Composing culture in a fragmented world: The issue of representation in cross-cultural research. In P. K. Matsuda & T. J. Silva (Eds.), Second language writing research: Perspectives on the process of knowledge construction (pp. 121–134). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Mao, L. (2003). Reflective encounters: Illustrating comparative rhetoric. Style, 37, 401–425. McKeon, R. (1994). The use of rhetoric in a technological age: Architectonic productive arts. In T. Enos & S. C. Brown (Eds.), Professing the new rhetorics: A sourcebook (pp. 126–144). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Perelman, C. (1994). The new rhetoric: A theory of practical reasoning. In T. Enos & S. C. Brown (Eds.), Professing the new rhetorics: A sourcebook (pp. 145–177). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Purves, A. C. (1988). Introduction. In A. C. Purves (Ed.), Writing across languages and cultures: Issues in contrastive rhetoric (pp. 9–24). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Sarangi, S. (2005, July 22–23). Intercultural research paradigms: A reassessment of their applicability of professional discourse studies. Plenary speech at the Indiana Center for Intercultural Communication’s Second Annual Conference on Intercultural Rhetoric and Written Discourse Analysis, Indianapolis, IN. Spack, R. (1997). The rhetorical construction of multilingual students. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 765–774. Tate, G., Corbett, E., & Myers, N. (1994). The writing teacher’s sourcebook (3rd ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Trimbur, J. (1994). Taking the social turn: Teaching writing post-process. College Composition and Communication, 45(1), 108–118. Winterowd, W. R. (1981). The grammar of coherence. In G. Tate & E. Corbett (Eds.), The writing teacher’s sourcebook (pp. 301–309). New York: Oxford University Press. Zamel, V. (1997). Toward a model of transculturation. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 341–352.

The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies Ana I. Moreno University of León

This chapter shows the importance of comparing corpora that are really comparable. The chapter conceives of texts as exemplars of situated genres and acknowledges that the rhetorical and discourse configuration of texts vary as a function of the contextual factors in which texts are situated. It argues that corpora may be considered equivalent (or similar to the maximum degree) across cultures to the extent that the text exemplars are similar in all of the relevant contextual factors. It concludes that cross-cultural corpora designs should attempt to control statistically as many of the relevant contextual factors as possible. If not, it may not be possible to say anything reliable about the possible effect of the language/culture factor on texts. Instead, possible differences found may be due to uncontrolled contextual variables.

Introduction It has been four decades since Kaplan (1966) proposed the idea that the rhetorical structures of texts in different languages might vary greatly, and that such variation should be taken into account in language teaching programs. He also suggested that these differences in writing across cultures may reflect different writing conventions and, in an attempt to revise his initial notion – which was severely criticized – Kaplan (1987) later on suggested that these differences in writing do not necessarily reflect different patterns of thinking that are acquired, but are more likely to reflect cultural and educational training factors which help to shape the writing conventions that are learned in a culture. Given the tremendous research activity driven by his basic insight that “writing is culturally influenced in interesting, and complex, ways” (Connor 2002: 495), contrastive rhetoric (CR) scholars should be convinced that this field of enquiry does not need further justification. What they need to do now is whatever is necessary to make their research more and more rigorous, reliable, and explanatory.

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One thing that can be done in this direction is to make sure they are comparing what is comparable across cultures. The purpose of this chapter is to reflect on how important this methodological requirement is. It is first convenient to distinguish between different types of questions that have been considered by CR researchers. A clear distinction is considered crucial because the type of question will ultimately dictate the sources and type of data that should be compared, and which therefore need to be comparable.

Contrastive rhetoric questions 1. Whether the imputed cross-cultural differences in the rhetorical configuration of texts actually exist, 2. If they exist, which cultural or educational factors may help to account for such differences (e.g., values, norms, learning processes and educational trends), 3. Which precise difficulties with discourse structure and other rhetorical features do second language learners from a given non-English writing culture experience when writing in English as an L2, 4. Whether difficulties experienced with discourse structure and other rhetorical features by L2 learners of English are attributable to interference (or negative transfer) from the first language. Table 1 sketches the types of data that should be used to answer each of these questions: Table 1.  Types of comparable data used to answer CR questions Question type Types of comparable data Question 1 Question 2

Question 3

Question 4

Original texts written in English as L1 and equivalent original texts written independently in the other language as L1 Documentation/Information provided by writers/readers/other participants involved in the process of writing, interpreting and learning to write and interpret original texts written in English as L1 and similar information provided by similar participants in similar processes in relation to equivalent original texts written independently in the other language as L1 Original texts written in English as L2 and equivalent original texts written independently in English as L1. Information about the process of writing and learning to write these texts both as L1 and as L2 The results obtained in answer to question 3 (the difficulties experienced) and relevant results obtained in answer to questions 1 (the differences observed) and 2 (the reasons for these differences).



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

To answer question 1, CR studies will need to identify areas of difference (and similarity) in equivalent rhetorical/discourse features between original texts written in English as L1 and equivalent original texts written independently in the other language as L1. Accordingly, translations or English as L2 texts would not be valid to answer this question. As Reid (1988) argues, texts written by nonnative speakers – whether L2 texts or translations – do not constitute “a sufficient data sample for valid analysis because they use second language texts to investigate first language rhetorical patterns” (Reid 1988: 19). To answer question 2, CR studies need to go beyond texts and look contrastively at the two writing cultures, big and small, that have contributed to the L1 texts. This would involve obtaining information from documents and from the writers, readers, and other participants involved in the process of writing, interpreting, and learning to write and interpret the type of texts under research, by means of questionnaires, interviews, and so on. To answer question 3, CR studies need to identify non-English rhetorical features in original texts written in English as L2 by referring to equivalent discourse and rhetorical features used in equivalent original texts written independently in English as L1 (not only with reference to judgments by native speakers’ of English such as those by teachers of English as L2, but with reference to what actually happens in equivalent non-expert texts written in English as L1). They also need information about the process of writing and learning to write these texts in each writing culture independently. To answer the final question (question 4), CR studies need to compare the results obtained in answer to questions 1 and 2 to the relevant results obtained in answer to question 3. This will allow us to check whether, for instance, the differences identified in answer to question 1 could explain the non-English discourse and rhetorical features identified in answer to question 3. The main distinguishing feature of CR is that it has broadened the scope of its analyses to incorporate text-linguistic phenomena that go beyond the sentence level. Rather than focus on the lexico-grammatical resources employed by different languages to create meaning, it has concentrated on the text features that help writers of different cultures to negotiate meaning, both on the textual and the interpersonal plane. To this aim, CR has been more interested in finding out how writers of different writing cultures organize their texts into coherent meaningful units to accomplish their communicative purposes. So, for instance, studies have looked at paragraph organization and macro-structures of different kinds. They have also looked at how information flows effectively across sentences. CR has also been concerned with how writers show their attitudes towards their own ideas and their readers, how much conviction and commitment to their ideas

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writers feel it is appropriate to display depending on the communicative situation, and so on. In Table 1, the texts used as sources of data for the comparison should be equivalent, or comparable. Although it sounds rather obvious, meeting this methodological requirement is crucial for any study that aims to contribute valid knowledge to this discipline. As Connor and Moreno (2005) have recently argued, this requirement to use comparable data should be met, to start with, at two basic stages of the research: one, in selecting texts to build parallel corpora; and two, in identifying equivalent textual concepts to be examined in the corpora. Due to limitations of space, I will focus on the first of these two stages: the selection of parallel corpora.

Definition of parallel corpora A corpus is defined as a sample of texts which may be considered representative of the population of texts which it intends to represent. For example, Moreno’s (1996, 1997, 1998) corpus comprised two sets of 36 research articles from Business and Economics, one in English, the other in Spanish. Each of these samples was meant to represent the population of research articles on Business and Economics in each language. Parallel corpora are defined as sets of comparable original texts written independently in two or more languages (Connor & Moreno 2005: 155). The notion of comparability is equated to the concept of equivalence and is crucial for designing corpora for CR studies.

The concept of equivalence in parallel corpus designs The concept of equivalence has been widely used in Contrastive Analysis and Translation Theory. It helps contrastive researchers to establish a valid criterion of comparison between corpora. One important development in this respect has been that the original conception of equivalence as identity is giving way to the conception of equivalence as maximum similarity (Chesterman 1998). That is, for two corpora to be considered as equivalent they do not need to be exactly the same but similar to the maximum degree. But we still face the problem that judgments about what constitutes maximum similarity and how it is to be measured are relative, i.e. they depend on the assessors. So definitions of equivalence (or maximum similarity) will be relative to the theoretical framework in which they are made.



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

This chapter addresses how this requirement of maximum similarity could be met in cross-cultural studies that draw on one particular theoretical framework, genre theory (Swales 1990). According to this framework, it is theoretically plausible to conceive of texts as exemplars of situated genres. This means acknowledging that the rhetorical and semantico-linguistic configuration of texts – what is known as text form and content – vary as a function of the context in which discourse is situated. If we make our concept of maximum similarity relative to this theoretical conception of texts, we could then say that two corpora are equivalent (or similar to the maximum degree) to the extent that the text exemplars contained in them may be considered similar in all relevant contextual factors. It is therefore necessary to clarify what is meant by contextual factors in a general model of communication, applicable to contrastive studies.

A model of the communication process The concept of context of communication is considered from a socio-cultural and cognitive perspective in Figure 1. Not only does the context comprise relevant information about the immediate physical environment (setting) in which communication takes place, the relevant co-text, and other relevant texts, but it also comprises relevant information about the emotional state of the participants (their mood), their goals/needs, their expectations about the future, their anecdotal memories, their beliefs, their general cultural

Figure 1.  Contextual factors affecting cross-cultural communication

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assumptions and previous knowledge and experience of the world and texts, and their mutual knowledge about all these things. According to Relevance Theory, all these factors play a role in the interpretation of texts (Sperber & Wilson 1986: 15). From the point of view of text creation, all of these factors are also important because they may and do have an influence on the form and content of the text. Figure 1 proposes a model of the communication process which takes most of these factors into account. This model draws on the well-known work by Jakob­ son (1960), Hymes (1962) – both quoted in Cook (1989) – Halliday and Hasan (1989: 12), and Sperber and Wilson (1986). Strictly speaking, it is not really a model; it only includes the elements or components of the system but not the relationships between the different elements, and more elements could still be incorporated. However, it does show the complexity of the communication process. It is hoped that, as research advances in this line, it will be possible to complete the model in terms of the relationships between the different elements and how each affects the others. The model presupposes a communication need on the part of the writer, which takes place in a given temporal and spatial coordinate in the history of human relations as a result of some need the person wants to satisfy. Needs may be of various kinds: physiological, security, social, esteem, self-actualization – cf. Maslow’s (1954) book, Motivation and Personality – improving one’s representation of the world – cf. Sperber and Wilson (1986) – and so on. Perhaps the most important element of the communication process is the formulation of a communicative purpose, because this is what drives the addressor to enter a given communication process and determines the selection of the different options available to achieve his/her goal. Take, for instance, the communicative purpose of applying for a job in a company. To achieve that purpose, the addressor needs to determine the right person to communicate with – that is, the addressee (status within the company, sex, age, etc.). The addressor must also choose the appropriate setting (in this case, a professional setting within the given company). Awareness of all this is important because both the type of relationship established between the participants, known as the tenor, and the particular setting will significantly affect the shape of the text. An important aspect of the setting is the physical environment where the communicative event takes place. In writing, awareness of features in the physical environment is not usually as relevant as it is in spoken communication (e.g., a written job application versus an interview), but the time of communication, another element of the setting, may be very important. For instance, time constraints that the writer may have (time/space limitations, deadlines to meet) are also important because they may have an influence on the final product of communication.



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

As well as deciding on the addressee and the setting, the addressor must make other decisions, such as the most convenient mode of communication (written or spoken) and through which channel (sound waves, telephones wires, paper, the Internet, etc.). These decisions also influence the shape of the text. In the case of application letters, these decisions are sometimes constrained by a previous text that tells the addressor how to apply (e.g., an advertisement of the position that reads, “send a letter of application to”). This also affects the content and form of the text. For instance, it is rather typical of application letters to begin by referring to the source from which the writer learned about the position (e.g., an advertisement in a given newspaper). In addition, the form and content of the message within the text is also affected by the co-text. There seem to be some restrictions as to how information should be presented in the text and in what order to make texts more effective from the perspective of the audience. Therefore, for cross-cultural studies it is very important to take the particular rhetorical context in which language occurs into account. The addressor must also decide if he/she is going to write seriously, jokingly, or ironically – that is, the addressor must select a tone, or key, of communication, which will also affect textual choices. Other decisions involve the field, or topic, of communication (which may include, for instance, talking about previous experience in related jobs). This factor is important, since it will have a direct influence on the semantic choices of the text. And depending on the addressee, the addressor will have to decide which language code (British English/Peninsular Spanish) and situational and dialectal variety (formal/informal; standard/some dialectal code) to use to make himself/herself best understood, and thus, to achieve his/her communicative purpose. Once these decisions have been made, or given, the addressor will have to decide what to say/write – which content to include (text content) and how to express it – in what form and layout/format (text form). At this point, we should not forget that both the content and the form of the text will be influenced by the addressor’s sex, age, personality, emotional state, particular goals – which in this case may be to create the best possible impression on the addressee – previous knowledge of the relevant world (e.g. his familiarity with the company he is going to apply for), previous experience of communicating for similar or other purposes, and sense of the addressee’s expectations. One important factor in shaping the addressor’s knowledge, experience, and ability to communicate for different purposes is the language/writing culture(s) into which he/she has been socialized. This socialization may have taken place in various environments (or small cultures) such as family, various levels of formal education, friends, workplace, a given time in history, and a given place in the world. Although each of these small writing cultures operates according to its

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own norms, values, common practices, and so on, that are learned, they are also likely to interact in complex ways (Connor 2005) that will affect a writer’s writing behaviour, both the process and the product of writing. Finally, after all the efforts made by the writer to achieve his/her communicative purpose, the intended purpose may not be perceived by the reader exactly in the same way as the purpose envisioned by the writer. The reader’s interpretation will also be affected by other relevant contextual factors (concentration, interest, emotional state, particular goals, etc.). Although the communication process is surely more complex than what this model represents, it should be emphasized that these factors may and do have an influence on the form and content of a text and should be taken into account in any characterization of texts. Although a complete characterization of all genres in these terms is still lacking, there is empirical research that supports this theoretical conception of texts as situated genres. This is the way languages and texts should be described, both intra-culturally and cross-culturally. The application of this theoretical conception of texts to the description of the English language began to flourish in the 1990s with the pioneering work by Swales (1990). This, in combination with insights from corpus linguistics, has driven linguists to analyse large amounts of data in the search for more accurate and reliable descriptions of genres. For instance, Upton (2002) sought to combine the tools of corpus analysis with the specificity of genre analysis in a way that had not been done before to provide a new perspective on a genre, like the fundraising letter, that was not well understood. There is still a need to approach more genres in this and other ways (Moreno 2003; Connor & Anthony 2005) to make language descriptions more adequate and useful for fields of application such as language teaching. As for the cross-cultural description of languages, one added problem involves the issue of corpora comparability, the issue at stake in this chapter. Although important methodological contributions are being made by linguists to describe languages contrastively while benefiting from the powerful tools provided by corpus linguistics (Rabadán, Labrador, & Ramón 2004), considerable work still needs to be done to assure that the corpora are really comparable. For instance, the corpora used by Rabadán, Labrador, and Ramón (2004) was the COBUILD-Bank of English for the English data and the CREA (Corpus de Referencia del Español Actual) for the Spanish data because these were the most comparable and representative of each language at the time. However, these corpora do not meet the methodological requirements for the type of cross-cultural study proposed in this chapter. Given the present state of knowledge about language internal variability, arguments for establishing the comparability of the selected subcorpora will need



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

to be more delicate than simply declaring that the selected subcorpora comprise written texts: newspapers, magazines, books and ephemera. One important reason is that newspapers, for instance, include many different genres of texts (news articles, editorials, comment articles, and interviews) which follow different rhetorical conventions. Another reason is that these genres may be represented in such different proportions that it may be impossible to consider the two corpora as statistically comparable. Thus, cross-cultural studies of the type proposed here are very likely to need to develop their own tailor-made corpora, as has been done in studies like Moreno (1996, 1997, 1998, 2004) and the chapter by Suárez and Moreno in this volume.

Research variables in cross-cultural studies Since quantitative cross-cultural studies usually compare equivalent rhetorical features of written texts across languages and cultures, they need to be based on comparable written corpora, except for two contextual factors. These two factors are likely to be the language code factor, associated with a writing culture resulting from the interaction of various small cultures, and the form and content of the text factors – i.e., the rhetorical, semantic, and linguistic configuration of texts. Research examines the effect of one (the writing culture expressed through a language code) on the other (form and content of the text). These contrastive research variables are shown in Figure 2.

Figure 2.  Contrastive rhetoric research variables

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It may be said that the language code, inescapably associated with a writing culture, is the independent variable – the one that is manipulated to see how that change affects the shape of language – while form and content of the text is the dependent variable. It includes the rhetorical/semantic/linguistic features that will be observed and measured to see how they have changed as a function of the writing culture. In order to reach reliable conclusions, the researcher should attempt to maintain constant all other relevant factors affecting the production process – what is known as the confounding factors, or variables. The problem is that in descriptive studies, like cross-cultural studies, it is not possible to manipulate the variables. When texts are collected, they are already products. All the possible variables affecting the production process already have a fixed value (e.g., the text is either written or spoken). Therefore, the only way we can perform descriptive work is to design our corpora very carefully in such a way that all relevant confounding variables are taken into account by statistical control of the sample. If the design is able to maintain constant the values of these confounding factors and manages to include the same proportion of texts representing those values in each sample, we can then say that the two corpora are equivalent to the maximum degree of similarity and each of those factors can be considered as the criteria of comparison that allow us to make a valid comparison. Table 2 includes a comparable corpus design that met this requirement. This corpus was used by Moreno (1997, 1998) in an English-Spanish contrast of the explicit signalling of various types of causal intersentential relations in research articles on Business and Economics. For instance, the independent variable was the language code (with two possible values: English versus Spanish), and the dependent variable in Moreno (1998) was the explicit signalling of premise-conclusion intersentential relations, which was broken down into more specific dependent variables. The first column in Table 2 shows the criteria of comparison that helped the researcher to make similarity judgments between the two corpora. As can be seen, these criteria of comparison correspond to the various relevant contextual factors, or confounding variables, that were hypothesized to have an influence on the form and content of the message. The second column shows the particular value each factor took on that was kept constant for both corpora. The corpora can be considered comparable, or equivalent, in all those respects. It would be possible to suggest that the criterion referred to as genre could well serve as a comprehensive criterion of comparison since it usually restricts the values of the other contextual factors. For instance, a research article (a possible value of the genre factor) is normally expressed in the written mode (a possible value of the mode factor) through graphical substance on paper (a possible



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

Table 2.  Similarity constraints established for the design of Moreno’s (1998) EnglishSpanish comparable corpus of research articles on business and economics (adapted from Moreno 1996: 162) Criteria of comparison Value of prototypical feature perceived as a constant N of texts across the two corpora in each independent corpus Text form Genre Mode Participants     Writers      Targeted readers Situational variety Dialectal variety Tone Channel Format features     Length     Intertextuality     Visual features Point of view Global communicative event Setting General purpose of communication

Global rhetorical strategy

Overall subject-matter or topic Academic discipline Level of expertise

Scientific exposition Research article Written language  Researchers, professors and professionals in business and economics Researchers, professors, advanced students, top executives, politicians Formal Standard Serious Graphical substance  2,000-16,000 words of core text Including reference to other texts Including graphs, tables, drawings, footnotes, appendixes, typographical distinctions to indicate sections Objective Sharing results from research

36 36 36  36

An office, a library . . . Writer’s viewpoint: To persuade the readers to share the writer’s viewpoint Reader’s viewpoint: To improve one’s knowledge about a given field of research Demonstrating a theory Discussing the advantages of: – applying a given model – a given business practice Analysing the reasons for a given situation Proving the accuracy of a prediction Evaluating the solution given to a situation Business and Economics

36 36

    Marketing-management     Economics-finance Expert writers

36 36 36  36

36 36

36

36 18 18 36

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Table 2 (continued) Criteria of comparison Value of prototypical feature perceived as a constant N of texts across the two corpora in each independent corpus Textual unit of analysis Complete texts Global superstructure Introduction-Procedure-Discussion More variable superstructures:     Problem-Analysis-Solution     Situation-Explanation     Situation-Analysis-Forecast     Problem-Solution-Evaluation Predominant text types Argumentation (Depending on the Exposition focus of each section in Description the superstructure of the article)

36 11 25

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value of the channel factor). It normally takes the form of scientific exposition; the participants are usually restricted to researchers, professors and professionals, or advanced students; these texts are usually written in a formal and standard variety; their tone is usually serious; they have a recognizable format in terms of length, intertextuality and visual features; they tend to be presented as objective in viewpoint; the global communicative event in which they are framed is that of sharing results from research. The general purpose of communication, from the point of view of the writer, is usually to persuade readers to share the writer’s viewpoint, and from the readers’ perspective, to improve knowledge about a given field of research. A research article may also follow recurrent global rhetorical strategies (demonstrating a theory, discussing the advantages of applying a given model or a given business practice, analysing the reasons for a given situation, proving the accuracy of a prediction, evaluating the solution given to a problem). The predominant text types, depending on the precise section of the article, seem to be argumentation, exposition, and description. They are usually written by expert writers. Even if the above values are constant, there are still a number of factors which may escape this control by the genre factor. For example, the genre we recognize as the academic research article is actually generated within differing disciplinary cultures. These disciplinary cultures may have their own conventions of writing this kind of text. Since the disciplinary culture is associated with what is known as the topic or field factor, Moreno’s study took this variable into account in the sense that it made both corpora balanced in terms of topics. Accordingly, the resulting



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

sample in each corpus consisted of 18 research articles about marketing-management and 18 research articles about finance-economics. Although Moreno’s cross-cultural study examined a text-rhetorical feature in the entire research article, the study conjectured that this text-rhetorical feature might also vary as a function of the particular section within the research article. The study attempted to control for the superstructure factor. Thus, 11 research articles in each corpus followed the overall pattern of Introduction-ProcedureDiscussion, and 25 research articles in each corpus showed more variable superstructures: Problem-Analysis-Solution; Situation-Explanation; Situation-Analysis-Forecast and Problem-Solution-Evaluation. Another important factor that would escape the control of the genre criterion is the temporal factor (see temporal coordinate in Figure 1). This diachronic factor should also be taken into account because genres are dynamic entities. Any crosscultural study should also specify the temporal coordinates. Since Moreno’s study attempted to do a cross-cultural characterization of the most recent research articles at the time of the research, the sample texts were restricted to research articles written between 1990 and 1993. It is impossible to make constant certain factors (e.g., the addressor). This is a complex factor comprising other factors (age, sex, experience in writing, maturity, personality, etc.) which may affect the form of the message even within the same writing culture. Every writer has idiosyncrasies, and it is probably impossible to make two corpora similar in this respect. Still, if we conduct cross-cultural studies in an attempt to capture general tendencies of particular writing cultures, it seems that the best solution is to draw on corpus linguistics. We can design crosscultural corpora consisting of large numbers of texts written by a great variety of authors, selected randomly to represent the targeted population of texts. This way, the possible effect of idiosyncrasies is diluted within the multitude. If, based on previous research, the researcher has some ground to think that a given factor (e.g., gender) is highly influential in some respect of the rhetorical configuration of the texts, it should be taken into account in such a way that the two corpora contain the same proportions of texts written by the two genders. We need to control that factor statistically by means of stratified sampling. Finally, although developing comparable corpora in this controlled way already guarantees that many of the relevant contextual factors are taken into account, using traditional tools of corpus linguistics to assist analysis (e.g., concordances) still carries the danger of ignoring the precise rhetorical context in which language features occur. Therefore, more complex, analytical, computer-based tools should be developed (e.g., tagging the corpora for rhetorical moves and functions) before we can reasonably exploit the power of corpus analysis tools (Connor & Anthony 2005). Until that happens, cross-cultural linguists will have

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to continue their traditional manual analysis of texts in the search for rhetorical patterns of each language.

Conclusion Comparable corpora in cross-cultural research on written discourse are important. If we do not design our corpora carefully, we may not account for confounding factors and eventually may not be able to say anything reliable about the possible effect of the independent variable (the writing culture factor associated to a language code) on the dependent variable(s). If the confounding variables are left uncontrolled and we observe cross-cultural differences in relation to a given rhetorical feature, we will not be able to attribute them to the effect of the writing culture, or language code, because they may have been due to the effect of some confounding variable. If further CR studies of question type 1 (from Table 1) between any pair of languages make explicit the criteria of comparison at the level of corpus design, we may eventually build a dynamic model of Rhetorics in contrast. Such CR studies would provide us with stable foundations upon which to build further applied studies, such as language learning/teaching and translation. It is important to highlight the fact that once differences (and similarities) in discourse structure and rhetorical features (question type 1: Whether the imputed cross-cultural differences in the rhetorical configuration of texts actually exist) are identified, further qualitative research (question type 2: If they exist, which cultural or educational factors may help to account for such differences [e.g., values, norms, learning processes and educational trends]) should attempt to explain the sources of that variation by referring to cultural features of the two writing cultures. This is another important way in which cross-cultural studies can attempt to take context into account. Having discovered cross-cultural differences in rhetorical patterns of texts, the next logical step is to pinpoint which specific aspects (e.g., values, norms, common practices, and learning processes) of the writing cultures are responsible for a given variation in rhetorical behaviour. That is, not only awareness of the differences (and similarities) but also the reasons for such divergence would be helpful in applied fields such as the teaching of writing in English as L2. However, as Connor (2004) highlights, “teachers must keep in mind that no one needs to be held hostage by language and culture; students can be taught to negotiate conflicting rhetorical structures to their advantage” ­(Connor 2004: 271). It is also important to emphasize that the relevance of researching the first two types of questions should be established by reference to studies or teaching/learn-



The importance of comparable corpora in cross-cultural studies

ing experiences where difficulties with discourse structure are identified. Otherwise, what would be the point? That is why rigorous studies that answer questions of type 3 (Which precise difficulties with discourse structure and other rhetorical features do second language learners from a given non-English writing culture experience when writing in English as an L2?) are also important. Once linguists, discourse analysts, and rhetoricians have provided answers to the first three questions (which difficulties with discourse structure and rhetorical features are experienced; whether the imputed differences exist; and which cultural or educational factors may account for them), further studies may aim to research the fourth type of question. These studies will answer whether difficulties experienced with discourse structure and other rhetorical features by L2 learners of English are attributable to interference (or negative transfer) from the first language. Finally, the framework of comparison that Moreno (1998) used, and that Connor and Moreno (2005) proposed for cross-cultural study around the concept of genre, seems to be a valid framework as long as the given genre is comparable in the two writing cultures compared. However, there may be cases where this will not hold. For instance, there may be differences in the frequency of use of genres to achieve similar purposes of communication. (As Fusari 2005 showed, for example, direct mail fundraising letters are not as frequent in Italy as they are in the U.S., nor are the causes for which money is raised the same). If corpora are not selected carefully, it will be more difficult to determine which contextual factor is responsible for the possible differences in rhetoric. There may also be cases of genres that did not exist in one language (e.g., Spanish conditions of sales) before translations of English ones appeared. We may find that this genre written in Spanish follows the English genre expectations. Such cases will not lend themselves to interesting comparisons from a CR point of view.

Acknowledgements This chapter is part of a research project financed by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Technology – Plan Nacional de I+D+I (2000–2003) Ref: BFF2001-0112, entitled Contrastive Analysis and Specialized English-Spanish Translation: Applications and Tools (ACTRES). I am also grateful to Dr. Ulla Connor, Dr. William Rozycki, and an anonymous scholar for their comments on an earlier version of this chapter.

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References Chesterman, A. (1998). Contrastive functional analysis. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Connor, U. (2002). New directions in contrastive rhetoric. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 493–510. Connor, U. (2004). Intercultural rhetoric research: Beyond texts. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 291–304. Connor, U. (2005, July). Intercultural rhetoric – Further defined. Paper presented at the Indiana Center for Intercultural Communication’s Second Annual Conference on Intercultural Rhetoric and Written Discourse Analysis, Indianapolis, IN. Connor, U., & Anthony, M. A. (2005, July). Semantic variation in rhetorical appeals of fundraising letters. Paper presented at the “Research on Fundraising Letters: Focus on Research Methods” symposium at the 14th World Congress of Applied Linguistics, Madison, WI. Connor, U., & Moreno, A. I. (2005). Tertium comparationis: A vital component in contrastive rhetoric research. In P. Bruthiaux, D. Atkinson, W. Eggington, W. Grabe & V. Ramanathan (Eds.), Directions in applied linguistics: Essays in honor of Robert B. Kaplan (pp. 153–164). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Cook, G. (1989). Discourse. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fusari, S. (2005, July). A corpus study of philanthropic direct mail. Paper presented at the Indiana Center for Intercultural Communication’s Second Annual Conference on Intercultural Rhetoric and Written Discourse Analysis, Indianapolis, IN. Halliday, M. A. K., & Hasan, R. (1989). Language, context, and text: Aspects of language in a social-semiotic perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hymes, D. H. (1968). The ethnography of speaking. In J. A. Fishman (Ed.), Readings in the sociology of language (pp. 99–138). The Hague, Paris: Mouton. Jakobson, R. (1960). Closing statement: Linguistics and poetics. In T. A. Sebeok (Ed.), Style in language (pp. 350–377). Cambridge, MA: Technology Press of Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Kaplan, R. B. (1987). Cultural thought patterns revisited. In U. Connor & R. B. Kaplan (Eds.), Writing across languages: Analysis of L2 text (pp. 9–21). Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning: A Journal of Applied Linguistics, 16, 1–20. Maslow, A. H. (1954). Motivation and personality. New York: Harper. Moreno, A. I. (1996). Estudio Contrastivo Inglés-Espańol de la Expresión de las Relaciones de Coherencia Causal Interoracional: el Artículo Académico sobre Economía y Empresa. Tesis doctorales 1995. Published doctoral dissertation, Universidad de León, León, Spain. Moreno, A. I. (1997). Genre constraints across languages: Causal metatext in Spanish and English RAs. English for Specific Purposes, 16, 161–179. Moreno, A. I. (1998). The explicit signaling of premise-conclusion sequences in research articles: A contrastive framework. Text, 18, 545–585. Moreno, A. I. (2003). Matching theoretical descriptions of discourse and practical applications to teaching: The case of causal metatext. English for Specific Purposes, 22, 265–295. Moreno, A. I. (2004). Retrospective labelling in premise-conclusion metatext: An EnglishSpanish contrastive study of research articles on business and economics. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 321–339. Rabadán, R., Labrador, B., & Ramón, N. (2004). English-Spanish corpus-based contrastive analysis: Transnational applications from the ACTRES Project: PALC 2003. In B. Lewandowska-



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Tomaszczyk (Ed.), Practical applications in language and computers (pp. 141–152). Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Reid, J. M. (1988). Quantitative differences in English prose written by Arabic, Chinese, Spanish, and English students. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Sperber, D., & Wilson, D. (1986). Relevance: Communication and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Upton, T. A. (2002). Understanding direct mail letters as a genre. International Journal of Corpus Linguistics, 7, 65–85.

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section ii

Contrastive corpus studies in specific genres

Metadiscourse across three varieties of English American, British, and advanced-learner English Annelie Ädel Mid-Sweden University, Sweden

This chapter focuses on the pervasive phenomenon of metadiscourse, or reflexivity in language, looking at argumentative essay writing by university students. It presents a study of three varieties of English, using two corpora of native-speaker writing (British and American) and one corpus of advanced learner writing (L1 Swedish). Considerable differences are shown to exist in the use of metadiscourse, not just between the learners and the native speakers, but also between the British and American writers. The differences are evident both in general frequencies across corpora and in the functions the metadiscourse serves. Four factors are identified as potentially accounting for the variation found: genre comparability, cultural conventions, register awareness and general learner strategies.

Reflexivity in language Humans use language to communicate their thoughts, ideas, and feelings about themselves and the world. In addition to using language to talk about the world, we use it to talk about talk. We can refer to ourselves not only as experiencers in the world, but also as communicators, and we can refer not only to the topic of discussion, but also to the situation of communicating. All human languages, whether in written or in spoken form, can be used self-reflexively to comment on linguistic matters (Hockett 1977: 173). The capacity of language to refer to itself is described by the term “reflexivity” (Lyons 1977: 5). An alternative term, coined by Roman Jakobson in the 1950s (e.g., Jakobson 1998), is the “metalinguistic function” of language. At that time, Jakobson felt a need to point out that this is not an arcane phenomenon, but rather a central feature of language in everyday use. In fact, most linguistic messages

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encode explicit information about how language is being used in the message, about how the text is organized, or about the relationship between the current addresser and addressee. One particular form of reflexivity in language is metadiscourse, which will be our focus here. A shorthand definition of metadiscourse is “text about text.” A more extensive definition describes it as “reflexive linguistic expressions referring to the evolving text itself or its linguistic form, including references to the writer qua writer and the imagined reader qua reader of the current text” (Ädel 2003). Examples are given in (1) and (2): (1)

see page 16 in brief to conclude strictly speaking I will summarize __ __ will be discussed below

(2)

You will probably think that __ Does this sound __ to you? Correct me if I’m wrong, but __ as you will see dear reader

Metadiscourse is an important category both in creating and in reading text. Recent work has argued that the reader’s understanding of, impressions of, and attitudes toward a text may very much depend on the use of metadiscourse (e.g., Crismore 1989). This argument is easy to accept if we consider that metadiscourse helps a writer to “guide, direct, and inform” her reader about how she hopes he will respond to the content of the text (Crismore 1989: 64). Since metadiscourse is such an important textual category, one might suppose that linguists’ understanding of the workings of metadiscourse was extensive. However, we have not gone much further than establishing that metadiscourse is quite common in academic writing and that it shows considerable variation in use. Although recent research has shown that the use of metadiscourse is likely to vary across genres (Crismore 1989), across disciplines (Bäcklund 1998; Hyland 1998), and across languages (Markkanen, Steffensen, & Crismore 1993; Mauranen

. The term “metadiscourse” is usually applied to written language exclusively, but it needn’t be. Metadiscursive phenomena are an essential part of spoken discourse as well, as, for example, Schiffrin’s (1980) work on “metatalk” has shown. Here, however, our main concern will be written language.



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

1993; Vassileva 1998), the many details of this variation and its influencing factors remain to be mapped and accounted for. Any linguistic phenomenon that is characterized by variation across languages and genres is likely to be specifically problematic for L2 learners. This is a notion to which the field of contrastive/intercultural rhetoric has paid special attention – its main hypothesis being that there are culture-specific patterns of writing, and that these cause interference in L2 writing (Connor 1996). The present chapter will focus on how L2 writing compares to native-speaker writing from the perspective of metadiscourse. Specifically, Ädel’s (2003) investigation into metadiscourse forms the basis of this chapter. We will look at three varieties of English, using one corpus of advanced learner writing and two corpora of native-speaker writing (in British and American English). First, however, I will introduce the reflexive model of metadiscourse.

The reflexive model of metadiscourse Ever since studies of metadiscourse took off in the late 1980s, the theoretical model traditionally employed (Vande Kopple 1985; Markkanen et al. 1993; Hyland 1998; Hyland 2004) has made use of the three Hallidayan levels of language (i.e., the ideational, the interpersonal and the textual levels – e.g., Halliday 1994). For several different and complex reasons, however, researchers have tended not to find this model fully satisfactory. As an alternative, Ädel (2003), stressing the element of reflexivity in metadiscourse, presented a functional model that will be adopted here. It is based on three of Jakobson’s functions of language (Jakobson 1998): the metalinguistic, the expressive, and the directive. Their corresponding foci, or so-called “components of the speech event,” are the text/code, the writer, and the reader. One or more of these three functions is always dominant in metadiscourse, with the metalinguistic function the indispensable one. Together, they form the reflexive model, summarized in Table 1. The basic functions of metadiscourse are to guide the reader through the text and to comment on the use of language in the text. The focus is on the structure, discourse actions, and wording of the text, as in the examples in (1). More examples, and a taxonomy, are given in Table 2.

. Markkanen et al. (1993), for instance, claim that metadiscourse consists of either textual or interpersonal material, which stands in contrast to the ideational material of the text. It should be noted that, although Halliday’s model has been widely used for the definition of metadiscourse, Halliday himself does not discuss or define metadiscourse in these terms.

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Table 1.  Functions of the reflexive model Speech event component

Function

Type of reference

text/code writer reader

metalinguistic expressive directive

reference to text or language itself reference to writer persona reference to imagined reader

TEXT: focus on structure of essay

CODE

Table 2.  Taxonomy of personal metadiscourse functions from Ädel (2003) Discourse function

Example

Defining explicitly comments on how to interpret terminology. Saying involves general verba dicendi such as say, speak, talk or write, in which the fact that something is being communicated is foregrounded.

What do we mean by _ then? We have to consider our definition of _ What I am saying is _ A question I ask myself is _

Introducing the Topic gives explicit proclamations of what the text is going to be about, which facilitates the processing of the subsequent text for the reader. Focusing refers to a topic that has already been introduced in the text. Announces that the topic is in focus again, or it narrows down. Concluding is used to conclude a topic.

In the course of this essay, we shall attempt to analyse whether _ I will discuss _

Now I come to the next idea which I presented in the beginning _ I will only discuss the opponents of _ In conclusion, I would say that a single Europe would lead to. . . Exemplifying explicitly introduces an example. As an example of _, we can look at _ If we take _ as an example Reminding points backwards in the discourse As I mentioned earlier . . . to something that has been said before. As we have seen Adding overtly states that a piece of I would like to add that _ information or an argument is being added to existing one(s). Arguing stresses the discourse act being The _ which I argue for is _ performed in addition to expressing an opinion or viewpoint. Verbs used are performatives. Contextualising contains traces of the I have chosen this subject because_ production of the text or comments on (the I could go on much longer, but _ conditions of) the situation of writing.

Metadiscourse is also used by the writer to interact with her imagined reader in ways that create and maintain a relationship and that allow the writer to influence her reader, as in the examples in (2) on page 46. More examples of this type, and a taxonomy, are given in Table 3. The former type of metadiscourse is called metatext, while the latter is called writer-reader interaction (Ädel 2003). A more recent monograph of this work is Ädel (2006).



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

PARTICIPANT: focus on writer and/or reader of current text

Table 3.  Taxonomy of personal metadiscourse functions from Ädel (2003) Discourse function

Example

Anticipating the Reader’s Reaction pays special attention to predicting the reader’s reaction to what is said, e.g. by explicitly attributing statements to the reader as possible objections or counterarguments conceived by him. Clarifying marks a desire to clarify matters for the reader; motivated by a wish to avoid misinterpretation. Negative statements are common. Aligning perspectives takes it for granted that the reader takes the writer’s perspective. The reader’s agreement is presupposed. Imagining Scenarios is a “picture this” type of encouragement that (often politely) asks the reader to see something from a specific perspective. It allows writers to make examples vivid and pertinent to the reader. Hypothesising about the Reader makes guesses about the reader and his knowledge or attitudes. Appealing to the Reader attempts to influence the reader by emotional appeal. The writer persona conveys her attitude with the aim of correcting or entreating the reader.

I do realise that all this may sound _ You probably never heard of _ before either You would be very surprised at _

I am not saying _, I am merely pointing out that _ By this I do not mean that _ If we [consider/ compare] _, we [can/will] [understand/see] _

If you consider_ , you can perhaps imagine_ Think back to when you were_ When you were that age_

You have probably heard people say that _

I hope that now the reader has understood _ In order for _ must You and I keep our minds open

Material One of the most important academic text types in L2 English composition is argumentative writing, which has been claimed to be particularly rich in metadiscourse. For this reason, it is particularly fitting to study the use of metadiscourse in argumentative essays. Two corpora of argumentative essays were used: the first set written by learners and the second by native speakers. The learner corpus is the “Swicle,” . Crismore (1989: 70), for example, states that metadiscourse is “quite prevalent” in argumentative writing, since “authors refer quite frequently to the state of the argument, to the reader’s understanding of it, or to the author’s understanding of his own argument.”

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Table 4.  Sizes of the corpora Corpus

Variety

No. of words

No. of essays

Swicle Locness AmE Locness BrE

Learner English (L1 Swedish)* L1 American English L1 British English

205,000 150,000   96,500

350 175 118

*For a description of the Swicle, see http://www.englund.lu.se/research/corpus/corpus/swicle. html (successfully retrieved on January 31, 2005).

the Swedish component of the ICLE, the International Corpus of Learner English (Granger 1993, 1998). The ICLE project involves subcorpora of argumentative essay writing by university students who are native speakers of 14 different languages. Since the student writers are all learners of English at an advanced level, the focus of research is on overuse and underuse of linguistic phenomena, rather than on error analysis per se. The native-speaker material is a comparable corpus that is also offered by the ICLE coordinators, referred to by the acronym LOCNESS (the Louvain Corpus of Native English Essays; Granger 1993). The LOCNESS material was produced by university students in both the United States and the United Kingdom. To enable comparison between the two varieties, the native-speaker material was divided into two corpora, one consisting of American English (AmE) and the other of British English (BrE). The corpus was also modified by excluding some essays composed at pre-university level, to make the samples maximally comparable. The sizes of the three corpora are summarized in Table 4. The ICLE is a prominent example of recent advances in the creation of computer learner corpora (CLC). By combining insights from corpus linguistic methodology and L2 research, researchers in CLC are able to describe interlanguage features with greater accuracy and greater levels of generalization than has ever been possible. The design of the ICLE project is such that results based on any, or all, of the learner corpora may be evaluated against a standard of comparison in the form of a native-speaker corpus. The ICLE subcorpora make it possible to . These languages include Bulgarian, Chinese, Czech, Dutch, Finnish, French, German, Hebrew, Italian, Japanese, Polish, Russian, Spanish and Swedish. For information about the ICLE available on the World Wide Web, see http://www.fltr.ucl.ac.be/fltr/germ/etan/cecl/Cecl-Projects/Icle/icle.htm; http://www.fltr.ucl.ac.be/FLTR/GERM/ETAN/CECL/cecl.html; and http:// www.abo.fi/fak/hf/enge/icle.htm (all successfully retrieved on January 31, 2005). . Articles on various aspects of the ICLE can be found in the 1998 volume edited by Granger listed in the References. . The term interlanguage was coined in the late 1960s to refer to “the special mental grammars that learners [construct] during the course of their development” (Ellis 1994: 44).



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

Figure 1.  Frequency per 100,000 words of metadiscourse in the corpora

pinpoint which linguistic features are used considerably more or less by learners than by native speakers. The general idea is that “[w]hen matched with comparable native-speaker texts, a learner language corpus provides the basis for revealing the characteristics of learner language” (Johansson 1998: 7), such as interference from the L1 or possible universal features of learner language.

Results The amount of variation that was found in the use of metadiscourse in these corpora is quite staggering, as shown in Figure 1, which gives the normalized totals of metadiscourse across the three corpora. The Swedish learners heavily overuse metadiscourse by comparison with the native speakers. How do we explain this? For example, could it be that culturespecific patterns give rise to the sharp difference between nonnative and nativespeaker writing? Does the learners’ overuse have anything to do with universal strategies employed by those writing in a foreign language? Or have the learners simply not been sufficiently trained in argumentative writing? Are the corpora truly comparable? Potential explanations for the variation will be discussed later in this chapter, but I will first present the results in more detail, looking at both quantitative and qualitative findings. Figure 1 displays differences not only between the learners and the native speakers, but also between the two native-speaker groups. A most revealing way of pinpointing the differences between the AmE and BrE corpora is to break down the totals by drawing a distinction between “personal metadiscourse” and “impersonal metadiscourse.” Personal metadiscourse makes explicit reference to the writer and/or reader of the current text – for example, by means of pronouns such as I, we, and you – while impersonal metadiscourse does not make any explicit reference to the discourse participants. This is illustrated in two examples . The differences in the results were tested using Pearson’s chi-squared test or a chi-squared goodness-of-fit test, and were found to be statistically significant.

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Figure 2.  Frequency per 100,000 words of personal metadiscourse in the corpora

Figure 3.  Frequency per 100,000 words of impersonal metadiscourse in the corpora

below, which both involve the word mention. Example (3) represents personal metadiscourse, while example (4) represents impersonal metadiscourse. (3) As for the seemingly common misconceptions I mentioned above,... (Swicle 178). (4) Doubtlessly, the above-mentioned conditions have a beneficial effect... (Swicle 104).

The frequencies of personal metadiscourse are shown in Figure 2, and the frequencies of impersonal metadiscourse in Figure 3. Note that what the figures display are units of metadiscourse per 100,000 words. Also note that for a pronoun to count as metadiscourse, it needs to make reference to the writer qua writer and/or the reader qua reader – not just as experiencers in the world. This was true of approximately 15% of the total pronoun occurrences in the corpora in Ädel (2003). Comparing Figures 2 and 3, we see that the differences between the nativespeaker corpora are more pronounced for personal metadiscourse. In fact, all dif. In most cases, these units do not correspond to one single word. The unit of measurement for personal metadiscourse, for example, is (subject NP in the form of personal pronoun) + (finite VP). Each unit was counted as one occurrence, which allowed for consistent comparisons across corpora.



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

ferences are more pronounced for personal metadiscourse, but both figures still display the same relative ordering – mirroring that of Figure 1. In personal metadiscourse, the differences between the learners and the native speakers are particularly noteworthy. The learner frequencies are double those of the American writers, which, in turn, are double those of the British writers. Seen in terms of writer/reader/text visibility, the learner texts are found at one extreme, the British texts at the other, and the American texts in the middle.

Qualitative differences Let us go on to consider a more qualitative characterisation of the variation found. Example (5) presents a sentence that is typical of a style common in the learner material, marginal in the AmE corpus, and essentially absent from the BrE corpus: (5) I have decided to discuss the unpleasant experiences first of all – so let us get them out of the way! (Swicle, 357)

In several ways, this brief extract is typical of the Swedish learner style as represented in the Swicle corpus. First, the extract is personal. This is expressed by the personal pronouns I and us, which mark the presence of the writer and the reader. Second, it is interactive, also marking the presence of the imagined reader (expressed by let us). Third, it shows part of the “compositional machinery” and marks the situation and/or mechanics of writing. The writer is announcing her decisions about the structure of the text (I have decided . . .). The native-speaker writers, most notably the British writers, would be more likely not to adorn a sentence with such personal features, but instead produce something like the invented example (6): (6) The unpleasant experiences were X, Y and Z.

The first two points made above in the context of example (6) are supported by two previous studies of the Swicle. This work focuses on personal pronouns and other linguistic features of writer/reader “involvement” (Chafe 1982). In a pilot study of part of the Swicle, Altenberg (1997) concludes that Swedish learn. Analyzing written and spoken texts from the viewpoint of writer-reader relations, Chafe (1982) characterizes what he calls involvement with the audience as typical of a speaker and what he calls detachment from the audience as typical of a writer. He brings up various linguistic devices (such as the passive, first person reference, nominalizations, emphatic particles, etc.) to measure these two extremes. It should be noted that the involvement/detachment dichotomy is not a categorical distinction.

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ers are considerably more visible in their texts than native speakers of English. Although Altenberg studies involvement, his results are still likely to apply to personal metadiscourse to some degree. Another study, by Petch-Tyson (1998), compares features of writer/reader visibility across four different subcorpora of the ICLE, including the Swicle. Writer/reader visibility includes both involvement and some types of metadiscourse. Petch-Tyson shows that learners with L1s other than Swedish (Dutch, Finnish and French) are less prone than Swedish university students to use the personal pronoun I in their argumentative writing in English. This comparison indicates that the Swedish learners’ overuse of personal metadiscourse is not a general learner strategy. Another way in which Ädel (2003) found that the learner writers differed from the native speakers is that the former tended to string metadiscursive expressions together to a great extent. This phenomenon was referred to as greater “density” of metadiscourse in the learner material. An especially wordy example from a learner essay is example (7), in which sequences involving question and answer that could have been omitted have been put in square brackets: (7) [But then the question arises,] what are we saving time for? [The simple, but somewhat dejecting, answer to that question is, I think,] we do not know what we are saving our time for, or rather we have forgotten why we started to save time in the first place. [The next question then to demand an answer is], how does this time-saving mentality affect us?  (Swicle, 107)

The persistent presence of the writer, the reader, and the text itself, as well as the frequent references to the use of language, tend to make the learner essays exhibit a “chatty” type of reflexivity, as we see in example (7). It is as if they are using metadiscursive expressions merely to expand their essays and get closer to making the minimum word limit. This may well be one (task-related) reason for the learners’ greater explicitness and more frequent use of reflexivity. I will connect this below to the factor “genre comparability,” discussed as one of the possible explanations for the great differences found.

The micro-level discourse functions of metadiscourse We have now seen the frequencies with which the writer persona, the imagined reader, and the current text are made visible in the different corpora, but we do not yet know what types of acts are being performed when this occurs. It may be that the differences across corpora run deeper than simple frequency of use. For example, despite not having the highest frequencies of metadiscourse, the native-speaker material may have metadiscourse performing the greatest range of



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

discourse functions. Alternatively, even if all three groups of writers use the same set of discourse functions, it would be valuable to know in what proportions they occur. To shed light on such questions, Ädel (2003) analyzed the micro-level discourse functions performed in texts when personal metadiscourse was used. Tables 2 and 3 present the taxonomy used for the discourse functions. They also define them and provide extracts from actual occurrences in the corpora. Note that the discourse functions can be mapped onto the three functions of metadiscourse – illustrated in the reflexive model in Table 1 – with the code/text and the participants (the writer and the reader) as the central components. The discourse functions in Table 2 primarily focus on structure and wording of the text (“metatext”), while the discourse functions in Table 3 focus on the discourse participants (“writer-reader interaction”). Figure 4 compares the distribution of discourse functions, described in Tables 2 and 3, across the three corpora. The discourse functions are shown in descending order of frequency. The results of the investigation revealed a great many differences in what the three groups used personal metadiscourse for (see Ädel 2003, for figures and more detailed analyses). The learner group showed the greatest diversity of discourse functions for personal metadiscourse. The learner writers showed a strong metalinguistic awareness and frequently dealt with terminology and definitions. The top three functions were Saying, Defining, and Introducing Topic. Example (8) in Table 5 gives a typical example, which fills the functions of defining and introducing the topic from a personal I perspective. The learner writers also exhibited greater writer visibility and more taking into account of the imagined reader than the native speakers. Linguistic self-awareness and linguistic exchanges between the writer and the imagined reader very much characterized the learner essays. The British English material showed quite the opposite tendency, showing very little metalinguistic awareness and remaining largely impersonal and monologic. There were hardly any expressions of direct reader address, nor was the writer persona particularly visible. When the writer did appear, it was to introduce the topic, to comment on the use of terminology, and to align the writer and reader’s perspectives. Example (10) in Table 5 gives a typical example, which offers an elaborate definition without making the writer or reader visible. This group has clearly adopted a writing norm that favors an impersonal style with few instances of mock interaction between the writer and reader. The American English material fell between these two extremes. The American writers made more explicit references to the structure or the wording of their essays than the British writers, but they were nowhere near the learner writers in this. They explicitly referred to their imagined readers to some degree, although not as often as the learners did. Example (9) in Table 5 gives a typical example, in which the writer invites the reader to consider a definition. The writer personas

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Figure 4.  Comparison across corpora of the distribution of personal metadiscourse; the Y-axis represents frequency per 100,000 words

were more visible than in the British English material, but they did not come close to the extremes of the learner writers in making explicit appearances in their texts. Displaying one’s persona, persuading, negotiating and interacting with the imagined reader are important aspects of many types of written texts. Depending on factors such as the writing conventions of their native language, however, writers take different approaches to the type of persona they create and the type of impression they try to make on their readership. In the present material, the learners were more prone than the native speakers to construe their imagined readers as intimate friends. Many nonnative speaker essays gave an impression of the writer having an informal chat with a friend, very much based on presupposed mutual understanding and shared values, rather than an effort to persuade the general reader by means of argumentation and logical stringency. Since this is not the prototypical audience for argumentative writing (but rather for light newspaper columns or informal letters), this suggests that the Swedish learners need guidance in learning how to think of their audience. The American writers also tended somewhat in this direction, while the British writers seemed to regard their audience as a general one. Overall, the native-speaker writers made fewer appeals to the reader’s empathy and presupposed less similarity to themselves. Furthermore, the learner writers used a rhetoric of modesty, while the British writers in particular expressed themselves in terms of certainty and authority.10 10. For a discussion on this, see Ädel (2003).



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

Table 5.  Examples of Defining from the three corpora Corpus

Example

Swicle

(8) The word “racism” is not so easy to define, but before I start writing an essay about this word and its meaning, I had better try to define my view of what lies in the word “racism”. (322) (9) Where do you draw the line between life and death? To determine this question, we have to consider our definition of life and our definition of death. (029) (10) In Article 5 the word “arbitrage” can be interpreted differently; on one hand it can mean that the president is an impartial observer and referee and does not deal with problems but on the other hand it can mean that he is in charge of the daily run of the country, obviously having a more dynamic and interventionist role. De Gaulle chose the second interpretation . . . (053)

AmE

BrE

Summing up, the three groups differ in their use of metadiscourse quantitatively as well as qualitatively. We are forced to conclude that, if we treat the LOCNESS material as a reasonable native-speaker norm, the learners do not achieve what Pawley and Syder called “native-like selection” (1983: 191). Putting one’s finger on exactly how and where advanced learners lack idiomaticity in a foreign language, or why their texts give an impression of non-nativeness, can be very difficult, but it is possible that overuse of metadiscourse is a candidate.

The influencing factors The important question raised by this review of the discrepancies in the use of metadiscourse between learner and native-speaker writing is, “What factors account for these differences?” The setup of the Ädel (2003) study did not allow for any definite statements to be made about the relative impact of the influencing factors. Instead of analyzing the causes of variation, the main aims were to develop the theory of metadiscourse and corpus-assisted methods for retrieving and analyzing it. Nevertheless, it is reasonable to assume that the relevant factors are one or more of the following: (a) genre comparability, (b) register awareness, (c) cultural conventions, and (d) general learner strategies. By genre comparability I mean the extent to which the use of metadiscourse is dependent on the genre and the extent to which the genres are the same in the corpora under comparison. The learner and native-speaker essays do display some differences in this respect. Some of the British English essays are more expository in character in that they primarily aim to explain something or convey

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information about an issue, rather than to argue for or against an issue in a persuasive way. This factor is likely to have had some effect on the results, but we do not know how or whether, say, differences between argumentative and expository writing are likely to have a great impact on the use of metadiscourse. It clearly made a difference that the native-speaker writers had access to secondary texts on which to base their argument. One of the effects of the learner writers not having any secondary sources at their disposal was that the argumentative worlds of the learner writers ended up being very much limited to themselves and their own experiences. This tended to produce a narrative style rather than an argumentative one. The native-speaker material is somewhat problematic, not only with respect to access to secondary sources (intertextuality), but also with respect to time available (task setting). We know that in language production, the amount of time available and the possibilities for interaction profoundly influence the linguistic output (Chafe 1986). An investigation that I am currently carrying out strongly suggests that learner writers exhibit more involvement in timed than in untimed essays, and less involvement in essays for which they have access to other texts. The Swicle consists of both timed and untimed essays, while the native-speaker essays are primarily untimed. This may be one reason for the more chatty type of reflexivity exhibited in the learner material, as in example (7). Register awareness refers to the degree of the writers’ familiarity with the target register and mastery of the appropriate writing skills. It could be argued that the overuse of metadiscourse on the part of the learners constitutes a “breach of style” that is not appropriate to argumentative writing (either in English, or in Swedish). It does seem as though the learners are not very familiar with the argumentative essay format. Altenberg (1997: 130), in his study on part of the Swicle material, concluded that “the common basic deficiency among the Swedish learners [is, precisely,] a general lack of register awareness and a style of writing that is greatly influenced by spoken language.” He maintains that the Swedish students have not mastered the formal and impersonal style required for argumentative texts in English, and that they lack sufficient register awareness due to inadequate teaching. In this sense, degree of training and level of writing skill are factors that are likely to influence the use of metadiscourse. The influence of cultural conventions for writing is another factor that could account for differences in the use of metadiscourse. As Markkanen et al. (1993: 138) state, “[i]t can be assumed that the ways of using metadiscourse in writing may vary from one language to another, that the conventions followed in its use may be different in different cultures. From this it follows that when writing in a foreign language, new conventions may have to be adopted.”



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

It may be the case that the learners’ overuse of personal metadiscourse is partly due to writing conventions specific to Swedish. Personal metadiscourse involves overt references to the discourse participants, which are general markers of informality. In Swedish, informality in writing has been observed in many different arenas, and there is some evidence that tendencies towards informality may be particularly strong in contemporary norms for writing. As an example, a collection of academic essays published in the late 1980s describes the “informalisation of Sweden” from an interdisciplinary perspective. Anglo-Saxon and Swedish writing conventions may be different, either in the use of metadiscourse in particular, or in argumentative writing in general. Furthermore, the results suggest that there are differences between English-language cultures as well. The fact that the two native-speaker groups display such differences in their use of metadiscourse could indicate that conventions differ across varieties of English. (It is, of course, also conceivable that the American writers lack register awareness.) The fourth factor, referred to as general learner strategies, concerns the question of whether there are possible universal strategies employed by those writing in a foreign language. The results of the present investigation do indeed show discrepancies along the learner versus native-speaker axis, so one way of explaining the differences would be to attribute them to “learner language.” For example, it could be argued that bilingualism (or use of an L2) inherently involves increased metalinguistic awareness. A standard argument in the literature is that bi- or multilingual speakers become more ‘distanced’ from the languages they speak, and more prone to reflection on language itself: “Once the same object-referent is both ‘apple’ and ‘pomme,’ the speaker realizes that the words are not attributes of the object apple but of the English and French languages, respectively” (Mertz & Yovel 2000). The four factors are summarized in Table 6. The second column gives a concise characterization of the main argument proposed by the factor. The third column sums up the hypothesis. The fourth column sums up the source of the problem. The difficulty of distinguishing among the factors that influence the differences between learner writing and native-speaker writing cannot be sufficiently emphasized. In order to evaluate the various roles played by these factors, further studies are needed on (1) metadiscourse in professional L1 English writing, distinguishing between different genres and varieties, (2) metadiscourse in argumentative writing in Swedish, (3) metadiscourse in comparable learner data (preferably produced by speakers with L1s that are not closely related), and (4) the treatment of metadiscourse in instruction and learning and its effect on actual production.

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Table 6.  Overview of potential explanatory factors: Four different explanations for differences across corpora Factor

Argument

Hypothesis

Source

Genre comparability

The “tertium comparationis” argument* The “instructional” argument The “contrastive rhetoric” argument The “universal claim” argument

The corpora under comparison are not comparable.

Corpus

Differences found between groups depend on background knowledge (training/instruction). Conventions for metadiscourse differ across the languages in question. There are universal strategies employed by those writing in a foreign language.

Educational community

Register awareness Cultural conventions General learner strategies

Native language

Learner status

*The term “tertium comparationis” is Latin for the third [part] of the comparison. It is used in traditional contrastive analysis to refer to the quality that two things that are being compared have in common, or the point of comparison.

Conclusion In this corpus study of metadiscourse in three varieties of English, considerable differences were found in the extent to which the three groups of writers anchored their essays in the current discourse situation. References to the structure and wording of the texts were heavily overused by the learner writers. In terms of writer/reader visibility, the learner writers were found at the extreme of visibility, the American writers in the middle, and the British writers at the extreme of impersonality. Factors identified as potentially accounting for these differences were genre comparability, cultural conventions, register awareness, and general learner strategies. The four factors were discussed, laying the foundation for further studies that aim to clarify the causes of these discrepancies. It was stressed that, without further research, we will not be able to falsify or verify hypotheses about the relative impact of these factors. This study has important implications for L2 teaching. One of the most important questions is how the differences outlined in this chapter between learner and native-speaker writing should be approached in L2 teaching. For example, L2 teachers often want to provide their students with good models for writing tasks. However, we need to ask what is meant by “good models,” considering that



Metadiscourse across three varieties of English

the native-speaker corpora in the present study suggest that there is no uniform “Anglo-Saxon” norm. It is up to linguists to pose questions about how stable the differences between the two largest varieties suggested by the present study really are. We do not really know how conventions within the English-speaking world differ, nor do we know much about Swedish conventions for metadiscourse, or how they might differ from Anglo-Saxon conventions. Until we do, we will not be able to understand how best to adapt teaching applications. Based on the present investigation, one suggestion that needs to be made concerns argumentative writing tasks in L2 teaching. Essay writers should be given other texts as input, e.g. one or more argumentative texts as a point of departure. If essay writers were allowed to draw on other texts and quote secondary sources, their general argumentation (e.g. listing pros and cons) and their writing style would stand to gain a great deal. Such a procedure would likely reduce the number of overly personal essays drawing primarily on the writer’s experience. It would likely reduce the number of essays that have a very high involvement factor, and essays that are narrative rather than argumentative in character.

Acknowledgements Support for travelling to the ICIC conference is gratefully acknowledged from the Swedish foundations Kungliga Vitterhetsakademien (The Royal Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities), Stockholm, and Kungliga Vetenskaps- och Vitterhets-Samhället, Göteborg.

References Ädel, A. (2006). Metadiscourse in L1 and L2 English. Studies in Corpus Linguistics 24. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Ädel, A. (2003). The use of metadiscourse in argumentative texts by advanced learners and native speakers of English. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Göteborg, Sweden. Altenberg, B. (1997). Exploring the Swedish component of the International Corpus of Learner English. In B. Lewandowska-Tomaszczyk & P. J. Melia (Eds.), PALC ’97: Practical applications in language corpora (pp. 119–132). Lodz: Lodz University Press. Bäcklund, I. (1998). Metatext in professional writing: A contrastive study of English, German, and Swedish. Uppsala, Sweden: Uppsala University. Chafe, W. (1982). Integration and involvement in speaking, writing, and oral literature. In D. Tannen (Ed.), Spoken and written language: Exploring orality and literacy (pp. 35–53). Norwood, NJ: Ablex.

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Chafe, W. (1986). Evidentiality in English Conversation and Academic Writing. In W. Chafe & J. Nichols (Eds.), Evidentiality: The linguistic coding of epistemology (pp. 261–272). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Connor, U. (1996). Contrastive rhetoric: Cross-cultural aspects of second language writing. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Crismore, A. (1989). Talking with readers: Metadiscourse as rhetorical act. New York: Peter Lang. Ellis, R. (1994). The study of second language acquisition. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Granger, S. (1993). The International Corpus of Learner English. In J. Aarts, P. de Haan & N. Oostdijk (Eds.), English language corpora: Design, analysis and exploitation (pp. 57–69). Amsterdam: Rodopi. Granger, S. (Ed.). (1998). Learner English on computer. London: Longman. Halliday, M. A. K. (1994). An introduction to functional grammar (2nd ed.). London: Edward Arnold. Hockett, C. F. (1977). The view from language: Selected essays, 1948–1974. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Hyland, K. (1998). Persuasion and context: The pragmatics of academic discourse. Journal of Pragmatics, 30, 437–455. Hyland, K. (2004). Disciplinary discourses: social interactions in academic writing. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Jakobson, R. (1990). On language: Roman Jakobson (L. R. Waugh & M. Monville-Burston, Eds.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Johansson, S. (1998). On the role of corpora in cross-linguistic research. In S. Johansson & S. Oksefjell (Eds.), Corpora and cross-linguistic research: Theory, method, and case studies (pp. 1–24). Amsterdam: Rodopi. Lyons, J. (1977). Semantics (Vol. 1). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Markkanen, R., Steffensen, M. S., & Crismore, A. (1993). Quantitative contrastive study of metadiscourse: Problems in design and analysis of data. Papers and Studies in Contrastive Linguistics, 28, 137–151. Mauranen, A. (1993). Cultural differences in academic rhetoric: A textlinguistic study. Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Mertz, E., & Yovel, J. (2002). Metalinguistic Awareness. In J. Verschueren, J.-O. Östman, J. Blommaert & C. Bulcaen (Eds.), Handbook of Pragmatics: 2000 Installment (no pagination). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Pawley, A., & Syder, F. H. (1983). Two puzzles for linguistic theory: Nativelike selection and nativelike fluency. In J. C. Richards & R. W. Schmidt (Eds.), Language and communication (pp. 191–226). London: Longman. Petch-Tyson, S. (1998). Writer/reader visibility in EFL written discourse. In S. Granger (Ed.), Learner English on computer (pp. 107–118). London: Longman. Schiffrin, D. (1980). Metatalk: Organizational and evaluative brackets in discourse. Sociological Inquiry: Language and Social Interaction, 50, 199–236. Vande Kopple, W. J. (1985). Some exploratory discourse on metadiscourse. College Composition and Communication, 26, 82–93. Vassileva, I. (1998). Who am I/who are we in academic writing? A contrastive analysis of authorial presence in English, German, French, Russian and Bulgarian. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 8, 163–190.

A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China Haiying Feng City University of Hong Kong

Despite an increasing interest in the study and analysis of research grant proposals (e.g., Connor 1998, 2000; Connor & Mauranen 1999; Connor & Wagner 1999; Feng & Shi 2004), this newly emerged genre has so far not been addressed in the Chinese context. This chapter presents results of a genre analysis of nine successfully funded Chinese research grant proposals written by nine Chinese scholars. Proposals were analyzed in terms of the rhetorical moves and strategies. Interviews with the grant writers were also conducted. The study revealed some distinctive features of Chinese grant proposal writing that are attributable to various local contextualities, such as “face” and “networking” concerns, research and literacy traditions, sociopolitical structure and economic conditions.

Introduction There has been an increasing interest in the study of the grant proposal in the past decade or so (e.g., Connor 1998, 2000; Connor et al. 1995; Connor & Mauranen 1999; Connor & Upton 2004; Connor & Wagner 1999; Myers 1990; Tardy 2003; Van Nostrand 1994), because of the genre’s important status as the initial step in the process of knowledge production (Berkenkotter & Huckin 1995) and its unique communicative purpose of striking a balance between self-promotion and humility (Connor & Mauranen 1999; Myers 1990). Connor and Mauranen (1999) is the first study that analyzed the functional components of the genre. Based on the move analysis developed by Swales (1990) and Bhatia (1993), they identified ten moves: (1) Establishing the territory in which the proposed research is placed, (2) Indicating a gap in the territory, (3) Stating the goal of the proposed study, (4) Specifying the means of how the goal will be achieved, (5) Reporting previous research, (6) Presenting anticipated achievements, (7) Describing benefits of the study, (8) Introducing the research team and making a competence claim, (9) Making an

64 Haiying Feng

importance claim of the proposed research, and (10) Making a compliance claim to indicate relevance of the proposal to the objectives of the grant funder. Using these ten moves, Connor (2000) later examined rhetorical variations in 14 research grant proposals and confirmed her move identification by interviews with the five grant writers. The study found that the move specifying research means occupied more space than any other single moves in the sample proposals. The move of establishing research territory had a wide range of variation in length among individual proposals. Moves presenting benefits, making importance claim or competence claim occurred in only half of the sample proposals, whereas moves that indicated research territory, gap in the territory, goal of the proposed study and means to achieve the goal occurred consistently in the entire sample set. Following Connor and Mauranen’s move-scheme, Feng and Shi (2004) analyzed nine successful Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) research grant proposals, all in the field of Education between 1998 and 1999. Most of the moves identified in Connor and Mauranen (1999) were also found in this study of SSHRC proposals except the move of compliance claim. A move of communication of results, which was not present in Connor and Mauranen (1999), was identified in the study. This move describes how the researchers plan to communicate the results of the proposed study to the general public as well as to the academic community they are in. Consistent with the findings of Connor (2000), the study noticed that English grant writers preferred to devote considerable space to describing research means, and to set the scene for the reader by establishing the territory and indicating the niche repeatedly within as well as across all content sections. The studies reviewed thus far have described the genre mainly in the English context. It would be interesting to extend the studies to examine the grant writing in other sociocultural contexts. As Upton and Connor (2001) argued, genres have national/ethnic cultural expectations, and “crossing cultural boundaries requires re-learning at least part of the genre in light of its construction in the new culture” (p. 314). There have been some studies analyzing grant proposals written by Finnish scholars (Connor et al. 1995) and Latino personnel (Connor & Wagner 1999). However, as far as I know, no research has investigated research grant writing in China, where it is a newly emerged genre with no more than two decades of history. Two Chinese national research foundations – the National Natural Science Foundation of China (NSFC) (see http://www.nsfc.gov.cn/) and the National Planning Office of Philosophy and Social Sciences (NPOPSS) of China (see http://www.npopss-cn.gov.cn/) – were founded respectively in 1986 and 1991. The ensuing emergence of grant proposal writing in China could in some measure be seen as a milestone indicating that Chinese academia and its system began to gradually change from central planning to marketization. With a rich



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

history and a rapidly-changing society behind them, how do Chinese scholars approach research grant proposal writing? The study aims to offer an exploratory description through text analyses of nine successful NPOPSS grant proposals and interviews with the successful grant writers. In comparison with the findings of my previous study of nine Canadian SSHRC grant proposals (Feng & Shi 2004), this study specifically aims to address the following research questions: 1. What are the distinctive moves and strategies adopted in Chinese research grant proposals? Do they differ from those used in English language research grant proposals? 2. What are the rationales behind the successful Chinese grant writers’ textual choices? How do grant writers perceive the grant writing practice in the current Chinese context?

The study Data Nine grant winners of the National Planning Office of Philosophy and Social Sciences (NPOPSS) of China (http://www.npopss-cn.gov.cn/) were solicited for onehour interviews because of their successful grant proposals. NPOPSS proposals were chosen because they are at a national level and from the broad area of social sciences and humanities, so that they could be as comparable as possible with the data of Feng and Shi (2004) – successful Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) standard research grant proposals. Due to the difficulties in data collection, however, the proposals obtained are limited in number while quite wide in the range of disciplinary areas and years of application (1996–2001), as shown in Table 1. The purpose of this study is, therefore, not to make generalizations about the generic features of Chinese grant proposal writing. By referring to previous studies on other Chinese academic genres, by combining textual analysis with interviews of grant writers, and by comparing and contrasting with previous analysis of SSHRC English grant proposals, the study aims to provide some preliminary findings that would be of some use for further research. Table 1 summarizes the participants’ profiles in the alphabetical order of their last names. Three of them were female and the rest were male. Among the nine proposals collected, three of them (P1, P6, and P7) applied for “youth projects” (qin nian xiang mu) while the rest applied for regular projects. As authors of suc-

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Table 1.  Participants’ profiles Grant Pro- Gender posers

Discipline

Professional Academic Youth/Regular Year of the proposal Title Degree scholar

P1

Male

Lecturer

PhD

Youth

1998

P2

Female

Cultural Studies Education

PhD

Regular

2001

P3

Male

Linguistics

Associate Prof. Professor

2001

P4

Male

Professor

P5 P6

Male Female

Professor Lecturer

BA PhD

Regular Youth

1999 1998

P7

Female

Lecturer

MA

Youth

1998

P8

Male

Professor

MA

Regular

1996

P9

Male

English Literature Linguistics Language Education Social Studies Political Philosophy Linguistics

PhD (Ger- Regular many) PhD (U.S.) Regular

Associate Prof.

MA

Regular

1996

2001

cessful proposals, these scholars were the most desirable informants (Huckin & Olsen 1984). Table 2 summarizes the NPOPSS data, while Table 3 summarizes the SSHRC data. The nine NPOPSS proposals range from 994 to 4,032 Chinese characters, with a total of 23,922 characters (see Table 2). While the average length of the SSHRC proposals is 3,814 words (see Table 3), the average length of the NPOPSS proposals is 2,658 Chinese characters, which approximates only 1,772 English words based on my verbatim-translated versions of the Chinese proposals. Since no better method can be found to compare text length in such differing languages as English and Chinese, rough comparison based on translated versions serves the purpose of giving readers a direct feel of the length contrast.

Method Structural move analysis was performed following the identification criteria developed by Swales (1990), Bhatia (1993), and Connor and Mauranen (1999). The idea of move analysis is “to interpret regularities of organization in order to understand the rationale for the genre” (Bhatia 1993: 32). “Strategies,” rhetorical options to realize the moves (Bhatia 1993), were also identified in order to see how Chinese grant writers may realize moves differently than English grant writers.

1040 26% 341 8% 118 3% 747 19% 267 7% 225 6% 287 7% 165 4% 842 21% 0 0% 4032 100%

Territory

Sum

Communication of Results

Competence Claim

Achievement Claim

Benefit Claim

Research Means

Research Difficulties

Objectives

Importance Claim

Niche

P1

Move Type

620 17% 187 5% 0 0% 832 22% 190 5% 1045 28% 187 5% 65 2% 479 13% 125 3% 3730 100%

P2

494 20% 151 6% 171 7% 712 29% 0 0% 279 11% 165 7% 29 1% 390 16% 81 3% 2472 100%

P3

1140 31% 310 8% 82 2% 232 6% 0 0% 0 0% 221 6% 0 0% 1713 46% 0 0% 3698 100%

P4

533 26% 106 5% 46 2% 312 15% 0 0% 94 5% 34 2% 103 5% 844 41% 0 0% 2072 100%

P5

682 18% 20 1% 563 15% 558 15% 0 0% 394 11% 608 16% 0 0% 870 24% 0 0% 3695 100%

P6

150 9% 188 11% 0 0% 462 27% 94 5% 128 7% 182 11% 0 0% 527 30% 0 0% 1731 100%

P7

Table 2.  Length (in Chinese characters) and percentages of move types in the NPOPSS proposals

69 5% 413 28% 128 9% 382 26% 112 7% 18 1% 376 25% 0 0% 0 0% 0 0% 1498 100%

P8

112 11% 33 3% 0 0% 205 21% 43 4% 206 21% 214 22% 0 0% 181 18% 0 0% 994 100%

P9

538 18% 194 8% 123 4% 494 20% 78 3% 265 10% 253 11% 40 1% 650 23% 23 1% 2658 100%

2/9

8/9

4/9

9/9

8/9

5/9

9/9

6/9

9/9

9/9

Average No. of ProLength posals with the Move

A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China 67

68 Haiying Feng

Table 3.  Average length (in English words) and percentages of move types in the nine SSHRC proposals Moves

Average length (English words) No. of proposals with the move

Territory

992 26% Niche 244 6% 128 Importance Claim 3% Objectives 385 10% 0 Research Difficulties 0% 1207 Research Means 32% 146 Benefit Claim 4% 128 Achievement Claim 3% 413 Competence Claim 11% Communication of Results 171 5% Sum 3814 100%

9/9 9/9 9/9 9/9 0/9 9/9 8/9 6/9 6/9 9/9

The analysis was both quantitative and qualitative; length of each move and percentages of the total length were calculated, and each move was also analyzed in terms of its content and co-text. Discourse-based interviews with each participant were transcribed and analyzed in terms of the successful grant writers’ views of the grant application practices in China, and their reflections over their written products and grant writing processes. All the analyses, including the analyses of textual features and interviews, were crosschecked with a second rater. All the analyses were performed on the original Chinese versions of the proposals and interview transcripts. English examples shown in this chapter are for readers’ convenience.

Results and discussion The first section, “Moves and Strategies,” describes the moves and strategies adopted in the NPOPSS proposals, and how they differ from those adopted in the



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

English SSHRC proposals. The next section compares the move types used with those in the CARS model. The following sections discuss specific strategies used with two individual moves, “research means” and “competence claim.” The findings of the interview data, including the grant writers’ explanations of their textual choices, are integrated into the discussions of the two textual features.

Moves and strategies Following Connor and Mauranen (1999), ten moves were identified in the nine NPOPSS Chinese grant proposals (see Table 2). These are Establishing a research/ real-world territory (Territory), Indicating a niche (Niche), Outlining objectives or research questions (Objectives), Describing anticipated research difficulties (Research Difficulties), Describing research means (Research Means), Claiming the importance of the research (Importance Claim), Claiming anticipated achievements (Achievements Claim), Claiming research value or benefits (Benefit Claim), Claiming research competence (Competence Claim), and Describing means of communication of results (Communication of Results). The move Research Difficulties is unique to the NPOPSS Chinese grant proposals. Through discussing potential theoretical or methodological research difficulties, it serves the purpose of demonstrating that the grant writer has had a deep consideration of the proposed study. Reporting previous research, which was assigned an independent move in Connor and Mauranen (1999), was not identified in this study as a move for two reasons. First, the review of previous research is never a homogeneous chunk; it may spread over all moves (Crookes 1986; Hopkins & Dudley-Evans 1988) and carry different rhetorical functions. In addition, as Samraj (2002) argued, it is arbitrary to distinguish topic generalizations from reviews of previous research simply by the level of specificity and presence of citations. The second and the more important reason is, as I will discuss later, reviews of specific previous studies are few and far between in the Chinese proposals. Therefore, Reporting previous research was unnecessary to be assigned a move. Metadiscourse, which was identified as a move in the SSHRC proposals serving the function of introducing and justifying the structure or the content of the ensuing discourse, was not present in the NPOPSS proposals, given the short length of the Chinese texts. In general, however, the Chinese grant writers write within the same schematic structure as English grant writers. With the exception of Research Difficulties, the other nine moves identified also existed in the SSHRC English grant proposals. As Table 2 shows, Territory, Niche, Objectives, and Research Means were core moves in both the English and Chinese proposals. The consistent occurrence of Benefit Claim and Competence Claim in the sample set, plus the occurrence of

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Importance Claim in six proposals, all indicate that the Chinese proposals were no less promotional than the SSHRC proposals. The move of Communication of Results, however, existed in only two Chinese proposals. Compared with its existence in all nine SSHRC proposals, we can see that Chinese scholars may not be under the same pressure as English scholars in making their research public. Comparing the length of text each individual move type uses, we can see that the SSHRC English proposals tend to devote much more space than the NPOPSS Chinese proposals in the move of Territory and Research Means, while the Chinese proposals focus more on Objectives, Benefit Claim, and Competence Claim. Moreover, the strategies the NPOPSS Chinese proposals used to realize the function of a move sometimes differ greatly from the strategies employed by the SSHRC English grant proposals. Table 4 summarizes some major differences identified in Table 4.  Contrastive strategies of four moves adopted in NPOPSS proposals  and SSHRC proposals Moves

Strategies adopted in the NPOPSS Proposals

Strategies adopted in the SSHRC Proposals

Territory

Content-oriented: focus on introducing what this research is about; When the literature is reviewed: a. list items of previous research  without comments; b. topic generalization c. theoretical Negative evaluations of previous research with agent implicit

Research-oriented: detailed review of the literature, focusing on introducing what previous researchers have done in the field of study

Niche

Critical evaluations of items of  previous research; Together with “Territory,” form a  tide-like structure Descriptions of research design, including participants, sample, data collection and data analyses

Brief move with diversified contents included, such as typing and printing, review of the literature, networking; Boilerplates – descriptions that can be applied to method sections of any study Claim their research competence Competence Explicitly claim their research comClaim petence by informing the reader their by reporting in detail their previous professional status, the rewards they have research in the related field of study got, their time available for the proposed research, and their health conditions; List research resources, including research facilities and access to the literature; Celebrity endorsement

Research Means



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

four moves: Territory, Niche, Research Means, and Competence Claim. Details are illustrated with examples in the following three subsections. I first discuss the distinctive strategies identified in Territory and Niche together in the next section.

Strategies adopted from the CARS model The Create-a-Research-Space (CARS) model (Swales 1990), which is often seen in English academic genres, exists in all nine Chinese NPOPSS proposals. Example (1) in Figure 1 is an excerpt constituting the first part of P4’s proposal, from which we can clearly see a CARS model. Sentence 1 and clause 2a establish the research territory and claim the centrality of the proposed research topic. Then from clause 2b to 4d, the writer attempts to indicate a niche in the territory. In the last paragraph beginning with sentence 5, the writer shows how this niche can be occupied by stating the objectives. Sentence 6 includes a benefit claim. Despite the use of the CARS model in the Chinese grant proposals, the strategies the Chinese grant writers used in realizing the CARS model are obviously distinctive from those in English grant proposals. First, in Territory, while the SSHRC English grant proposals tend to report items of previous research, the Chinese proposals usually just generally discuss the research territory. Moreover, the main purpose of this “topic generalization” (Swales 1990) is to introduce the niche, as we can see in example (1). With only one clause (2a) used to generalize the research field, the second half of the sentence (2b) quickly turns to the discussion of niche. This is quite similar to the situation in the English SSHRC grant proposal abstracts, where length limits need to be considered. In some cases, the NPOPSS Chinese proposals realized the Territory move by introducing content-related background knowledge; that is, they introduced what the proposed research is about instead of what has been researched in the area, as we can see in the following examples: (2) (Trans): Sino-Tibetan is a phylum consisting of hundreds of languages and used by 14 hundred million people . . . . (P5) (3) (Trans): The Renaissance in Europe is a world-shaking ideological and cultural movement in the world civilization. It changed not only the historical development of Europe, but also the fate of human beings. In this movement, deity standard which perceives deity/divinity/God as the center of the Universe was replaced by human standard which believes that human beings

. The original Chinese text samples are given in the Appendix.

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Figure 1.  Example (1)



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

are the center of the Universe; human is no longer the slave of the deity/God, the value and the dignity of human have won respect, the desire of human has been satisfied, and the individuality of human has been emancipated/liberated. European Renaissance is the historical phenomena emerging when Capitalism first burgeoned; it is the inevitable result of the social, economic and cultural development after Middle-ages; it brings about a revolution in the areas of natural sciences, painting, sculpture, music, literature and arts. European Renaissance begins in Italy and formed an inundate trend of humanism. This research project will investigate . . . and compare. . . . (P4)

Another noteworthy difference lies in the move of Niche. In the study of English SSHRC grant proposals, some grant writers were found following a niche-centered, tide-like structure in reviewing the literature to serve promotional as well as interpersonal purposes. An example of such structure is shown in Figure 2. As can be seen in this particular structure, the recurrences of the Territory and Niche should not be considered simply as “recycling of moves.” Rather, the running of the text is like the tide, one wave after another, washing up, washing back, washing up again, pushing the discussion of the topic forward. In order to show the originality of the proposed research, the grant writers were in pressing need to point out the niche in the previous research. To avoid being too blunt and to facilitate solidarity with the reader, a “multiple wave” structure was often strategically used to tone down the negative evaluation of the literature, and to head off possible objections. Promoting the proposed study by pointing out the niche in the existing academic ecosystem and at the same time avoiding face-threatening acts are perhaps the same concerns of the Chinese grant proposals. However, the Chinese grant writers seem to have adopted a different strategy: they attempt to avoid mentioning specific books or articles when negative evaluations of previous research are unavoidable. In Figure 1, for instance, the writer does not tell us the specific titles of these books on foreign literature history on which he gives his sharp critiques. In later sentences, he uses references such as “their chapters on European literature,” “these discussions,” “they,” “some of them” to make the work he has sharply criticized agent-implicit. In sentence 4, in which he criticizes the foreign research on the Renaissance, he uses a general term, “western scholars,” as the agent who, in the grammatical sense, should be responsible for all those weaknesses he discusses in 4a, 4b, 4c, and 4d. But who are these western scholars? This finding confirms what Taylor and Chen (1991) and Bloch and Chi (1995) have argued in their studies. Although Chinese scholars consider taking a critical position acceptable and important, they usually choose not to identify by name the research they critically review. Although English writers may also choose not

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Haiying Feng

Figure 2.  Example of niche-centered tide-like structure in English proposals

to name those they criticize, they would still put the reference in parentheses or in superscript numbers (see Bloch & Chi 1995: 236). That partly explains the predominant use of non-integral citations in the SSHRC proposals. The Chinese grant writers go a step further, leaving out specific citations. They seem to be very



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

much concerned with face-saving in this particular genre. The author of P2 expressed such concerns in an interview: “I would of course not specify the particular research, for I don’t want to offend scholars of this community while indicating the weaknesses of the previous research.” In my discussion with the author of P8 about the use of boosters in his proposal, in order to show me that his confidence was not coming from nothing, the author of P8 mentioned a book written by a professor from N University. He told me that the book was considered to be the most updated and authoritative work in the field at that time, but there were still many weaknesses. I then asked him why he did not cite this work in establishing the territory and indicating the niche, and he said, If I had done that, I would have offended those grant reviewers who came from N University. And other grant reviewers would also think, “How could you depreciate a book written by an authoritative figure of the field even before you start your own research?” My proposal would have been turned down if I had written like that. I dare not to write like that. (P8 author)

While saving face and valuing the precedent are major explanations the NPOPSS grant writers offered for their agent-implicit niche-indication behavior, another possible motive, although the grant writers did not and would not admit it, could be that they can critique the previous research more sharply in this way to create a research space. As they know, general and vague arguments are most difficult to attack. All nine proposals have the Niche move, but only one proposal (P1) has critiqued specific studies in establishing a niche. Among the four options for this move – counter-claim, gap, question and continuation (see Swales 1990: 142) – eight out of nine proposals have chosen gap (directly indicating the limitations of the previous research) in realizing the move, which is obviously rhetorically sharper than the other three options. P2 has used both the strategies of gap and continuing a tradition, and P5 has used counter-claim. In this sense, Chinese scholars are no less contentious than English scholars, at least in this promotional genre.

Strategies adopted in the research means move Compared with English grant proposals, Chinese grant proposals do not use as much text to describe research means. While the Research Means move in the SSHRC research grant proposals had approximately 1207 words on average, constituting approximately 32% of the total length in the NPOPSS proposals, Research Means had an average length of only 265 Chinese characters, constituting approximately 10% of the average total length. One proposal (P4) did not have

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the Research Means move at all. In the proposals that offered sketchy descriptions of proposed research methods, diversified contents were included. The Chinese grant proposals included literature review, typing and printing, networking, and so on in the Research Means move. This is different from the SSHRC English proposals, whose Research Means moves described mainly the research design, including participants, sample, data collection and data analysis. In the Chinese proposals, collecting and then reviewing literature is considered to be an important part of the research work instead of pre-research work. In some cases, it is even the sole work of the research, as we can see in example (4): (4) (Trans): If this proposed project is approved/sanctioned, (we) attempt to proceed in the following 3 stages: First, Preparatory Stage (July, 1996-Aug., 1996) 1. Discuss and decide the outline of “National language policies” and   respective writers for each country, 2. Specify the means by which to collect literature, 3. Each one comes up with a reference list; select some of the books or   articles to copy or purchase. Second, Individual Investigation/Research Stage (Sept, 1996-June, 1997) Each research team member comes up with one or two research reports on the part of the work they undertake. Decide the writer(s) who will write up the final report. Third, Comparing Stage (Sept, 1997-June, 1999) (P9)

In the following two sketchy examples, the research methods were described to include formal and informal discussions among co-researchers, corporate course offerings and seminars, expert evaluations, and even typing and printing. These descriptions were not found in the Research Means move of the SSHRC English grant proposals. (5) (Trans): After the project gets funded, besides corporation in the forms of informal discussion, formal discussion, and course offering together, we would also adopt methods such as field investigation and seminars to further discuss the following issues respectively: . . . (P3) (6) The research methods of this project mainly include: (1) Collecting materials; (2) research on a special topic; (3) academic seminar; (4) Evaluations by experts; (5) typing and printing. (P8)

P2’s Research Means move is the longest among the Chinese proposals. However, it seems like a boilerplate, which can be applied to the method section of any study, as in example (7).



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

(7) (Trans): This project will insist on combining theory and practice, using teaching practice as the fundamental basis and final evaluation criterion of the theoretical research. The project will attach importance to the link between history and present life, respect historical experience, and pay attention to the various emerging issues. The project will lay emphasis on contrastive studies, draw on the update research achievements overseas, and develop the useful and discard the useless by relating to the reality of Chinese elementary education curriculum reform and development. The project will be conducted by combining theoretical research and experimental research. Research Plan: The principal investigator will be responsible for the progress of the research. The research will be divided into several sub-projects according to the different research areas each co-investigator specializes in. Each co-investigator will be responsible for one sub-project and the submission of mid-term and final research results. The co-investigators will discuss with each other at every stage, communicate the research results at the present stage and make plans for the next stage. Progress Plan: Stage one: Sept, 2001-Sept, 2002 To set up the research team and divide the work preliminarily, to collect more literature materials based on the materials we have had, to get ready for the start of the research, and to make plans for the general research project and each sub-project. To hold several small-scale meetings to discuss the research plans, and to finally decide the detailed research plan of this stage (stage one). Stage two: Sept, 2002-Sept, 2003 To prepare for the materials (literature) and conduct a small-scale experimental research. To design teaching experiments, and the contents and methods of questionnaires and interviews. To submit the mid-phase research results, to communicate the results among sub-project groups, and to further design the progress plan of the general research project. Stage three: Oct, 2003-Oct, 2004 To further the research of the midphrase, to substantiate the research report, to invite experts to evaluate the research, to complete the project and submit the research results to relevant upper-level institutions. Research results will be published subsequently in academic journals. (P2)

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The writer first states her research rationale, which contains a lot of clichés, such as “to combine theory and practice,” “to connect history with present situation,” and “to develop the literature by filling its niche.” The research plan she then proposes also seems to consist of boilerplates that can be cut and pasted to other proposals with few changes. She mentions “small-scale experimental research” in Stage two, however, without any elaboration on the research design, unlike English grant writers. In the interview with P2’s author, she told me that they ultimately did not conduct the experiment or the post-experimental survey. “I decided to focus only on the theoretical part. It doesn’t matter, as long as I have some publications come out,” she said. The participating scholars offered quite a few explanations for their brief and kaleidoscopic descriptions of research methods. One major explanation they offered concerns the evaluation criteria of grant proposals. In their view, the research design is not what they need to consider at the stage of writing the proposal; the grant committee would pay more attention to the research record of the applicants rather than the research design. In the words of P8’s author, the grant committee would consider most “whether this grant applicant has already written some books or articles.” A detailed proposal of research methods, in the eyes of the committee, can not indicate the writer’s research competence at all, while the writer’s previous publications can. Some informants mentioned the impact of central planning and time constraint. The authors of P4 and P8 for instance, who have either been “expert reviewers” or served on the grant committee of NPOPSS several times, indicated that, unlike in western countries, where researchers generally have the freedom to choose research topics they think worthwhile, in China, the government imposes stringent instructions on research orientations. According to these informants, the NPOPSS every year announces a list of research topics. Scholars are required to choose topics from the list and develop proposals. If a scholar chooses a research topic that is not on the list, that scholar most probably will not be funded. After the announcement of research topics, there is usually a tight deadline for proposal submissions. Therefore, applicants usually do not have much time to carefully consider the topics they choose and design a study accordingly. The author of P3 described his case as follows, Actually I didn’t know what to write, and I can even say I didn’t know at that time what I should specifically do to go about the research. So I just wrote down what I could think of, some of which might not be relevant, such as the discussions among the team members. I know I should write something like data collection and data analysis, but at that time since I was in a hurry to write up the proposal and submit for application, I didn’t have much time to give deep consideration.  (P3 author)



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

In my talk with P2, I critiqued her research methods section as boilerplates without substantial content. Her answer drew our attention to an issue that has actually been discussed by several previous studies (e.g., Bloch & Chi 1995; Calvert & Shi 2001; Gao, Li, & Lu 2001): the underdevelopment of the social sciences in China and the lack of academic training of Chinese scholars. P2’s author introduced the fact that during the Cultural Revolution almost all scholarly publishing ceased and universities shut down. It was not until late 1970s that academic journals began to reappear and the university entrance examination system resumed. The ruin of academic traditions during the Cultural Revolution, and the hindered scholarly communication with western countries due to political and economic pressures, all make the reestablishment of disciplinary knowledge hard and slow. P2’s author admitted that her generation, which received high education in the late 1970s or early 1980s and is now the leading force of Chinese academics, did not have systematic training on research methods. When I asked the informants if research methods are currently taught in Chinese universities, the authors of P4, P5, and P8 said that they would give their graduate students guidance on research methods through apprenticeship, while other scholars admitted that they had never heard of a course teaching specifically research methods. The explanations offered by the informants, although different, are actually related to each other. It may well be the lack of an empirical research tradition that gave rise to the policies set by the funding agency, including the grant proposal evaluation criteria and tight submission deadline. These policies and practices may somehow further contribute to Chinese scholars’ ignorance of the importance of research methods, particularly in grant proposal writing.

Strategies adopted in the Competence Claim move Competence Claim is a move serving to demonstrate to the grant committee the researchers’ competence in successfully undertaking the proposed research. This move exists in both the NPOPSS Chinese grant proposals and the SSHRC English grant proposals, but as a comparison of Table 2 and Table 3 indicates, the Chinese grant proposals comparatively devote much more space (650 characters on average, constituting 24% of the average total length) to this move than the English proposals (about 413 words on average, consisting of 11% of the average total length). The heavy weight devoted to this move again reveals that Chinese grant writing is no less promotional than English grant writing. Interestingly, whereas the English grant writers usually claim their research competence through detailed discussions of their own previous work, the Chinese grant writers prefer to explicitly claim their research competence by listing

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both relevant and irrelevant publications, and by informing the reader of their professional status, the rewards they have received, their time available for the proposed research, and even their health conditions. Listing research resources is also an effective means in claiming research competence. This may be due to the fact that many Chinese academics have limited access to academic literatures (especially those of foreign countries) and are unable to afford some basic research facilities such as a personal computer. Having some research resources already at hand could be an advantage and a condition of getting the grant. The following example shows all these strategies in claiming the competence for taking up the proposed project: (8) . . . (Trans): The principal investigator of this project is professor, supervisor of PhD students, Head of Philosophy Department of . . . University. His book . . . has won the reward of . . . and his book . . . has been translated and published in Korean. (He) has published over a hundred articles, dozens of books, constituting approximately 3 million Chinese characters. (He/his work) has certain influences overseas. The principal investigator has been in the field of Chinese traditional philosophy for many years, has quite strong research competence and administrative and organizational abilities, has broad connections in the academy, and has rich experience in organizing cooperative research. Secondly, the principal investigator is not engaged in any other research project right now, and therefore has enough time and energy for this proposed project. . . . At present, the main research resources of this project include: (1) the topic-related domestic and overseas materials/literature our research team members have collected in recent years; (2) Reports of the relevant research achievements released by domestic and overseas academic journals and research institutions; (3) Latest research achievements in the relevant research area; (4) Two personal computers owned by our research team can be used for this research project, including typing and printing the research results; these two computers also have access to the Internet, therefore can ensure the efficiency of this proposed research. (P8)

In some proposals, we can even see the use of “celebrity endorsement” in the Competence Claim move: (9) (Trans): We plan to invite . . . , . . . , . . . , . . . , and . . .who works with Chinese Minority Committee to be advisors of our research project. (P9)



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

“Celebrity endorsement” is a strategy often used in business genres such as advertising. In example (9), some “big names” of the field are mentioned in order to show that under the guidance of these people, the research team will be able to successfully complete the project. Considering the Chinese normal practice (that so-called “advisors” do not engage in the research project in the real sense), the cited sentence in example (9) is probably no more than “celebrity endorsement.”

Summary This chapter presents results of a genre analysis of nine successful NPOPSS Chinese grant proposals written between 1996 and 2001. Analysis of rhetorical moves and strategies showed that the Chinese grant proposals followed a similar discourse structure and displayed similar stylistic features to those identified in English grant proposals. In particular, the adoption of the CARS model and the considerable space devoted to the Competence Claim move suggest a strong promotionalism, which we can also see in English grant proposals. Differences between Chinese grant proposals and English grant proposals were still evident, however. Compared with English grant proposals which tend to support their strong claims with elaborate arguments (Connor 2000; Feng & Shi 2004), the Chinese grant proposals were comparatively brief in general, and implicit in moves such as Research Means. In addition, different strategies were adopted by the Chinese grant writers in realizing moves such as Niche, Research Means, and Competence Claim. These differences were explained by the grant writers interviewed as results of some contextual factors – lack of research resources; lack of an empirical research tradition; grant application and evaluation practices; and Chinese scholars’ concerns about plagiarism, “face,” and networking.

Conclusions and implications With only nine proposals in the corpus, all in the field of humanities and social sciences, this study must be cautious in making generalizations concerning Chinese grant proposal writing. Nevertheless, by relating findings to previous studies of other academic genres in Chinese and of Chinese research traditions, and at the same time by comparing findings with those concerning English grant proposal writing, the study may offer some useful insights for Chinese grant writers, research grant agencies, and Chinese academia, as well as contrastive discourse analysts.

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Since the research grant proposal is a new genre in China, most Chinese scholars are dealing with the genre intuitively, with very little writing support from either the universities they are in or the research foundations. This study of successful national-level Chinese proposals may be of interest to novice Chinese grant writers, for it helps to demystify this occluded genre and its rules in China. It may also be of use to Chinese research foundations by alerting them to the weaknesses in Chinese grant proposal writing in the aspects of literature review and research design. Since detailed literature reviews and descriptions of research designs could help grant reviewers make fair judgments about the quality of proposed projects, it is suggested that grant agencies make some relevant changes in their application policies and evaluation practices to encourage Chinese grant writers to pay more attention to these two parts. The study brings to our attention issues concerning the lack of research resources and lack of empirical studies in the “soft” disciplines in China. The material and logistical problems, which may also exist in other developing or Third World countries as described by Canagarajah (1996), are now being solved with the rapid increase of funding every year and economic development in China. However, lack of a well-established empirical research tradition, especially in the field of social sciences, is not a problem that can be solved in one day. In view of this, this study hopes to serve as a reminder to Chinese scholars who are in the fields of social sciences that more attention should be given to the establishment of an empirical research tradition. Finally, this study attempts to convey the idea that it is inappropriate to label textual differences reflected in writings of different ethnic cultures simply as cultural differences; rather, the differences may be attributable to various local contexts, such as research and literacy traditions, sociopolitical structure, and even economic conditions. It calls for more studies of various academic genres in Chinese to look for Chinese writing patterns and investigate the underlying influential factors. Diachronic studies of research grant proposals are also needed to see how grant proposal writing in China may experience changes in this rapidly changing society.

Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the warm support of the Chinese scholars who kindly offered me their proposals and participated in the interviews. Many thanks to Dr. Bertha Du-Babcock and Prof. Vijay Bhatia for their valuable comments on the earlier draft of this chapter. I would like to give special thanks to the editors of this volume for their encouragement and their constructive criticism, which



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

are helpful for me not only in revising this chapter, but also in improving my own academic writing in general. Any errors that remain are entirely my own.

References Berkenkotter, C., & Huckin, T. N. (1995). Genre knowledge in disciplinary communication: Cognition/culture/power. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Bhatia, V. K. (1993). Analysing genre: Language use in professional settings. London: Longman. Bloch, J., & Chi, L. (1995). A comparison of the use of citations in Chinese and English academic discourse. In D. Belcher & G. Braine (Eds.), Academic writing in a second language: Essays on research and pedagogy (pp. 231–274). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Calvert, P. J., & Zengzhi, S. (2001). Quality versus quantity: Contradictions in LIS journal publishing in China. Library Management, 22, 205–211. Canagarajah, A. S. (1996). “Nondiscursive” requirements in academic publishing, material resources of periphery scholars, and the politics of knowledge production. Written Communication, 13, 435–472. Connor, U. (1998). Comparing research and not-for-profit grant proposals. In Written discourse in philanthropic fund raising: Issues of language and rhetoric (pp. 45–64). Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Center on Philanthropy. Connor, U. (2000). Variation in rhetorical moves in grant proposals of US humanists and scientists. Text, 20, 1–28. Connor, U., Helle, T., Mauranen, A., Ringbom, H., Tirkkonen-Condit, S., & Yli-Antola, M. (1995). Tehokkaita Eu-projektiehdotuksia: Ohjeita kirjoittajille [Strategies in successful proposals for European Union research grants]. Helsinki, Finland: TEKES. Connor, U., & Mauranen, A. (1999). Linguistic analysis of grant proposals: European Union research grants. English for Specific Purposes, 18, 47–62. Connor, U., & Upton, T. A. (2004). The genre of grant proposals: A corpus linguistic analysis. In U. Connor & T. A. Upton (Eds.), Discourse in the professions: Perspectives from corpus linguistics. (pp. 235–256). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Connor, U., & Wagner, L. (1998). Language use in grant proposals by nonprofits: Spanish and English. New Directions for Philanthropic Fundraising(22), 59–74. Crookes, G. (1986). Towards a validated analysis of scientific text structure. Applied Linguistics, 7, 57–70. Feng, H. Y., & Shi, L. (2004). Genre analysis of research grant proposals. LSP & Professional Communication, 4, 8–32. Gao, Y., Li, L., & Lü, J. (2001). Trends in research methods in applied linguistics. English for Specific Purposes, 20, 1–14. Gilbert, G. N. (1977). Referencing as persuasion. Social Studies of Science, 7, 113–122. Hopkins, A., & Dudley-Evans, T. (1988). A genre-based investigation of the discussion sections in articles and dissertations. English for Specific Purposes, 7, 113–122. Huckin, T., & Olsen, L. (1984). On the use of informants in LSP discourse analysis. In Pugh, A. and Ulijn, J. (Eds), Reading for professional purposes (pp. 120–129). Heinemann, London. Myers, G. (1990). Writing biology: Texts in the social construction of scientific knowledge. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Rose, S. K. (1993). Citation rituals in academic cultures. Issues in Writing, 6, 24–37.

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Samraj, B. (2002). Introductions in research articles: Variation across disciplines. English for Specific Purposes, 21, 1–17. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Tardy, C. M. (2003). A genre system view of the funding of academic research. Written Communication, 20, 7–36. Taylor, G., & Chen, T. (1991). Linguistic, cultural, and subcultural issues in contrastive discourse analysis: Anglo-American and Chinese scientific texts. Applied Linguistics, 12, 319–336. Upton, T. A., & Connor, U. (2001). Using computerized corpus analysis to investigate the textlinguistic discourse moves of a genre. English for Specific Purposes, 20, 313–329. Van Nostrand, A. D. (1994). A genre map of R&D knowledge production for the US Department of Defense. In A. Freedman & P. Medway (Eds.), Genre and the new rhetoric (pp. 133–145). London: Taylor & Francis.

Appendix Example 1

（1）“八五”, “九五”期间, 对外国文学史的研究是热门课题.(2a)虽然至今出 版的外国文学史已有十余种,(2b) 但是有关欧洲文艺复兴时期文学的章节大 同小异,内容简单,空泛,缺乏有深度的理论剖析.(3a) 这些论述侧重对欧洲文 艺复兴时期重点作家的生平介绍和主要作品的评析, 而忽略了对文艺复兴这 一历史时期的系统,深入的研究;(3b)它们往往满足于前人的研究成果, 有些 甚至是将欧美出版物编译,拼凑而成;(3c) 在对文艺复兴时期欧洲诸国的国别 研究中, 未能将它们置于欧洲这一氛围中进行全面,有机的论述, 对于主要国 家之间的相互关系和影响则基本没有涉及. （4a）在国外有关文艺复兴的研究中, 西方学者往往过分地强调人文主 义者某些片面的观点; （4b）在讨论个人主观能动性时,往往过分夸大人的作 用; (4c)在论述人摆脱神的桎锆时, 往往放纵人的私欲和享乐主义;(4d)在宣 扬人性时,往往片面强调个性的解放. （5）本课题旨在运用马克思主义的唯物史观对欧洲文艺复兴的兴起，繁 荣和衰亡过程进行综合的研究； 实事求是地评述中世纪文学传统的影响，哲 学和宗教与文学的关系， 人性与文学等一系列颇有争议的问题； 客观地分 析欧洲文艺复兴时期各国文学的特点， 以及相互间的影响。 本课题的研究 成果将深化我国在这一领域的研究， 其研究方式也将为我国的外国文学研究 闯出一条新路。

Example 2

汉藏语系是一个有数百种语言, 14亿人口使用的大语系. . . .

Example 3

 欧洲文艺复兴是世界文明史上一场翻天覆地的思想文化运动, 它改变了欧洲的 历史进程, 也改变了人类的命运. 在这场运动中, 以神为宇宙中心的神本位被 以人为宇宙中心的人本位所取代; 人不再是神的奴隶, 人的价值, 人的尊严赢 得了尊重, 人的欲望得以实现, 人的个性得到了解放. 欧洲文艺复兴是资本 主义萌芽时期出现的历史现象，是中世纪之后社会经济文化发展的必然结果, 也引发了自然科学,绘画,雕塑,音乐,文学和艺术领域的一场革命. 欧洲文艺



A genre-based study of research grant proposals in China

复兴发轫于意大利, 形成了一股势不可挡的人文主义思潮. 本课题将纵向探 讨文艺复兴形成，发展和衰亡的社会，思想因素， 横向对比文艺复兴时期欧 洲主要国家 – 意大利，法国，英国，西班牙，葡萄牙和德国 – 之间的相 互关系，相互影响。

Example 4



本课题如能批准, 拟分3个阶段进行: 一, 准备阶段 (1996 年7月至8月) 讨论确定 “国家语言政策”撰写提纲和相应国家的撰稿人, 明确搜集资料的途径和方法, 每人列出有关参考资料的书目,筛选后复印或购置. 二, 专题研究阶段(1996年9月-1997年6月) 各人完成各自承担的研究报告1-2种. 确定综合报告的撰稿人. 三, 综合比较阶段 (1997年9月-1999年6月)

Example 5



课题获得批准后,我们除继续以非正式讨论,正式讨论,共同开课的形式进行合 作外，还将采取实地考察,召集小型学术会议等方法, 对下列问题逐一进行更 深入，广泛的探讨和论证: . . .

Example 6



本课题的科研手段主要包括：（1）资料收集;（2）专题研究; （3） 学术讨 论 （4）专家评议； （5） 计算机录入与打印。

Example 7



本课题坚持理论与实践相结合，将教学实践作为理论研究的根本基础和最 终检验标准。  本课题重视历史与现实的联系，尊重已有的历史经验，关注显示中的各种 问题。  本课题注重国内外的比较研究，及时吸收国外有关研究成果，结合基础教 育课程改革和发展的实际对其进行扬弃和取用。  本课题采用理论研究与实验研究相结合的方法进行。  . . . 研究工作方案： 由项目负责人全面负责研究工作的进行。 根据课题组成员的不同学术优势和专业特长， 将各项研究内容分为若干 子课题，项目负责人和课题组各个成员分别作为子课题负责人， 承担子课题 的具体研究工作， 并且提交中期及最终研究成果。 各子课题组之间在每阶段进行若干次交流，讨论， 对本阶段的研究成果 进行交流， 并作出下一步研究的具体计划。 进度计划： 第一阶段：2001年九月-2002年九月 组建研究队伍并进行初步分工，在原有资料的基础上进一步扩大收集范 围， 做好开题准备， 作出总课题及子课题具体研究计划。 召开若干次小型 会议对各子课题研究计划和总课题研究计划进行讨论， 并最终确定本阶段的 详细研究计划。 第二阶段：2002年九月-2003年九月 资料准备及调查并进行小规模的实 验研究。 设计教学实验，问卷及访谈内容与方法。 拿出中期研究成果， 各

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子课题组之间互相交流研究成果， 对总课题的进展做进一步规划。 第三阶段：2003年十月-2004年十月 继续对中期成果的深入研究， 充 实研究报告， 请有关专家对本研究进行评审，鉴定， 结题并送报相关主管 部门。研究成果以论文的形式陆续在刊物上发表。

Example 8 本课题负责人 . . . 为教授，博士生导师，现任 . . . 大学哲学系主 任。 所著《 . . . 》获 . . . 奖， 所著《 . . . 》被译为朝鲜文在韩国出 版，发表论文百余篇， 著作十余部， 近三百万字，在海外有一定影响。 多 年来， 本课题负责人一直从事中国传统哲学的研究， 具有较高的学术研究能 力以及较强的行政管理和组织能力， 在学术界有着广泛联系， 组织合作研究 的经验也很丰富。 其次，本课题负责人目前没有主持其他科研项目的研究工 作， 有较充分的时间和精力保证本课题的顺利进行。 . . . 目前， 本课题研究的主要资料设备包括： （1） 课题组成员近年来收集 到的国内外公开出版或发表的与本课题有关的资料； （2）国内外报刊，研 究机构经常性发布的相关成果报导；（3）本课题在实施过程中获得的相关领 域的最新成果； （4）本课题组目前个人拥有的二部电脑可供本课题的研究 使用， 包括研究成果的录入和打印等； 本课题组成员的个人电脑还具备与 国内外有关电脑网络连网的能力， 可以充分保证本课题研究工作的效率。

Example 9 拟聘请 . . .，. . .， . . .， . . . 及国家民委 . . . 为本课题组的顾 问。



Different cultures – Different discourses? Rhetorical patterns of business letters by English  and Russian speakers Maria Loukianenko Wolfe Iowa State University

The chapter presents a cross-cultural analysis of rhetorical patterns in Russian and American business correspondence. The choice of linguistic features to be analyzed was guided by previous research in English as a Second Language, English for Specific Purposes, and Professional Communication studies. A few areas of Hofstede’s (1984) theory of cultural dimensions, such as power distance, uncertainty avoidance, and individualism/collectivism, were adapted for the linguistic and rhetorical analysis of the American and Russian business letters, and the data were tested in terms of these cultural dimensions. The results help illustrate the approach that could be taken while teaching intercultural rhetoric in English for Specific Purposes (ESP) business writing courses as well as Business Communication courses.

Introduction The economic globalization that we are experiencing at the beginning of the 21st century calls for a new perception of business communication across cultures. International business with various intercultural enterprises and corporations is becoming the cornerstone of the world economy. The English language has become the main and probably the preferred medium for facilitating the processes of business communication across borders and between people speaking languages other than English. Consequently, understanding the potential risk of miscommunication between cultures becomes extremely important, as miscommunication may result in significant damages and losses in the world market. Current business communication research and practice address the issue of intercultural communication (Miles 1997; DeVoss et al. 2002). However, most of the studies (Hagen 1998; Edwards 2000; Eustace 1996; Stevens 2000, 2001) limit

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their reflection to factoids about cross-cultural misunderstanding. In these studies, the Western model of communication becomes dominant, thus marginalizing the native communicative patterns of participants in communication across cultures and labeling the presence of “otherness” in students’ writing as well as business communication practices as problematic and negative. Hagen (1998) fairly describes her approach to the study of business writing in Russia: “I was still thinking like an American, making American assumptions” (p. 110). Lack of cultural sensitivity has lasting pedagogical consequences as well. In 1997, Miles expressed awareness of the problem nonnative English speaking students have with professional communication curricula: The division of labor is such that the non-native English speakers comprise a great number of clients and business people, but are almost nonexistent in our classes. The result is a rather ethnocentric portrayal of American students as active producers and all “others” as passive consumers from somewhere else... Non-native English speakers are not seen as an active audience who co-construct meaning, but a passive one who functions as little more than barriers to “success(pp. 186, 188) ful communication.” 

The current theoretical research and practice necessitate efforts of professional communication and contrastive rhetoric studies to find ways to help students move beyond the recipes for “successful communication” and become active “producers” of meaning who can critically reflect on intercultural communication and decide for themselves what rhetorical patterns they would choose to communicate with foreign partners. To be able to define these different rhetorical patterns across cultures, researchers need to draw from an analysis of real-life data, e.g., business correspondence. Such an analysis may assist in designing professional communication curriculum that would provide students with more complex understanding of intercultural discourse. It may also help avoid the risks of – underestimating the complexity of the issue of intercultural communication. – seeing nonnative English speaking students as passive recipients of knowledge and nonnative business partners as unable to construct knowledge. – oversimplifying professional communication curricula and narrowing them down to a set of “tips” for communicating across cultures. The present study exemplifies an approach to studying business correspondence (business sales letters written by native English and Russian speakers) that may help avoid these risks in professional communication classrooms. Using the data of sales and promotional letters, I construct and test a framework that suggests ways to explore how both American and Russian writers and



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readers “draw on their own backgrounds, values, and communities” while they create a written text (a sales letter) and also the ways they “respond to verbal, visual, and cultural cues in the text before them” (Thrush 1997: 174). This comparison of the rhetoric of American and Russian business writing through the suggested framework should also help Business English instructors define the patterns to be attended and taught to native Russian speakers by Business English courses. It could also become a classroom technique to teach our students not simply patterns and models of professional communication in another language, but help them understand language as a living and breathing phenomenon, and texts “not merely as static products but as functional parts of dynamic cultural contexts” (Connor 2002: 493). The objectives of this study are the following: – to define linguistic features of the letters to be used for the analysis. – to explain how Hofstede’s (1984) theory of cultural dimensions can be adapted for a theoretical inventory to frame the analysis. – to test the developed framework with limited data (business letters written by native English and Russian speakers) to illustrate the approach that could be taken while teaching the aspect of cross-cultural rhetoric in Business Communication courses. – to analyze the letters through the suggested framework and to offer possible methodological considerations for Business English instructors who work with native Russian speakers. My work was guided by previous research done on teaching ESL and English for Specific Purposes, and in Professional Communication studies. Among the research that I drew from were analyses of Russian and other Eastern European data (Artemeva 1998; Precht 1998), Asian data (Boiarsky 1995; Wu & Rubin 2000), and similar empirical research of professional texts (Eustace 1996; Louhiala-Salminen 1996). These studies demonstrate “how individuals from different cultures can have different expectations regarding the same kind of document” (Constantinides et al. 2001: 32). All of these studies assisted me in developing the framework I used, and led me to the decision of what specific linguistic features of the letters I needed to analyze. Thus, Artemeva (1998) focuses on text structure of technical reports and analyzes what features of organization, format, and content caused most misunderstanding (e.g., structures of sentences and paragraphs, transitions, etc.). Precht (1998), who analyzes letters of recommendation from different cultures, performs qualitative research of the letters’ linearity, symmetry, and data integration. In her study, she refers to Bhatia’s postulates of genre analysis, where “patterns are

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identified within the requirements of the communicative purpose of the genre” (qtd. in Precht 1998: 248). She makes a connection between this communicative purpose and specific linguistic elements she studies, such as topical organization, length of sentences and their position in the texts, and types of sentences (e.g., topic sentences). She also views data integration in terms of reader vs. writer responsibility (p. 249). Studies of Asian data (Japanese, Chinese, and Taiwanese) provide a more detailed spectrum of linguistic features that assisted in my analyses. Thus, Boiarsky (1995) looks at organizational patterns (linearity) of business letters and sequence of information, as well as specific features of content, e.g., particular statements in non-English data that the authors used to establish trust (p. 247). Differences in style and format of the letters (e.g, openings and salutations) and graphic features were explained by culturally different relationships between the writer and the reader, degrees of formality, and rhetorical purpose of communication (p. 248). This particular reference to culture also informed the approach I am using in the present study. Research by Wu and Rubin (2000), although quantitative in nature, provided me with most of the directions and specifics for my own research. They compare “writing features” of the texts written by students from Taiwan and the U.S., such as indirectness, personal disclosure, collective self, assertiveness, and features of content. Indirectness of the texts was determined by placement of the thesis statement (p. 160), personal disclosure by relative frequency of first person singular pronouns, collective self by relative frequency of first person plural pronouns (p. 161), etc. Although my own study was qualitative, I found Wu and Rubin’s approach very helpful for introducing dimensions of culture in contrastive analysis of rhetorical features I saw in the texts from different cultures. After reviewing previous research, including my own studies of small samples (three to four texts) of Russian and American data, I was able to define the linguistic features of business letters that could be most valuable for conducting analysis of the texts, with cultural dimensions in mind. I narrowed them down to such specifications as reference to previous communication, salutation, form of command/request (explicit versus vague), placement of the thesis/purpose statement, form of providing contact information (in the text of the letters versus in the letterhead only), and form of reference to self (as an individual versus as a group). In the study, the data were analyzed to determine the presence of these features. Since I intended to analyze linguistic features of the texts through the prism of culture, I decided to align these specifications with cultural dimensions to make my framework complete. To do so, I used Hofstede’s theory of cultural dimensions based on his research of work-related value orientations (1984), which by itself can provide yet another view on managing cultural differences. Somewhat



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generalized by itself (Beamer 2000), Hofstede’s terminology nevertheless became handy for my study and helped me frame an approach to guide the research. Let me elaborate on Hofstede’s theory and its relation to my study. Hofstede (1984) postulates four major cultural dimensions: power distance, uncertainty avoidance, individualism-collectivism, and masculinity-femininity that he uses to analyze and explain differences in the way people from different cultures communicate at work. I assumed that his first three cultural dimensions should find their illustrations in my data through specific linguistic features I described earlier. Speaking about the masculinity/femininity dimension though, I hesitated to define cultures as well as management and conversational styles in terms of gender roles, and gender-situated and stimulated discourses. According to Hofstede, masculinity/femininity represents the most accepted management styles that are defined not in terms of gender roles but rather conversational and negotiation styles (Hoecklin 1995: 68). However, some studies of conversational styles, such as Tannen’s (1984), argue for male/female speech patterns to be defined by culture rather than gender. Also, Boiarsky (1995) refers to some cultures, where, for example, indirectness is not a typical female speech trait but a “cultural convention that crosses genders... . In these societies men as well as women use indirect speech pattern because directness is considered inappropriate and rude behavior regardless of gender” (Boiarsky 1995: 246). Because of these cross-gender characteristics of discourse, I find Hofstede’s ascribing different language and rhetorical variables to gender features to be highly disputable. Of course, gender is a worthy topic for contemporary studies in rhetoric, which can and should inspire a separate research in professional communication. However, for my study, I am not using the cultural dimension of masculinity-femininity, in part because of its problematic terminology. Consequently, my framework became reduced to dimensions of power distance, uncertainty avoidance, and individualism/collectivism only. The cultural dimension of power distance creates difference in workplace power relationships in the two countries, which may result in different rhetorical patterns in business sales letters. For instance, in cultures with larger power distance, business people feel more comfortable when formal hierarchies are actively supported and reinforced on all levels of interaction including written communication. “Superiors and subordinates consider each other as unequal; the hierarchical system is felt to be based on some existential inequality. Indigenous organizations centralize power more and subordinates are expected to be told what to do... . There are more visible signs of status, and contacts between superiors and subordinates are supposed to be initiated only by superiors [emphasis added].” (Hoecklin 1995: 30). In low power distance cultures, superiors and subordinates are considered more as equals; superiors have power and authority not by simply

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default of their hierarchical position but because they have earned it and from now on they have to actively maintain this status. On a linguistic level, features of written business discourse (in my study, business sales/product promotion letters) illustrating the difference in power distance might be defined by reference to previous communication and salutation. These patterns are likely to demonstrate the distance maintained by the communicators. Uncertainty avoidance is best represented by the amount of formal rules that need to be followed during communication in a certain culture, and rejecting deviant ideas and behavior. In countries with a high uncertainty avoidance index, “management reduces uncertainty and provides coordination and control by emphasizing who has authority over whom and in what way this authority can be exercised” (Hoecklin 1995: 35). In cultures with a low uncertainty score, on the contrary, people feel less comfortable with strict control over their performance; they value more freedom and flexibility in the decision-making process. Originally, according to Hosftede, uncertainty is related to the perception of future events and present diversity: managers in low uncertainty avoidance cultures are optimistic and flexible decision-makers who accept and appreciate diversity of opinions, whereas managers in high uncertainty avoidance cultures are just the opposite. However, in my study I use the term “uncertainty avoidance” to explain a reason to provide sufficient context for a business situation and thus promote and facilitate decision-making, something that I found quite illustrative in my data. This dimension of uncertainty avoidance, thus, can be discussed through the analysis of the ways the writers provide sufficient information, clarity of writing, and directness of stating the purpose statement. The degree of uncertainty avoidance might be measured holistically by looking at such features of the letters as form of command/request, placement of the thesis/purpose statement, and form of providing contact information. These features might become explanatory in terms of reducing the amount of uncertainty in the letters. Individualism/collectivism is an opposition of priorities: a concern for yourself as an individual as opposed to concern for the group to which you belong. As Hofstede (2001) puts it, “in the collectivist society the personal relationship prevails over the task and over the company and should be established first; in the individualist society, in contrast, the task and the company are supposed to prevail over any personal relationships” (2001: 239). A possible speculation in this respect is that this discrepancy between individualist versus collectivist cultural orientation can be analyzed linguistically through the way the authorship of the written text is revealed. The writers from collectivist cultures would tend to write from the group, while the writers from individualist cultures would write from themselves and thus would take the sole responsibility for their writing. They would refer to their individualist or group identity possibly through the signature at the



Different cultures – Different discourses?

Table 1.  Framework specifications Power Distance Uncertainty Avoidance

Individualism/Collectivism

– – – – –

Reference to previous communication Salutation Form of command/request (explicit versus vague) Placement of the thesis/purpose statement Form of providing contact information (in the text  of the letters versus in the letterhead only) – Form of reference to self (as an individual versus  as a group)

end of the letters, or/and the choice of pronouns (cf. Boiarsky 1995; Wu & Rubin 2000). “The languages spoken in individualist cultures tend to require speakers to use the I pronoun when referring to themselves; languages spoken in collectivist cultures allow the dropping of this pronoun. It is also remarkable that the language spoken in the most individualist countries, English, is the only one ... that writes I with a capital letter” (Hofstede 2001: 233). Therefore, it might be possible to define the individualism/collectivism dimension in a written text by the way the writer’s identity and authorship (an individual or a group) is revealed. For my study, I decided to use Wu and Rubin’s idea of defining the authors’ personal disclosure and collective self (p. 161), and analyzed the author’s identity in my data (her individualist versus collectivist cultural orientation) through form of reference to self. Overall, the framework I suggest for my study (see Table 1) is designed to combine cultural influences on the texts with their linguistic realizations in discourse, and to help understand rhetorical conventions of the letters. These relations between culture and language that I am trying to address with my framework, were fully acknowledged by Hofstede (2001: 21); he is very much concerned with the role language plays as a ‘culture’s consequence’ in international business and management due to inevitable language (and thus cultural) transfer when, for example, managers have to interact through a mediator/interpreter or maintain correspondence in their second/third language. However, Hofstede does not see the linguistic side of the problem in cross-cultural business communication in its full complexity, which makes his theory somewhat problematic and easily subjected to stereotyping. Hofstede accepts only the potential danger of the language transfer during the process of translation. Such a view may give premises to ascribe rhetorical equivalents to certain conventions, which might then promote stereotypes and lead to mechanical transformation of a text from L1 into L2 without analyzing its rhetorical function(s) in the culture. As a result of such mistranslation, the L2 version of the same text may fail to maintain its rhetorical force, and thus the communicative purpose of the L2 text may never be achieved.

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This problem of stereotypes and their implications for both research and teaching can and should be addressed more thoroughly in a separate study. As both a student of rhetoric and a nonnative speaker myself, I believe that the problem goes beyond native language (L1) interference. Texts written in different cultures are already constructed differently in their original L1 versions. For example, business letters may have the same formal purpose and supposedly follow the same writing conventions. But originating in different cultures and written in two different languages, they may not be similar in their form and content. Therefore, I believe that the problem lies not only or even primarily with the language transfer in the process of translation from one language into another, but is caused by the different cultural and rhetorical perspectives that the two texts acquire in their native contexts. Considering the way I adapted Hofstede’s (1984) terminology to the specific objectives of the study, and keeping in mind the above critique, I argue that his theory of cultural dimensions can be useful for linguistic research in the area of international business communication, primarily because it can be transferred into a workable framework for looking at, comparing, and analyzing the differences between written texts. The present study is an example of such an adaptation. Let me elaborate on the methods of my research.

Data sources The American data were collected from various sources. In the process of collecting, I established some criteria for my data. Thus, I wanted letters that were not “junk mail” – i.e., they had to be targeted at a specific (not any) person as a potential client or a partner. The author had to know exactly who she was writing to (know the name or position) and have a specific reason for writing a letter. It was important for my study because “junk mail” does not exist in Russia, and thus it would be invalid to include it in the data. Part of the letters I accumulated myself by searching through my mail and collecting all relevant samples I came across. Also, some of the American letters were given to me by Kelly Petersen, a former M. A. graduate student at Iowa State University. She is also interested in written business communication and courteously shared her collection of data. The Russian letters all came from the same source, a secretary at administrative quarters of a Russian oil and gas corporation in Samara region. Although coming from the same place, the Russian letters are written by various authors and sometimes addressed to different people. As I mentioned earlier, it is often difficult to access business data; thus obtaining precise information about the authors and addressees of the letters, which would



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shed even more light on the nature of communication and writers’ rhetorical decisions, was impossible for this study.

The study I decided to narrow the focus of the study to business letters, as this genre is the most common way of business corresponding in English for Russian business people. More precisely, I was looking at actual sales/product promotion letters. Although the formal rhetorical purpose of all the letters looked the same (to establish partnership/to sell the product), the assumption was that the two written discourses produced by American and Russian speakers are different due to different cultural backgrounds and conventions. As Purves puts it, “Several researchers have called for the expansion of contrastive rhetoric to include not only the analysis of written products but also an examination of those educational, cognitive, and social dimensions of composition that enter into cross-cultural writing” (qtd. in Connor 1996: 157). These dimensions may produce a certain impact not only on the way businesspeople convey information and give rhetorical force to their messages, but also on the way they foster successful business. I tried to fully consider this comment for my research. However, due to the unavailability of complete information related to the authors of these writing samples (educational background, social status of the authors, etc.), this study focused on cross-cultural analysis of the texts only. The purpose of the letters in both American and Russian data is either to sell a product/service directly or to establish business contacts first and then sell the product.

Procedures I managed to accumulate fifteen letters written by native English speakers and addressed to native English speakers, and seventeen letters written by native Russian speakers and addressed to native Russian speakers (See Appendix A for the letters catalog). The letters written in Russian were translated into English for a wide English-speaking audience. However, in the study I analyzed the original Russian letters in order to preserve the accuracy of the Russian business rhetoric and eliminate the possibility of L1 transfer during the translation, which could have significantly affected the results of the study. The style, organization, and format of the originals were preserved to the best of my abilities for an English speaking audience to better comprehend the traits of Russian business rhetoric. Because of confidentiality issues, all personal names and names of the companies have

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been changed, and all contact information (telephone and fax numbers, e-mail addresses, and Web pages’ URLs) has been removed. The data were analyzed in accordance with the offered framework, which derived from the cultural dimensions of Hofstede’s study (1984). The letters were numbered and the texts of both American and Russian letters were broken down and put into tables with the framework specifications (See Appendix B for the complete tables with the data).

Results and discussion In designing and conducting my study, I was moving from the linguistic features of particular texts (that are subject to specific rhetorical situations) to cultural dimensions, unlike other studies involving cultural dimensions (Beamer, Hofstede, and others). By doing this, I attempted to avoid generalizations about the communicative patterns I was observing. Thus, the cultural dimensions are perceived in my study not as universal but rather as suggestive categories. Second, my analysis employs the terminology of cultural categories/dimensions to explain dynamic features of specific discourse; this terminology thus becomes descriptive for my study, not prescriptive. The reader should realize that a different set of data may result in a different set of findings. With this in mind, I present the data analysis in terms of the cultural dimensions the data reflect.

Power distance The data show that the authors of the American letters refer to previous communication significantly more than do the authors of the Russian letters and try to use any opportunity to remind the reader that, to a certain extent, they have already established contact. At times this reference to previous communication even looks like an attempt to “continue the conversation.” I assume that the writer feels comfortable with the reader’s power status, which in this case is not perceived as a communication barrier (“I enjoyed our visit ...”; “from our conversation ...”; “as promised ...”). Even if the previous personal encounter did not exist, the American authors still try to refer to any type of connection that gives them a chance to create a first positive appeal to the reader. For example, they remind the reader of, and convey thanks for, approaching the writer with a question. By doing this they may support the image of the writer as approachable (“Thank you for your interest ...”; “Thank you for your inquiry ... “).



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The Russian data, on the contrary, do not display such a way of “bridging the gap.” Although in some cases I assume some kind of previous contact exists between the participants, the Russian writers do not seem to employ this technique to strengthen their position as “being equal and approachable” with the reader, and the writers sound vague in claiming this position: “Позвольте воспользоваться предоставленной возможностью и выразить Вам глубокое уважение [Let us use the given opportunity to express our deepest respect]” (emphasis added). In this case the writer may potentially increase the power distance by expressing the high degree of deference. Another difference between the American and Russian letters is the surprising inconsistency in the way the salutation is composed in the Russian data as compared to the American data. While the American writers simply stick to letter-writing conventions, the Russian writers feel free to change the font of the salutation, handwrite it, capitalize it, make it an exclamatory phrase, or even skip it. I assume here that for the Russian authors the salutation does not play the same formal conventional role as it does for the American authors: to greet the addressee in the most appropriate, polite, and recognizable form. The authors of the Russian letters seem to use the salutation more as a way to attract attention to their correspondence and to make it somehow stand out. Thus, the salutation is not simply an established convention that ultimately recognizes a business letter as a genre of business correspondence; it has extra functions. Its purpose in the Russian letters is to make a difference and to draw the reader’s attention. This makes it an interesting rhetorical move. It is surprising, however, that such a significant amount of the Russian data (seven letters out of seventeen) demonstrates negligence in respect to this technique. This suggests that it is not the primary, or the only, way to interest the reader. In addition, the Russian authors may not even consider the reader’s attention as important as it probably should be. Also, the American writers seem comfortable using an addressee’s first name for salutation purposes. In the cases when the American writers do not know the name of an addressee, they use the addressee’s generic title (e.g., “Colleague”, “Principal”). Thus, the power distance between the American writers and their readers either hardly exists or is not emphasized. The Russian authors also prefer to address their readers by first name, which includes patronymics as well (e.g., “Иван Иванович” [Ivan Ivanovich]). Such patronymics are traditionally used in Russian culture to express respect and to stress an unequal status of the communicators. Additionally, the Russian authors seem to avoid the liberty of using generic titles instead of names for salutation purposes. It seems that they would rather skip the salutation altogether than take the risk to challenge the power status by calling the addressee simply “Colleague,” for instance.

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Uncertainty avoidance Generally, the data illustrate that the American letters are more precise and direct in stating a request for further action; only four of the American letters demonstrate a vague request for an action, and there are no letters in the American data that do not request any action from the reader. Six of the Russian letters out of seventeen have a vague request, and six have no request at all. Therefore, I assume that the Russian letters may not necessarily aim at initiating any specific action on the reader’s part. They do not necessarily anticipate any tangible movement or change after the recipient reads the letter. Most of them include an invitation rather than an aggressive call for an action (e.g., “просим ... посетить”; “надеемся на Ваш ... ответ”; “предлагаем” – “we ask ... to visit”; “we hope for your ... answer”; “we are offering”). Additionally, the American letters employ more graphics in their “stating the purpose” section in order to clarify and simplify the anticipated action (e.g., “Mail by February 15, 2002 OR Fax by February 22, 2002 to 609 000-0000”). The only visible graphic feature I found in the Russian data is a list of products offered by a company, which serves an informative rather than a persuasive purpose (letter 12). The data illustrate that the American writers attempt to achieve their purpose, an “agreement” with a customer, in a quite aggressive and straightforward way. In all letters but one, the thesis statement was in the first paragraph of the letter. Most of the American authors chose it to be the first or the second sentence in the paragraph. In some of the letters (8, 9, and 11), they break down the message into a few sentences, thus making a larger part of the letter serve the primary author’s intention: to persuade the reader to “buy” the product/service. This deductive organization of letters creates an image of the American authors as managers who are “expected to be decisive and assertive” (Hofstede 1997: 96). They try to win the reader from the very beginning of their correspondence. The Russian writers, on the contrary, seem to exercise more subtle methods of persuading the readers. They are not as straightforward with the claim statements as their American colleagues are. In fact, three of the seventeen letters are vague in stating the main purpose of communication. Only in six letters do the writers place the thesis statement in the first paragraph. In most of the letters it occurs in the second, fourth, sixth, seventh, or even ninth paragraphs. In many cases the thesis takes the last position in the text of the letter (e.g., in letters 5, 6, 10, 13, 14, 15, and 16). These delayed statements demonstrate the writers’ restraint from any open pressure on the readers and preference to resolve the situation by negotiating through further dialogue if the readers wish. The Russian authors seem to picture managers who “use intuition and strive for consensus” (Hofstede 1997: 96)



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and exemplify a low level of uncertainty avoidance. This strategy, however, might not be understood by American businesspeople, who as Precht (1998) also noted, “immediately justify their reasons for writing” (p. 251). The form of providing contact information deserves specific attention in the study of the data. In my analysis I examined how this information is presented in the text of the letters. Generally all the letters, American and Russian, utilize letterheads as a part of the letters’ layout, in which the authors/companies provide the necessary contact information. In the actual texts of the letters, however, this information is not always openly disclosed. For this study I was more interested in the in-text information rather than the letterheads, since I see a letterhead as a collective image/authorship of the company or corporation. The fact that the authors of the letters use the letterheads for this type of documentation gives little information about the rhetorical decisions a particular author makes; it is simply an accepted form of the paper layout for business letters. Alternatively, the decision to give the contact information in the text of the letter along with the same information in the letterhead will give some food for thought about the effectiveness of communication in terms of meeting its purpose – to sell the product/service. Thus, almost all the American letters have contact information in the text of the letter along with the same information displayed through the letterhead. Only three Russian letters provide more or less full contact information in the texts of the letters; among the rest, one letter (17) gives only Web contacts (as if the company exists only virtually), and one letter refers the reader to the letterhead (10 – “Наши реквизиты указаны в верхней части страницы” – “Our contact information is given at the top of the page”). Obviously, the Russian authors do not make an attempt to facilitate further communication, and thus make the reader fully responsible for finding a way to contact the writer/the company. The American letters, along with the contact information, explicitly indicate what action is expected from the reader (e.g., “please call me at ...”; “In placing a telephone order, please call ...”, etc.). One of these letters (letter 1) even includes both the contact information and the action input as early as in the third paragraph of the letter to stress the importance of the anticipated action. To compare, only one Russian letter says, “Call us” (letter 9). Thus, the writers of the American letters try to avoid uncertainty in communication; they make sure their readers know the purpose of the letter, what the readers are expected to do after they read the letter, and how to do it in the most efficient way. The Russian writers do not seem to be concerned with the tangible results their letters produce, since their correspondence leaves the reader with more questions than answers and directives.

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Individualism/collectivism Reference to the self can be a very complex notion; therefore, to make the data manageable, I reduced my observation to the authors’ means of identifying herself through a letter by referring to the self either as an individual (“I,” “my,” “me,” etc.) or as a community/collective image (name of the organization/company). I decided to disregard use of the pronoun “we,” as it is not easy with qualitative research to follow the dynamics of the meaning change of this pronoun; in some cases it may refer to a collective image of the author as a team (“We are committed ...” – an act of a team), while in other cases it may refer to the author herself as an individual representing a group (“We send you ...” – an act of one person). The data show that the American letters have eleven instances of the author’s reference to self as an individual and eight instances as a group/company. The Russian letters have four individual references (all are in letter 17) and twenty group references. Additionally, the Russian data demonstrate more lexical variation in displaying the group identity of the authors. Thus, along with the names of the companies, the Russian writers use the combinations “наше предприятие” [our company] and “наше издательство” [our publishing house] to refer to the self. Also, a “no-subject” sentence, a grammatical structure typical to formal Russian discourse, adds to the collective image of the authors of the letters. In this structure, there is no subject and the verb is almost always plural. Therefore, when the reader correlates the plural verb with the imagined subject, this subject becomes plural as well (e.g., “обращаем Ваше внимание” – “[we] address your attention”).

Overall conclusions In terms of the study’s framework, the data suggest the following: 1. The American authors attempt to reduce power distance by referring to previous encounter(s) with the reader, and by always using the convention of salutation and trying to address the reader personally (even if they do not know the reader’s name). The Russian authors maintain power distance by avoiding personal greetings to the reader and displaying inconsistency in salutation conventions, which assumes even more “reading between the lines.” 2. The American letters generally state the purpose in clear terms and employ deductive organization by placing the thesis statement at the beginning of the message. The authors take specific care to provide all necessary information that can facilitate the expected action (exact dates, contact information in the text of the letters, methods to perform the expected action). The Russian



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authors seem to assume that their readers share the same information with them; the letters are vague and ambiguous, often without a statement of the purpose of communication or any direction regarding the expected action of the recipient. The Russian letters also add to uncertainty in their inadequate manner of providing contact information. 3. The Russian authors prefer to use a collective image of self, while the American authors usually refer to themselves as individuals. Acting as an individual might imply the American authors’ readiness to take personal responsibility for the decision they are calling for in their messages. There is not as much individual responsibility revealed in the collective image of the Russian authors. Additionally, very little action, if any, is expected in the Russian letters. As compared to the American letters, the Russian letters seem not to take the communication to the level of making business decisions and taking actions. They are suggestive rather than persuasive. The words “hope,” “offer,” and “suggestion” are common in the Russian data. The Russian letters seem to aim at establishing personal contacts first before getting to the point of making a business decision or signing a partnership contract. This strategy is generally associated in Russia with meaningful and efficient business collaboration. These discrepancies suggest the different perspectives on business communication exhibited in business sales letters. For the American authors, the purpose of communication is clearly to sell the product/service. The Russian authors of the letters seem to use this communication simply to announce their companies’ existence on the market and leave the decision exclusively up to the reader. This speculation about the communicative purpose of the letters is consistent with Swales’s (1990) understanding of genres as “a means of social action, one situated in a wider sociorhetorical context and operating not only as a mechanism for reaching communicative goals but also of clarifying what those goals might be” (p. 44, emphasis added). In the context of the Russian data, the genre of a business sales letter acquires new characteristics; the Russians take an additional step in the selling process and use the written message to establish more general contacts first. Only after the readers are comfortable enough to make their own decisions about the action gently suggested by the message would the business contact be made. A contract may be initiated by an oral agreement after both sides personally meet each other. I suggest that in this interpretation, the genre of the Russian letters may be placed somewhere between business sales letters and business goodwill messages. However, to prove this hypothesis, new research must be designed and performed. The techniques of creating business “personal” contacts employed by the Russian authors might be potentially risky for those who would use them for an

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American audience. It is likely that when native Russian speakers write business letters to their native-speaking American partners, they will more than likely transfer both their L1 linguistic features and their L1 rhetorical conventions to the letters written in English. This transfer may potentially cause communication problems, as English-speaking businesspeople do not share an identical set of cultural assumptions, rhetorical patterns, or perhaps even genre conventions with Russians. Therefore, it is crucial for teachers of Business English to introduce Russian learners to appropriate rhetorical conventions that are recognized by their American partners. However, Russian rhetorical strategies might additionally become recognized by American audiences and even become potentially beneficial when, for instance, the purpose of the communication is simply to establish contacts and express goodwill intentions. Therefore, it would be reasonable to discuss the differences between the letters as differences only, without measuring their effectiveness/correctness, since both the American and the Russian letters seem to follow the conventions in accordance with their purposes. It would be helpful, therefore, for Russian students, as well as American students in professional communication courses, to discuss first the rhetorical purposes of the documents that are technically the same but created under different cultural and rhetorical influences. This discussion could enable students to consider these purposes and influences along with language patterns to create business messages that are not simply correct, but more importantly, effective. In this research, a few limitations could be impacting the results. For instance, the availability of data affected the scope of the study. Many researchers notice how difficult it is to obtain data from real work-related situations, especially in a business context. As St John (1996) writes about companies participating in such studies, “For them the issue is one of confidentiality and, perhaps a concern over how the data would be used” (p. 4). Another limitation of the study was the language of the letters. I narrowed my research to monolingual written business communication only, as my task was to look at the structures and patterns that originate in American and Russian business cultures and might be reflected in business discourse. If I had bilingual data or data involving multicultural audiences (e.g., Russian authors writing in English, or Russian authors writing to American partners), the complexity of these data would pose additional challenges, such as setting methods and defining the extent of L1 transfer, measuring the level of the communicators’ language proficiency and their familiarity with the target culture, and its effect on communication. Although very engaging, these concerns do not fall within the scope of my research. To accumulate such data would also take me a longer period of time because I do not have access to any of the U.S.-Russian enterprises. However, such concerns might be of interest for further research in the area of U.S.-Russian business interaction.



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The study presented a synthesis of cultural dimensions with their effects on specific rhetorical conventions that could be introduced in teaching business English specifically in Eastern European countries, where traditionally (unlike in the U.S.) the focus of professional communication studies has been on “terminology, text types, and translation” (Louhiala-Salminen 1996: 40; cf. Kohls 1990). Such an understanding of cultural mechanisms could offer students an approach to analyzing rhetorical choices they make in each particular intercultural writing situation.

References Artemeva, N. (1998). The writing consultant as cultural interpreter: Bridging cultural perspectives on the genre of the periodic engineering report. Technical Communication Quarterly, 7, 285–299. Beamer, L. (2000). Finding a way to teach cultural dimensions. Business Communication Quarterly, 63(3), 111–118. Boiarsky, C. (1995). The relationship between cultural and rhetorical conventions: Engaging in international communication. Technical Communication Quarterly, 4, 245–259. Connor, U. (1996). Contrastive rhetoric: Cross-cultural aspects of second language writing. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Connor, U. (2002). New directions in contrastive rhetoric. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 493–510. Constantinides, H., St. Amant, K., & Kampf, C. (2002). Organizational and intercultural communication: An annotated bibliography. Technical Communication Quarterly, 10, 31–58. DeVoss, D., Jaskin, J., & Hayden, D. (2002). Teaching intracultural and intercultural communication: A critique and suggested method. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 16, 69–94. Edwards, N. (2000). Language for business: Effective needs assessment, syllabus design, and materials preparation in a practical ESP case study. English for Specific Purposes, 19, 291– 296. Eustace, G. (1996). Business writing – Some aspects of current practice. English for Specific Purposes, 15, 53–56. Hagen, P. (1998). Teaching American business writing in Russia: Cross-cultures/cross-purposes. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 12, 109–126. Hoecklin, L. A. (1995). Managing cultural differences: Strategies for competitive advantage. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Hofstede, G. H. (1984). Culture’s consequences: International differences in work-related values (Abridged ed.). Beverly Hills, CA: Sage Publications. Hofstede, G. H. (1997). Cultures and organizations: Software of the mind (Rev. ed.). New York: McGraw-Hill. Hofstede, G. H. (1996). Riding the waves of commerce: A test of trompenaars’ “model” of national culture differences. International Journal of Intercultural Relations, 20, 189–198. Kohls, S. (1990). Business Russian: A reference and textbook. Skokie, IL: Passport Books.

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Louhiala-Salminen, L. (1996). The business communication classroom vs. reality: What should we teach today? English for Specific Purposes, 15, 37–51. Miles, L. (1997). Globalizing professional writing curricula: Positioning students and re-positioning textbooks. Technical Communication Quarterly, 6, 179–200. Precht, K. (1998). A cross-cultural comparison of letters of recommendation. English for Specific Purposes, 17, 241–265. St. John, M. J. (1996). Business is booming: Business English in the 1990s. English for Specific Purposes, 15, 3–18. Stevens, B. (2000). Russian teaching contracts. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 14, 38–57. Stevens, B. (2001). Cross-cultural service learning: American and Russian students learn applied organizational communication. Business Communication Quarterly, 64(3), 59–69. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Tannen, D. (1984). Conversational style: Analyzing talk among friends. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Thrush, E. A. (1997). Multicultural issues in technical communication. In K. Staples & C. Ornatowski (Eds.), Foundations for teaching technical communication: Theory, practice, and program design (pp. 161–177). Greenwich, CT: Ablex. Wu, S.-Y., & Rubin, D. L. (2000). Evaluating the impact of collectivism and individualism on argumentative writing by Chinese and North American college students. Research in the Teaching of English, 35, 148–178.

Appendix A Catalog of the letters American data Letter 1. The letter is written on January 15, 2002 to the reader M. The author is the President of an English training software company. The purpose is to promote new software. Letter 2. The letter is written on February 12, 1999 to the reader K. The author is a sales manager of a printing company. The purpose is to sell printed materials. Letter 3. The letter is written on August 3, 1999 to the reader K. The author is a sales representative of an athletic magazine. The purpose is to sell to the reader advertising services. Letter 4. The letter is written on March 5, 1999 to the reader K. The author is an account executive of a magazine for the recreation market in colleges and universities. The purpose is to sell to the reader the products and services they offer in a catalog. Letter 5. The letter is written on September 15, 1998 to the reader K. The author is a representative of an Internet provider company. The purpose is to reinforce the reader’s use of the services.



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Letter 6. The letter is written in January 2002 to the reader M., who is addressed as “Colleague.” The author is a program director of a testing program. The purpose is to make the reader accept the offered service and participate in school-based administration of a test. Letter 7. The letter is written on July 12, 2000 to the reader K., who is addressed as “Principal.” The author is a sales manager in a gym equipment company. The purpose is to make the reader buy Sound Relief Wall Pillows, a sound reducing system. Letter 8. The letter is written on March 27, 2000 to the reader J. The author works for an athletic magazine targeted at high school and college audiences. The purpose is to make the reader consider advertising in the magazine. Letter 9. The letter is written to the reader M., who is addressed as “Colleague.” The author is a marketing manager working for Cambridge University Press. The purpose is to promote new publications. Letter 10. The letter is written on January 8, 1999 to the reader K., who is addressed as “Superintendent.” The author is a sales manager in a gym equipment company. The purpose is to sell Gymnasium Cover Guard, a floor protection system. Letter 11. The letter is written on February 22, 1999 to the reader K. The author works for a gym equipment company. The purpose is to sell wrestling mats. Letter 12. The letter is written to the reader Z. The author is a Vice President and Business Manager in a credit card company. The purpose is to promote a new credit offer. Letter 13. The letter is written on January 29, 2003 to the reader M. The author works for a credit card company. The purpose is to assure the reader will use the fraud protection service. Letter 14. The letter is written in Spring 2003 to the reader M., who is addressed as “Customer.” The author is a product manager working for an energy corporation. The purpose is to promote a new energy efficiency program. Letter 15. The letter is written to the reader M. The author is a Senior Vice President in a credit card company. The purpose is to reinforce the reader’s use of credit services.

Russian data NOTE: “The reader N.” in the Russian data is a generic term for a gas and oil corporation. The term may be specified (e.g., “the N. sales manager”) by the letter. If not indicated otherwise, the addressee is the corporation staff generally (“the reader N”). Letter 1. The letter is written on July 30, 2002 to the reader N. The author is a crane plant staff member. The purpose is to establish partnership and to sell equipment. Letter 2. The letter is written to the reader N. The author is a manager in a company producing measuring tools and devices. The purpose is to sell the product. Letter 3. The letter is written on October 31, 2002 to the N. President. The author is a vice president of a supplier company. The purpose is to establish partnership and sell services.

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Letter 4. The letter is written on October 16, 2002 to the N. President. The author is a vice president of a business consulting firm. The purpose is to sell services. Letter 5. The letter is written on August 20, 2002 to the N. President. The author is a department chair of a State Academy of Marketing. The purpose is to promote a new publication and the Academy education services. Letter 6. The letter is written on August 12, 2002 to the reader N. The author is the president of a company producing valves and other equipment. The purpose is to sell equipment. Letter 7. The letter is written to the reader N. The author is a publishing house. The purpose is to promote a new publication. Letter 8. The letter is written to the N. President. The author is a supplier company. The purpose is to establish partnership and sell chemicals and equipment. Letter 9. The letter is written on May, 16, 2002 to the N. President. The author is a representative of a legal advice company. The purpose is to promote services. Letter 10. The letter is written on August 20, 2001 to the N. President. The author is a manager in a publishing house. The purpose is to promote a new publication. Letter 11. The letter is written on October 24, 2002 to the reader N. The author is a vice president of a supplier company. The purpose is to establish partnership. Letter 12. The letter is written on October 28, 2003 to the N. President. The author is a sales manager in a supplier company. The purpose is to establish partnership and sell services. Letter 13. The letter is written on November 19, 2003 to the reader N. The author is the president of a supplier company. The purpose is to sell services. Letter 14. The letter is written on September 5, 2003 to the reader N. The author is a sales manager in a supplier company. The purpose is to sell equipment and chemicals. Letter 15. The letter is written to the reader N. The author is the president of a supplier company. The purpose is to establish partnership and sell services. Letter 16. The letter is written on January 8, 2004 to the N. President. The author is the president of a supplier company. The purpose is to sell services. Letter 17. The letter is written on October 1, 2003 to the N. President. The author is the president of a printing company. The purpose is to establish partnership.



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Appendix B Power distance Reference to previous communication Table 2.  Power distance: Reference to previous communication in the American letters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

– “It was nice meeting you, I enjoyed our visit.”; “I have used a smaller size than the sample that you gave to me.” “From our conversation, attached is the media kit for Athletic Management . . .” “As promised, enclosed is your copy . . .” – – – “Thank you for your interest in Athletic Management.” – – “Thank you for your inquiry relative to ABC, Inc. wrestling mats.” – “In connection with your recent dispute . . .” – –

Table 3.   Power distance: Reference to previous communication in the Russian letters (originals) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

– – – – – – – – – – [vague] – “Позвольте воспользоваться предоставленной возможностью и выразить Вам глубокое уважение.” – – – – – –

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Table 4.  Power distance: Reference to previous communication in the Russian letters (translations)

1 2 3 4 5

– – – – –

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

– – – – – [vague] – “ Let us use the given opportunity to express our deepest respect.” – – – – – –

Salutation Table 5.  Power distance: Salutation in the American letters 1 2 3 4 5

“Dear Megan:” “Katy,” “Dear Katy,” “Dear Katy,” “Dear Katy,”

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

“Dear Colleague:” “Dear Principal,” “Dear Jack:” “Dear Colleague,” “Dear Superintendent of Buildings & Grounds:” “Dear Name,” “Dear Marie A. Zhivago,” “Dear Megan Larson,” “Dear Valued Customer:” “Dear Megan Larson,”



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Table 6.   Power distance: Salutation in the Russian letters (originals) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

“Уважаемые господа!” “Уважаемые господа!” – “УВАЖАЕМЫЙ ПЕТР ПЕТРОВИЧ!” “Уважаемый Иван Иванович!” – “Уважаемые господа,” – “Уважаемый Иван Иванович” “Уважаемый(ая) Иван Иванович!” (handwritten) “Уважаемые господа,” – – – “Уважаемые господа!” – “Уважаемый Иван Иванович!”

Table 7.  Power distance: Salutation in the Russian letters (translations) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

“Dear Sirs!” “Dear Sirs!” – “DEAR PETR PETROVICH!” “Dear Ivan Ivanovich! – “Dear Sirs,” – “Dear Ivan Ivanovich” “Dear Ivan Ivanovich!” (handwritten) “Dear Sirs,” – – – “Dear Sirs!” – “Dear Ivan Ivanovich!”

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Uncertainty avoidance Form of command/request Table 8.  Uncertainty avoidance: Form of command/request in the American letters 1

2 3

4 5 6

7 8 9

10

11

12

13 14

15

“Please be sure to stop by ELLIS booth at the Iowa Language and Cultural Concerns Conference, February 20-21, 2002, in Des Moines, Iowa. []Come see what all the ELLIS excitement is about at the Iowa Conference or call Pam now for more information.” “When ordering, you may take advantage of quantity breaks.” “You can start an effective advertising program with our April/May 99, Gym & Indoor Facility Components issue of Athletic Management. To reserve your space, please call me at . . .” – [vague] “All that is left for you to do is to follow the instructions from page 30-35 in the enclosed manual” “To participate in the April 2002 ELPT school-based administration, please complete the Preregistration Order Form and return it by the following deadlines: Mail by February 15, 2002 OR Fax by February 22, 2002 to 609 000-0000” “If you are interested in learning more about Sound Relief, Please contact ABC” – [vague] “please use the enclosed special order form/price list. . . . In placing a telephone order, please call 1-800-000-0000 Monday through Friday between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. ET and mention this order form code: ME2ESL . . . please visit our website at www. cambridge.org/esl-efl . . . please contact your local representative” “Enclosed you will find our Gymnasium Cover Guard brochure and a brochure for our most popular Gym Divider Curtain model, the Fold-Up system. . . . If you are interested in our Cover Guard or possibly in our Gym Divider Curtain, please contact us direct at (515) 000-0000.” [vague] “Enclosed, please note the price listings for various standard sizes at the three common thickness. Included at the bottom of the page are items of choice included in the price. Extras are listed as additional cost items.” “Simply call us at 1-800-000-0000 to transfer high-rate credit, department store and other balances to your AT&T Universal credit card account. . . . Or, call us to request a personalized balance transfer check made out directly to you . . . you must respond by February 23, 2004.” “Please complete the enclosed document, have your signature notarized, and return the Fraud Information Form to us before 02/29/03.” [vague] “Luckily, Success Energy makes it easy to practice energy efficiency and participate in our cash incentive program for energy efficiency. . . . If you’d like additional details on how we can help, visit us on-line at www.xxx.com, or call our Efficiency Solutions Hotline at 1-800-000-0000.” “call the customer service number on the back of your card. Or manage your account anywhere, anytime with our Online Account Services at www.xxx.com.”



Different cultures – Different discourses?

Table 9.  Uncertainty avoidance: Form of command/request in the Russian letters (originals) 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11

12

13 14 15 16 17

– “Просим рассмотреть возможность применения нашей продукции на Вашем предприятии.” “По Вашему запросу вышлем имеюшиеся у нас лицензии на интересуюшие Вас виды деятельности.”[vague] – [vague] – “Просим Вас посетить выставку, познакомиться с нашей экспозицией и получить интересующую Вас информацию, касающейся нашей продукции и условий её поставки.” – [vague] – [vague] – “По вашему запросу Вам будет предоставлена подробная информация о нашей компании и о нашей работе.” ­– [vague] – “Будем рады в получении любых заказов на поставку оборудования от Вашего предприятия и гарантируем их оперативное и качественное выполнение. Надеемся на Ваш скорый ответ с указанием необходимого Вам оборудования.” [vague] – “В заключении предлагаем Вам просмотреть перечень поставляемой нами продукции: – задвижки стальные; задвижки нержавеющие; клапана (КОП, СППК и др.); фланцы; вентиля; электроприводы; крепеж . . .” – “Предлагаем Вам заключить договор на поставку химической продукции и стать одними из наших клиентов.” – “Просим сообщить реквизиты для заключения договора и предоставить календарный график поставок.” [vague] – “Информацию о нас и о нашей продукции можно найти на сайте  www.xxx.ru.”

111

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Table 10.   Uncertainty avoidance: Form of command/request in the Russian letters (translations) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12

13 14 15 16 17

– “We ask you to consider the possibility of using our produce at your factory.” “Upon your request we will provide copies of our licenses for the services you are interested in.”[vague] – [vague] – “We ask you to attend the exposition, look at our exhibit, and get the information you need about our produce and the shipment.” – [vague] – [vague] – “Upon your request detailed information about our company and our services will be provided.” ­– [vague] – “We will be glad if you place an order for the equipment supply and we guarantee fast and quality service. We hope to promptly receive your answer with an indication of the equipment you need.” [vague] – “ In conclusion, we suggest your looking through the list of the supplied items: valves taps [list of the supplied items of the equipment . . .]” – “We are offering you to sign a contract for chemicals’ supplies and become one of our clients.” – “We ask you to give specifications for signing the contract and to provide the schedule of supplies.” [vague] – “The information about us and our produce can be found  online at www.xxx.ru.”



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Placement of the thesis statement/purpose statement  (bottom-line of the message) Table 11.  Uncertainty avoidance: Placement of the thesis statement/purpose statement (bottom-line of the message) in the American letters 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8

9

10 11

12 13 14

1st paragraph, 3d sentence – “TEC will be working with CER to provide marketing and support to Iowa ESL/Bilingual Education customers” 1st paragraph, 2nd sentence – “Thank you for giving Modern Graphics the opportunity to quote on some of your printed material needs.” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “From our conversation, attached is the media kit for Athletic Management, and Coaching Management magazines.” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “As promised, enclosed is your copy of the inaugural issue of RECREATIONAL SPORTS & FITNESS” 1st paragraph, 2nd sentence – “All that is left for you is follow the instructions” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “The College Board will offer a two-hour version of the SAT II: ELPT (English Language Proficiency Test) in participating high schools on Tuesday, April 23, 2002.”; “Mail by February 15, 2002 OR Fax by February 22, 2002 to 609 000-0000” 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “ABC, Inc. has designed a solution to your gym echo and sound problems: Sound Relief Wall Pillows.” 1st paragraph, 2nd and 3rd sentences, 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “Following is information about the upcoming June/July issue which provides advertisers with additional exposure at the ABCDE Conference. Also enclosed is 2001 media kit information and sample of last year’s June/July issue. Additionally, I’ve enclosed information on our magazine, Coaching Management Baseball.” 1st paragraph, 1st two sentences – “Welcome to the 2001 Cambridge Books for Language Teachers catalog. In this catalog you will find a wide range of books covering all areas of language teaching . . .” 1st paragraph, 2nd sentence – “One way to keep that brand-new shine for as long as possible is to protect the floor with our Gymnasium Cover Guard.” [vague] – 1st paragraph, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th sentences – “Enclosed, please note the price listings for various standard sizes at the three common thickness. Included at the bottom of the page are items of choice included in the price. Extras are listed as additional cost items.” 1st paragraph, 2nd sentence – “Start saving with two great low Annual Percentage Rates (APRs) when you transfer balances to you’re AB&C Universal credit card account.” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “In connection with your recent dispute, we are enclosing an Affidavit and Fraud Information Form that will allow us to resolve your claim.” 2nd paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Success Energy makes it easy to practice energy efficiency and participate in our cash incentive programs for energy efficiency.”

15 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “You’ve earned a higher credit limit on your Country One card simply by handling your account responsibly.” Also, 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “Plus, because you’ve shown us you can manage your credit, we want to be sure and support your continued growth.”

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Table 12.  Uncertainty avoidance: Placement of the thesis statement/purpose statement (bottom-line of the message) in the Russian letters (originals) 1

1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “ОАО ‘Красилово крановый завод’ обращается к Вам с коммерческим предложением о взаимовыгодном сотрудничестве.” 2 2nd paragraph, the end of the 1st sentence – “Мы готовы предложить Вам уровнемерную продукцию выпускаемую нашим предприятием:” 3 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “В связи с началом договорной кампании на 2002 год приглашаем Вас к сотрудничеству с нашим предприятием.” 4 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “Предлагаем Вам сделать первый реальный шаг и провести экспресс-диагностику системы управления Вашего предприятия.” 5 [vague] – 2nd paragraph, 3rd (last) sentence and 3rd paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Предлагая Вашему вниманию эту книгу, надеемся, что она заинтересует Вас и будет полезна при разработке стратегии управления персоналом в Вашей Компании. Направляем Вам также информационный буклет о деятельности кафедры в новом учебном году и будем рады видеть Вас и Ваших коллег среди участников наших программ профессиональной переподготовки и повышения квалификации.” 6 2nd (last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Просим Вас посетить выставку, познакомиться с нашей экспозицией и получить интересующую Вас информацию, касающейся нашей продукции и условий её поставки.” 7 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Наше издательство предлагает вашему вниманию книгу Дениса Еврина “Добыча. Всемирная история борьбы за нефть, деньги и власть”, второе издание.” 8 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Фирма Алмаз предлагает Вам поставку лабораторной посуды из стекла, фарфора, кварца (прозрачного и не прозрачного), термометров технического и медицинского назначения, ареометров всех видов, предметных и покровных стёкол, фильтров мембранных и биологических любого назначения и щетинно-щёточные изделия, а также химреактивы (ХЧ.Ч.ЧДА).” , or/and 4th (last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Надеемся, что мы заинтересовали Вас своим предложением и будем рады сотрудничать с Вами.” 9 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Юридическая компания Ю. Носов и Партнёры предлагает Вам сотрудничество по работе в Федеральном арбитражном суде Поволжского округа.” 10 [very vague] – 6th paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Искренне рады сотрудничеству с Вами.” and/or 7th paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Пакет документов прилагается.” 11 6th paragraph, 1st and 2nd sentences – “Сегодня мы готовы предложить Вам поставки широкой номенклатуры промышленного оборудования. Перечень предлагаемого нами оборудования указан в Каталоге, который мы прилагаем к настоящему письму.” 12 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “ООО “Техношара” предлагает Вам профессиональные услуги по комплектации производственных объектов трубопроводной арматурой и соединительными деталями трубопроводов.”



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Table 12  (continued) 13 4th (the last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Исходя из вышесказанного, имеем возможность предложить взаимовыгодное сотрудничество и высылаем прайс-лист по состоянию склада в настоящий момент.” 14 7th (the last) paragraph, 2nd (the last) sentence – “Предлагаем Вам заключить договор на поставку химической продукции и стать одними из наших клиентов.” 15 [vague] 9th (the last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Надеемся на долговременное и взаимовыгодное сотрудничество!” 16 2nd (the last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “Просим сообщить реквизиты для заключения договора и предоставить календарный график поставок.” 17 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Обращаюсь к Вам с предложением о сотрудничестве.”

Table 13.  Uncertainty avoidance: Placement of the thesis statement/purpose statement (bottom-line of the message) in the Russian letters (translations) 1 2 3 4 5

6

7

8

9

1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Open Joint-Stock Company ‘Krasilovo Crane Factory’ is addressing you with a business proposal of the mutually beneficial partnership.” 2nd paragraph, the end of the 1st sentence – “We are ready to offer you the equipment that our factory produces:” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “In view of the beginning of the 2002 contract campaign we offer you cooperation with our enterprise.” 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “We offer you to make the first real step and conduct an express diagnosis of the management system at your company.” [vague] – 2nd paragraph, 3rd (last) sentence and 3rd paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “We offer this book for your attention and hope that it will be of interest for you and will be helpful for strategic development of human resources management in your company. We are sending you also an information booklet on the Department schedule for the new academic year and we will be happy to see you and your colleagues among the participants in our professional training programs.” 2nd (last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “We ask you to attend the exposition, look at our exhibit, and get the information you need about our products and the shipment.” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Our publishing house offers you the second edition of Dennis Evrin’s book ‘Exploitation: The World History of Fight for Oil, Money, and Power’.” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Company ‘Almaz’ offers you a supply of glassware made out of pyrex, porcelain, quartz (transparent and matte), technical and medical thermometers, areometers of all kinds, slides, all purpose membrane and biological filters, and chemicals (ChP. P. PFA).”, or/and 4th (last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “We hope that we made you interested in our offer and we will be glad to be your partners.” 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “Law company ‘U. Nosov and Partners’ offers you assistance in Povolzhsk Federal arbitration court procedures.”

116 Maria Loukianenko Wolfe

Table 13 (continued) 10 [very vague] – 6th paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “We are sincerely glad to cooperate with you.” and/or 7th paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “A set of the documents is enclosed.” 11 6th paragraph, 1st and 2nd sentences – “Today we can offer you a supply of broad range of industrial equipment. The list of the equipment we offer is in the Catalog which we enclose with this letter .” 12 2nd paragraph, 1st sentence – “Joint-Stock Company ‘Technoshara’ offers you professional services in supplying pipe steel frameworks and pipe joints to build up production sets.” 13 4th (the last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “ Due to the stated above, we have an opportunity to offer a mutually beneficial partnership, and are mailing a price-list in accordance with the present assortment in store.” 14 7th (the last) paragraph, 2nd (the last) sentence – “We offer you to sign a contract for chemicals’ supplies and become one of our clients.” 15 [vague] 9th (the last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “We hope for a long-term and mutually beneficial partnership!” 16 2nd (the last) paragraph, 1st (and only) sentence – “We ask you to give specifications for signing the contract and to provide the schedule of supplies.” 17 1st paragraph, 1st sentence – “I am addressing you with an offer of partnership.”



Different cultures – Different discourses? 117

Form of providing contact information (in the text of the letters) Table 14.  Uncertainty avoidance: Form of providing contact information (in the text of the letters) in the American letters 1

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15

“Pam can be reached at (866) 000-0000 or on the Internet at [email protected]. Pam will be contacting you in the near future to introduce herself and to offer assistance with implementing an ELLIS strategy.” – “please call me at 630-000-0000 ex 00, or I will be in contact after you have had time to review the media kit.” – “If you have any questions about your account, please feel free to call our technical support number at 233-0000.” “If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us by phone (609 000-0000), fax (609 000-0000), or e-mail ([email protected]).” “please contact ABC, Inc. at 515-000-0000. You can also find us on the web at www.xxx. com.” – “In placing a telephone order, please call 1-800-000-0000 Monday through Friday between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. ET and mention this order form code: ME2ESL . . . please visit our website at www.cambridge.org/esl-efl . . . please contact your local representative (see enclosed)” “If you are interested in our Cover Guard or possibly in our Gym Divider Curtain, please contact us direct at (515) 000-0000.” – “Simply call us at 1-800-000-0000 to transfer high-rate credit card. . . . Call us anytime tollfree at 1-800-000-0000 to take advantage of these two great low rates” “[signature, title] Phone: (800) 000-0000, ext. 000-0000 Fax: (800) 000-0000” “If you’d like additional details on how we can help, visit us online at www.xxx.com, or call our Efficiency Solution Hotline at 1-800-000-0000.” “call the customer service number on the back of your card. Or manage your account anywhere, anytime with our Online Account Services at www.xxx.com.”

118 Maria Loukianenko Wolfe

Table 15.  Uncertainty avoidance: Form of providing contact information (in the text of the letters) in the Russian letters (originals) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

– – – “Готовы предоставить дополнительную информацию. Наши телефоны (095) 00000-00, -00.” – – – – “Наш адрес 420049, Казань, ул. Черри, дом 0. Звоните (8432) 00-00-00.” “Наши реквизиты указаны в верхней части страницы.” – – – “Тел/факс (8432) 00-00-00, 8-9033-000000.” – – “Информацию о нас и нашей продукции можно найти на сайте www.xxx.ru. С уважением, [signature] e-mail: [email protected].”

Table 16.  Uncertainty avoidance: Form of providing contact information (in the text of the letters) in the Russian letters (translations) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

– – – “We are ready to provide additional information. Our telephones are (095) 000-00-00, -00.” – – – – “Our address: 420049, Kazan City, Cherry Street, 0. Call us at: (8432) 00-00-00.” “Our contact information is given at the top of the page.” – – – “Telephone/Fax (8432) 00-00-00, 8-0000-000000.” – – “The information about us and our products can be found online at www.xxx.ru. Yours faithfully, [signature] e-mail: [email protected].”



Different cultures – Different discourses? 119

Individualism/collectivism Form of reference to self Table 17.   Individualism/collectivism: Form of reference to self in the American letters 1 2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

“X . . . Y . . . Z . . . continually strives . . .”; “XYZ will, of course, continue to answer . . .” “I enjoyed our visit”; “Thank you for giving Modern Graphics the opportunity to quote . . .”; “I have used a smaller size . . .”; “ please give me a call” “Athletic Management is targeted”; “Our editorial is in tune with the market. Athletic Management keeps readers informed . . .”; “We provide you . . .”; “We send you . . .”; “please call me at 630-000-0000 ex 00, or I will be in contact . . .” “I’ll call you soon . . . please give me a call.” “I have also enclosed” “After we receive your form, we will send you”; “We look forward to your school’s participation”; “please contact us” “ABC, Inc. has designed a solution . . .”; “please contact ABC, Inc.”; “find us on the web”; “We look forward to hearing from you!” ““I’ve enclosed information”; ““we list all companies”; “we’ll distribute product literature”; “I will call you to follow-up”; “please contact me.” “we are delighted”; “we’re offering”; “we accept”; “We are committed”; “We wish you” “We at A.B.C., Inc.”; “we have an established . . . network”; “please contact us” “contact us” “we want”; “call us”; “Call us anytime” “we are enclosing”; “will allow us”; “return . . . to us”; please contact us” “We’ve included”; “We can have”; “we’ll either give you”; “how we can help”; “visit us online” “you’ve shown us”; “we want to be sure”; “we’ll periodically review”

Table 18.  Individualism/collectivism: Form of reference to self in the Russian letters (originals) 1

2 3

4 5

“ОАО ‘Красилово крановый завод’ обращается к Вам”; “направляем Вам” – “nosubject” sentence, plural; “надеемся, что наше сотрудничество” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “Коллектив ОАО ‘Красилово крановый завод’” “ОАО ‘Завод НОВОРУСДЕТАЛЬ’”; “Мы готовы предложить”; “просим рассмотреть” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “приглашаем Вас к сотрудничеству”, “предлагаем Вашему вниманию”, “обращаем Ваше внимание”, “вышлем имеющиеся у нас” – all “no-subject” sentences, plural; “работ выполняемых ЗАО САМАРАТЕХНОМОНТАЖ” “Предлагаем Вам сделать”; “Предлагаем выдержки из отзывов”; “Готовы предоставить” – all “no-subject” sentences, plural; “обработка анкет проводится нами” “Поздравляем Вас”; “Позвольте пожелать”; – all “no-subject” sentences, plural; “Нам приятно сообщить”; “мы выпустили новую книгу”; “Предлагая Вашему вниманию эту книгу, мы надеемся, что она заинтересует Вас”; “Направляем Вам также . . . и будем рады видеть” – “no-subject” sentence, plural

120 Maria Loukianenko Wolfe

Table 18.  (continued) 6 7 8 9

10 11

12

13 14

15

“наше предприятие” “Наше издательство”; “Надеемся, что эта книга” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “ООО “Издательство ‘ДеНаш’” – instead of the signature “Фирма “Алмаз” предлагает Вам”; “Фирма “Алмаз” имеет многолетний опыт”; “Надеемся, что мы заинтересовали Вас . . . и будем рады сотрудничать” “Юридическая компания ‘Ю. Носов и Партнёры’ предлагает Вам”; “Мы специализируемся”; “нами были накоплены”; “которые мы и предлагаем”; “мы с удовольствием окажем Вам содействие”; “нами накоплена хорошая практика”; “Обращайтесь к нам”; “Будем рады видеть Вас” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “Искренне рады сотрудничеству с Вами.” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “Наша компания”; “коллектив наших специалистов”; “Мы выбираем”; “мы пытаемся создать”; “мы готовы предложить”; “предлагаемого нами оборудования”; “мы прилагаем”; “Вы можете рассчитывать на нас”; “Мы гарантируем”; “Будем рады . . . и гарантируем”; “Надеемся” – the last two – “no-subject” sentences, plural “ООО “Техношара” является”; “Мы работаем”; “ООО “Техношара” предлагает”; “Мы готовы рассмотреть”; “предлагаем Вам” – the last one – “no-subject” sentence, plural “ООО ‘ТПС’”; “мы оставляем цены”; “имеем возможность предложить . . . и высылаем” – the last one – “no-subject” sentence, plural “ООО “Экшн” предлагает”; “предлагаем продукцию” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “ООО “Экшн” отдает предпочтение”; “предлагаем Вам”; “Надеемся” – the last two – “no-subject” sentences, plural “Наше предприятие”; “Мы производим”; “Наши специалисты”; “используем гибкую систему скидок”; “Отгрузку продукции осуществляем”; “Надеемся” – the last three – “no-subject” sentences, plural

16 “Наша организация”; “просим Вас сообщить” – the last one – “no-subject” sentence, plural 17 “Обращаюсь к Вам”; “Мне известно”; “Смею заверить Вас” – “no-subject” sentences, singular (“I”); “мы констатируем факт”; “Мы . . . торгуем”; “Уверен, что, . . . и по этому предлагаю” – “no-subject” sentence, singular (“I”); “Мы ориентируемся”; “Наша Фабрика”; “Информацию о нас”



Different cultures – Different discourses? 121

Table 19.   Individualism/collectivism: Form of reference to self in the Russian letters (translations) 1

2 3

4 5

6 7 8 9

10 11

12

13 14 15 16 17

“Open Joint-Stock Company ‘Krasilovo Crane Factory’ is addressing you”; “are sending you” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “hope that our partnership” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “The Open Joint-Stock Company ‘Krasilovo Crane Factory’ staff ” “Open Joint-Stock Company ‘NOVORUSDETAL Factory’”; “We are ready to offer”; “ask you to consider” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “offer you cooperation”, “offer for your attention”, “address your attention”, “provide copies of our licenses” – all “no-subject” sentences, plural; “services provided by JointStock Company ‘SAMARATECHNOMONTAZH’” “offer you to make”; “offer you to refer to the feedback”; “are ready to provide” – all “nosubject” sentences, plural; “data analysis takes us a week” “congratulate You”; “Let us wish”; – all “no-subject” sentences, plural; “We are happy to announce”; “we have published a new book”; “We offer this book for your attention and hope that it will be of interest for you”; “are sending you also . . . and will be happy to see” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “our company” “Our publishing house”; “hope that this book” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “‘DeNash’ Publishing House’ Ltd.” – instead of the signature “Company ‘Almaz’ offers you”; “Company ‘Almaz’ has been partners for many years”; “We hope that we made you interested . . . and we will be glad to be your partners.” “Law company ‘U. Nosov and Partners’ offers you”; “We specialize”; “we have accumulated”; “which we offer”; “we will be glad to assist you”; “we have a record of success”; “Address us”; “will be glad to see you” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “are sincerely glad to cooperate with you.” – “no-subject” sentence, plural “Our company”; “Our highly professional staff ”; “We choose”; “we try to create”; “we can offer”; “the equipment we offer”; “we enclose”; “you can count on us”; “We guarantee”; “will be glad . . . and guarantee”; “hope” – the last two – “no-subject” sentences, plural “Joint-Stock Company ‘Technoshara’ is”; “We work”; “Joint-Stock Company ‘Technoshara’ offers”; “We are ready to consider”; “suggest your looking” – the last one – “no-subject” sentence, plural “‘TPS’ Ltd.”; “we make the prices”; “have an opportunity to offer . . . and are mailing” – the last one – “no-subject” sentence, plural “‘Action’ Ltd. offers”; “offer the produce” – “no-subject” sentence, plural; “‘Action’ Ltd. prefers”; “offer you”; “Hope” – the last two – “no-subject” sentences, plural “Our company”; “We produce”; “Our specialists; “use flexible discount system”; “Provide the product shipment”; “Hope” – the last three – “no-subject” sentences, plural “Our organization”; “Ask you to give” – the last one – “no-subject” sentence, plural “Am addressing you”; “Am aware of ”; “Let me assure you” – “no-subject” sentences, singular (“I”); “we state the fact”; “We . . . sell”; “Am sure that, . . . and thus am offering” – “no-subject” sentence, singular (“I”); “We focus”; “Our Factory”; “The information about us”

Spanish-language newspaper editorials from Mexico, Spain, and the U.S. Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo Ball State University / Loyola Marymount University

The study examines discourse patterns among various Spanish-speaking regions within one single genre of newspaper editorials, as compared to English language editorials. It focuses on the varieties of Spanish used by Latino communities in the United States as represented by El Diario (New York) and La Opinión (Los Angeles) and compares the findings with previous studies on the genre from newspapers such as The New York Times, El País (Madrid), and El Universal (Mexico). Rhetorical and stylistic features such as sentence and paragraph length and complexity, editorial titles, placement of the main topic and the use of attribution to sources as a device of argumentation were analyzed. The results demonstrate regional differences among various Spanish-speaking countries, and between the two Spanish-speaking areas in the U.S.

Introduction Decades of research in contrastive rhetoric have provided scholars, teachers, and students with useful insights to understanding the forms, contents, and contexts that shape different types of texts across a variety of cultures. Cross-cultural discourse studies of common text types such as newspaper genres, business letters, student compositions, research articles, and job interviews can be beneficial for students and global professionals as they learn about the users and uses of these genres within the context of the target culture (Andersson & Gunnarsson 1993; Bhatia 1993; Connor 1996; Jenkins & Hinds 1987; Lai & Wong 2000; Mauranen 1992; Pak 1997; Tirkkonen-Condit & Lieflander-Koistinen 1989). In the case of Spanish-speaking cultures, much of earlier research, which was principally driven by pedagogical interests in ESL contexts, has focused on the genre of student compositions comparing discourse patterns between Spanish and English (Bar-Lev 1986; Carlson 1988; Lux 1991; Montaño-Harmon 1991; Ostler 1988; Reid 1988; Santana-Seda 1975; Scarcella 1984; Vasques-Ayora 1977). These studies identified

124 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

general discourse patterns in the texts written by Spanish speakers as being more abstract, having longer sentences with elaborate constructions, and having longer and digressive introductions. However, the diversity within Spanish-speaking communities has not been given much attention. Because the texts were compared based on language groups (i.e. English vs. Spanish), there is relatively little non-anecdotal information on how different groups of Spanish-speaking cultures organize their texts. Even within the growing number of recent studies on other genres such as those related to academic research articles (Burgess 2002; MartínMartín 2002; Martín-Martín & Burgess 2004; Moreno 1997) the cross-cultural analysis has been based on language groups. Spanish is the official language of twenty countries plus the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico and is also spoken as the first or second language in immigrant communities in diverse European countries, in Canada, in the United States, as well as in Guam (Azevedo 2005: 1). Considering the variety of groups that share the Spanish language, it may be difficult to identify general rhetorical tendencies that describe the Spanish norm of writing even within one genre. Indeed, in the case of English, Kachru (1995) points to numerous varieties of English that exist in different parts of the world and rejects the assumption that “there is a native English norm of writing which is clearly identifiable” (p. 172). The aim of the present study is to examine discourse patterns among various Spanish-speaking regions within the single genre of newspaper editorials. In particular, the study focuses on the varieties of Spanish used by the immigrant communities in the United States as represented by El Diario (from New York City) and La Opinión (from Los Angeles) and compares the findings with those presented in previous studies on newspaper editorials from Mexico and Spain (Pak 1996, 1997, 2000). By analyzing a number of rhetorical and stylistic features such as sentence and paragraph length, sentence and paragraph complexity, editorial titles, placement of the main topic and the use of attribution to sources as a device of argumentation, the present research highlights regional differences not only among various Spanish-speaking countries but also between two Spanishspeaking areas in the United States. In order to fulfill particular communicative purposes, each newspaper employs a set of distinctive discourse features that sets it apart from the others. Newspaper editorials were selected because they constitute a useful and reliable set of data for conducting cross-cultural discourse analysis. First, editorial style is known to be less contaminated by the effects of translation from foreign sources than that which may occur in news reports. It does not provide straightforward information, but rather presents soft news (i.e., analysis of news). Second, because editorials play a vital role for the newspaper, they are written by experienced professionals, and the editorial is considered to be among the most pres-



Spanish-language newspaper editorials from Mexico 125

tigious forms and polished text types in the newspaper (de Miguel 1982; Gunesekera 1989; Harriss, Leiter, & Johnson 1992; Hulteng 1973; Hynds 1984; Love & Morrison 1989). The Spanish language editorials in this study are written by native speakers of Spanish highly trained in their respective countries. Third, they are highly valued texts that are not literary texts but carefully crafted discourses representative of both the political and ideological attitudes of the newspaper and their regional and national background (van Dijk 1988). The editorial, at least in a major newspaper, typically represents the metropolitan values of a society. In this respect, editorials of different cultures constitute useful opinion sources for obtaining cross-cultural perspectives for language students, teachers, and global professionals.

Data Thirty recent newspaper editorials from El Diario/La Prensa (New York) and another thirty from La Opinión (Los Angeles) were analyzed and their findings compared with previous Contrastive Rhetoric studies on the genre from newspapers such as The New York Times, El País (Madrid), and El Universal (Mexico City) (Pak 1996, 1997, 2000). The editorials from El Diario were randomly selected during February to May of 2004. The samples from La Opinión are those randomly selected from February to June of 1999. The data from El País, El Universal, and The New York Times (a total of 90 editorials) are from the month of June 1994. The comparability of topics was not a criterion considered in the data selection for a number of reasons. First, the aim of the current study is to compare the findings with previous cross-cultural analysis of newspaper editorials that were already selected from the past. Second, because each newspaper often focused on topics of regional interests, selection of comparable topics created difficulty in obtaining the quantity of editorials desired (thirty editorials from each representative newspaper). Third, the random selection process allowed the researchers to see, in a beneficial way, which topics were of the most importance to the Spanish-speaking communities in each region as represented by the selected newspapers. The newspapers were selected based on the quality and the circulation size. The Spanish language newspapers in the U.S. are regional papers that target Latino populations in specific areas. Although El Diario (New York) and La Opinión (Los Angeles) are of much smaller circulation size than the national newspapers such as El País (Madrid) and El Universal (Mexico City), the two former newspapers are considered the oldest and most well-respected Spanish-language dailies in the U.S., serving as leading advocates for the Latino community (Hernandez 2004). El Diario is widely circulated in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.

126 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

La Opinión is widely circulated in California and Nevada. Information on editorials of The New York Times is included for points of comparison.

Background information on the newspapers In order to conduct any kind of text analysis at the level of discourse, it is essential to consider the contextual environment in which the text type being analyzed is embedded. Recent discourse analysts have focused not only on forms but also functions within a particular context. For example, Swales (1990) offers a functional view of genres by focusing on their communicative purposes and highlighting the relationship of texts to their uses and users. He defines genres as communicative events that fulfill some kind of communicative purpose. Thus he claims that the communicative purpose shapes the “schematic structure of the discourse and influences and constrains the choice of content and style” (p. 58). To explore the context of the editorials, telephone interviews were conducted with the chief officer of the opinion page of each newspaper. A list of questions was provided to the interviewees in advance, and the interviews lasted between 10 to 30 minutes depending on the time allocated by the interviewees (see Appendix A for the list of questions). The interview findings suggest that the perceived purpose of the editorials, the reader profile, the writing process, and the stylistic features of each newspaper vary. The editorials of all newspapers are persuasive and evaluative in nature, but the perceived functions differ slightly. While El Diario and The New York Times strongly emphasize the argumentative nature of editorials (i.e., clear presentation of the position of the paper), the Spanish language newspapers from Los Angeles, Madrid, and Mexico City hold that the explanatory and informative functions of the editorials are as important as the argumentative function of presenting the paper’s position. In fact, La Opinión, El País, and El Universal have many more editorials in the sample analyzed that explain the situation rather than argue for a particular stance on issues. Table 1 summarizes the interview findings on the perceived function of the editorials. The difference in the function of the editorial genre has also been noted in past cross-cultural studies. For example, Tirkkonen-Condit and Liefländer-Koistinen (1989) compared editorials from The Observer (Britain), Frankfurter Rundschauter (Germany), and Helsingin Sanomat (Finland) and note that while the chief thrust . The interviewees are Ms. Everlyn Hernández, the Opinion Page Editor of El Diario; Mr. Gerardo López, the general editor of La Opinión; Steven Wismen, a member of the Editorial Board for The New York Times; Mr. Hermann Tertsch, the “Subdirector de Opinión” of El País; and Mr. Alfonso Maya Nava, the “subdirector editorial” of El Universal.



Spanish-language newspaper editorials from Mexico 127

Table 1. Function/purpose of the editorials Newspaper

Function

El Diario/La Prensa  (New York) La Opinión (Los Angeles)

To signal issues of importance; to set agenda city- and statewide; to let the readers know the newspaper’s position. To inform about relevant issues for the community; to provide a voice for the readers. To inform and persuade about the paper’s point of view; to help the reader to decide what to think. To frame and explain current issues. To guide the readers and help them navigate through the chaotic realm of information.

The New York Times El País (Madrid) El Universal (Mexico City)

of English and German editorials is to argue for an opinion, the main function of Finnish editorials appeared to be to provide readers with background material upon which they can form their own opinion. They conclude that “argumentation can be seen as a potentially face-threatening activity, and it may be that in Finland the necessity to come to the ‘point’ early and in a manner which makes the thesis knowable to the addressee is sacrificed to politeness, i.e., to neutrality and delay in the expression of the thesis” (p. 180). Andersson and Gunnarsson (1993) have also conducted contrastive analysis between Swedish and German editorials in order to examine whether a unique Swedish editorial pattern exists and whether this is related to characteristic traits of Swedish culture. They conclude that while the German editorials were principally argumentative with a “thesis-argumentation-conclusion-(recommendation)” pattern, the Swedish editorials appeared to show “how things are”; that is, the Swedish editorials tend to be more informative in nature than argumentative. In this respect, the principal function of a named genre in different cultures may not be the same. For some cultures, editorials are typically used to state an argument for the newspaper’s position while for others they are more often used to explain events and to allow the readers to take their own stance on the issues discussed. However, the findings from these studies are limited to cultures that are represented by different language groups and do not provide any information about different cultures that share the same language as the users of the genre. The interview findings of the present study also reveal that the newspapers address different audiences – the small elite group of Spanish and Mexican editorial readers vs. the larger diverse group of editorial readers in the U.S. La Opinión, El País, and El Universal claim to target more sophisticated and influential readers, while El Diario and The New York Times are more inclusive in their approach to readers. In this sense, the differences in the perceived functions and readership are likely to affect the nature of the editorial discourse used in these newspapers.

128 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

Table 2.  Readership and stylistic concerns of the editorials Newspaper

Readership

Stylistic Concerns

El Diario/La Prensa Mainstream folks in the news Be concise and accessible to an av(New York) media; decision-makers in the erage reader; provide bilingual versions to meet the demands community at the grassroots of a wider readership. level or elected official level Well-educated and informed La Opinión  Be clear, concise, and direct; use (Los Angeles) readers; members of heteroquality language. geneous Latino community; state and local authorities The New York Times Both the general public and spe- Be clear and positional; use vocabulary accessible to the general cialists in various fields public. Elite and well-informed group of Be concise; show respect for indiEl País (Madrid) viduals; use quality language. readers such as professionals, decision-makers, and government officials An influential group of people Be brief; use highly elevated  El Universal  language. (Mexico City) such as politicians and other decision-makers

In fact, El Diario and The New York Times stress the accessibility of the language to general readers. Meanwhile, La Opinión, El País, and El Universal emphasize the quality aspect of the language (i.e., elevated style). Table 2 summarizes the interview findings related to the perceived readership and stylistic concerns.

Quantitative and stylistic analysis of editorials Editorial, paragraph, and sentence length El Diario has the shortest editorial length, with an average of 335 words per editorial, while the editorials from Spain and Mexico have the longest, with 544 and 547 words, respectively. However, editorial length may be determined by factors such as the particular layout format dictated by each newspaper. For example, the editor of the opinion page of El Diario states that the newspaper attempts to keep its editorials short, to about an average of 315 words, in order to maintain space for both Spanish and English versions. Table 3 summarizes the quantitative figures for the editorial, paragraph, and sentence length. Along with The New York Times, El Diario has the shortest paragraph length in terms of the number of words, while El País and El Universal have the longest paragraphs. With regard to sentence length, the Mexican editorials produced the



Spanish-language newspaper editorials from Mexico 129

Table 3.  Editorial, paragraph and sentence length Average

El Diario/ La Opinión The New York El País El Universal La Prensa (Los Angles) Times (Madrid) (Mexico City) (New York)

Words per Editorial Words per paragraph Words per sentence Sentences per paragrah Paragraphs per Editorial

335 49 26 1.9 6.9

449 72 26 2.8 6.2

447 61 20 3 7.3

544 110 27 4 4.9

547 85 39 2.2 6.4

longest sentences, with an average of 39 words per sentence. The editorials of the U.S. newspapers in the sample have shorter sentences: 26 words per sentence for El Diario and La Opinión, and 20 words per sentence for The New York Times. In general, this finding appears to be in line with the claim that sentences written by native speakers of Spanish tend to be longer than those written by native speakers of English (Lux 1991; Ostler 1988; Reid 1988; Santana-Seda 1975; Secanella 1981; Vasques-Ayora 1977). However, the figures for average sentence length among the five newspapers cannot be viewed as English short sentences versus Spanish long sentences. The difference in the sentence length among the various Spanish-speaking regions is also significant. If the figure for the Mexican newspaper stands at one end of the spectrum and the figure for the English-language American newspaper stands at the other, then El Diario, La Opinión, and El País fall somewhere in the middle but closer to The New York Times.

Number of sentences in a paragraph In their study of academic essays written by college students, Santana-Seda (1977) and Ostler (1988) note that paragraphs written by Spanish speakers tend to contain fewer sentences. They found a high percentage of one- and two-sentence paragraphs written by native speakers of Spanish, whereas this appears to be rare in English. In the genre of newspaper editorials, however, the results appear to be mixed as can be seen in Table 4. While the majority of paragraphs in El Diario and El Universal consist of one or two sentences, the majority of paragraphs in El País, La Opinión, and The New York Times have three or more sentences. Although El Diario employs the greatest number of one-sentence paragraphs, its paragraphs are very short in comparison to the other newspapers. El País has the greatest number of sentences in its paragraphs. In this respect, the Spanish-language newspapers from New York and Madrid present two extremes in the sample. Thus, paragraphs written by native speakers of Spanish, at least for the genre of newspaper editorials in the sample,

130 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

Table 4.  Paragraph size in terms of the number of sentences Sentences per Paragraph

El Diario/ La Opinión The New York El País La Prensa (Los Angeles) Times (Madrid) (New York)

El Universal (Mexico City)

1-Sentence  Paragraphs 2-Sentence  Paragraphs 3-Sentence  Paragraphs 4 or MoreSentence Paragrahs

49.8%

9.1%

5.5%

2%

37.8%

28%

26%

26.4%

5.4%

26.4%

13%

29%

32.6%

29.7%

17.1%

9.2%

35.9%

35.5%

62.7%

18.7%

do not necessarily use fewer sentences than those written by native speakers of English.

Sentence type Secanella (1981) and de Miguel (1982) note that opinion articles in Spanish newspapers tend to produce long sentences. In order to further investigate the complexity of sentence construction, the number of subordinations (i.e., the number of dependent clauses) in a sentence was examined. Table 5 presents the percentage of sentence types in the sample editorials of each newspaper. The majority of sentences in The New York Times editorials are simple (52.6%). The English-language newspaper tends to avoid long sentences with more than two subordinations. Sentences with three or more subordinations constitute less than 2% of total sentence types. Editorials written in Spanish, by comparison, are more tolerant of long sentences with numerous subordinate clauses. Nevertheless, there are different patterns among the various Spanish newspapers in the sample. The Spanish-language newspapers in the U.S. prefer a simpler sentence structure; they employ a smaller number of sentences with multiple subordinations than do the newspapers from Spain and Mexico. Furthermore, in examples of sentences with more complex structures, El Diario tends to employ subordinations that are shorter in length than those in other Spanish-language editorials. As an example, the following sentence from El Diario is 37 words long and uses four subordinate clauses: La gente que vive cerca de negocios de comida y/o bebida dicen que la bulla ha aumentado desde que se prohibió fumar en estos lugares, porque ahora la gente sale a las calles a fumar y conversar.



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Table 5.  Sentence type Sentence Type

El Diario/ La Prensa

La Opinión The New El País York Times

El Universal

Simple With 1 Subordination With 2 Subordinations With 3 Subordinations With 4 or More  Subordinations

40.9% 37.1% 14.6% 4.6% 2.8%

46.2% 31.0% 14.1% 6.2% 2.5%

21.3% 26.9% 24.0% 16.8% 11.0%

52.6% 33.2% 12.5% 1.2% 0.5%

39.7% 36.5% 17.9% 5.3% 5.6%

[People who live near eating and drinking establishments say the noise has gotten worse since the city initiated the smoking ban in restaurants, because now people stand out on the sidewalks, smoking and talking.]  (“Una ciudad a todo volumen,” March 8, 2004, El Diario)

The Mexican editorials in the sample, however, prefer longer, more complex sentence structure, at times allowing up to eight subordinations as in the following example of a 105-word sentence: Esta preocupación se hizo presente ayer entre los hombres de negocios que se reunieron en el Salon del Empresario en México con motivo de la introducción en él de Raúl Bailleres Chávez, junto con Adolfo Autrey, Manuel Clouthier del Rincón y Salvador Chávez, al señalarse que el EZLN sigue siendo una bomba de tiempo que puede ser peligrosa si es usada por quienes pretenden desestabilizar al país, y que las negociaciones deben continuar hasta lograrse la paz, aunque no descartaron su apoyo al gobierno en el caso de que las conversaciones fracasen y eventualmente se tengan que emplear otros recursos para someter a los rebeldes. [This concern became apparent yesterday among the business men who met in the Salon del Empresario in Mexico with the purpose of introducing in it (the Salon) Raúl Bailleres Chávez, together with Adolfo Autrey, Manuel Clouthier del Rincón and Salvador Chávez upon indicating that the EZLN continues to be a time bomb that can be dangerous if it is used by those who try to destabilize the nation, and that the negotiations must continue until the peace is achieved although they did not discard their support of the government in the event that the conversations fail and that possibly other resources have to be used in order to force the rebels to yield.]  (“Inteligencia y diálogo con EZLN,” June 11, 1994, El Universal)

Although these samples represent one of the more extreme examples, the fact that the Mexican editorials allow more than 27% of sentences to have three or more subordinations is an indication that El Universal favors an elaborate and complex sentence style for their editorials to address its highly influential and educated read-

132 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

ers. In fact, Secanella (1981) claims that sentences that exceed thirty to thirty-five words are not comprehensible for an average Spanish newspaper reader (p. 76). In summary, The New York Times employs the greatest number of simple sentences, and El Universal uses the greatest number of complex sentences. The Spanish-language newspaper editorials appear to allow more subordinations than the English-language editorials in the sample. However, the two Spanish-language newspapers from the U.S. use shorter sentences with less subordination than the varieties from Mexico and Spain.

Editorial titles All editorials have titles; however, there are stylistic differences among the editorials. The titles in newspapers from the U.S. and Mexico tend to be more informative; they often summarize the content of the editorials, which reflect the main topic and the position of the newspaper. El Diario and The New York Times appear to be more argumentative, using more forceful and direct language (e.g., commands, obligation modals such as “must” and “should,” and clear identification of the agents involved). La Opinión and El Universal employ more descriptive language and take a softer stance without specifying responsible parties. These variations are in line with interview results concerning the perceived functions of the editorials for each newspaper; that is, the informative function is given as much importance as the argumentative function, especially for La Opinión and El Universal. Table 6 provides examples of the titles in the corpus. The titles in El País are shorter and often do not reveal as much information regarding the content of the editorial as those in the other newspapers. This may be because the editorials from Spain presume greater background knowledge on the part of the readers (i.e., the title may provide hints to only the “insiders,” or the titles have functions – for example, to grab the readers’ interest). At this stage of analysis, however, given the limited sample size, it may not be possible to generalize on the explicit vs. implicit nature of the titles among the editorials. The style of editorial titles is also in line with patterns of recommendation language found in the different newspapers. For example, El Diario and The New York Times often take a more direct approach to argumentation, typically by identifying specific actors and using explicit language (i.e., ample use of obligation modals and commands): Los funcionarios municpales de Freehold deben olvidar las artimañas pretendidamente legalistas y dar ejemplo de acatamiento de lo ordenado por la jueza. [The Freehold city officials need to stop playing games and obey the judicial man(“Jornaleros tienen derecho a congregarse,” March 23, 2004, El Diario) date.]



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Table 6.  Sample editorial titles in the newspapers Newspaper El Diario

Editorial Title • • • • •

La Opinión

• • • • • The New York Times • • • • • El País • • • • • El Universal • • • • •

Venezuela: dejad que el pueblo decida (Let the people of Venezuela decide) Ni una muerta más en Juárez, México (No more death in Juarez), Asegúrese el sistema escolar lo escuche (Make sure the school system is listening) Latinos deben luchar contra la SIDA (Latinos must fight against AIDS) Mentir es erróneo y a veces illegal (Lying is wrong and illegal at times) Relegados por Hollywood (Neglected by Hollywood) El cuidado con los medicamentos (How to take medications) Cumbre sobre violencia juvenil (Summit on juvenile violence) Ayuda a Centroamérica (Aid to Centroamerica) ¡Adiós Pescador Osuna! (Farewell to Pescador Osuna) Bad Choices for the School Board The Harm in Family Welfare Caps A Budget: Delayed and Deficient A Strike Wisely Ended AIDS Babies Deserve Testing La mejor hipótesis (The best hypothesis) Negociación incierta (Uncertain negotiations) Un acuerdo endeble (A fragile agreement) Uno contra once (One against eleven) Preso y abogado (Prisoner and lawyer) Los mexicanos exigen la verdad (Mexicans demand the truth) Desarrollo iberoamericano (Iberoamerican development) Un gobierno con vision de futuro (A government with a vision) El diálogo, clave para la paz (Dialogue is key to peace) Retos y rezagos de la OEA (OEA’s challenges and backlogs)

U.S. ratification will help stigmatize chemical arms and deter states from acquiring them. The Senate’s duty seems clear.  (“Ratify the Chemical Arms Ban,” June 29, 1994, The New York Times)

However, given the importance placed on the explicative function of their editorials, La Opinión, El País, and El Universal appear to show a pattern of implicit style by making recommendations that are more general and global in nature and exhibit a less aggressive character in comparison to the two newspapers from New York. The following are examples of implicit recommendations made by La Opinión, El País, and El Universal:

134 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

El debate sobre el tema esta abierto y no hay que permitir que se cierre de vuelto. Lo cierto es que en este asunto, todos estamos en el mismo barco. No hay que permitir que se hunda. [The debate over this topic is open and we should not allow it to close. What is for certain is that in this matter, we are all in the same boat. We should not allow it to sink.] (“Cuidado con los medicamentos,” May 11, 1999, La Opinión) ...la mayor parte de la sociedad es partidaria de una paz pronta y digna, donde quepan todos los intereses en disputa y donde se diseñe un nuevo esquema de convivencia nacional. [The majority of society is in favor of a quick and worthy peace where all the concerns in dispute fit in and where a new scheme/plan of national coexistence is designed.] (“Necesario retorno a negociaciones,” June 25, 1994, El Universal) No parece ocioso, aunque el reglamento no lo diga, que ese informe se presente al Parlamento y éste sepa si el recién nacido estatuto se ha convertido en una norma de vida o ha quedado en un catálogo de buenas intenciones. [It does not seem pointless, even though the regulation does not say it, that such report be presented before the Parliament and this would let us know if the recently born statute has been converted into a norm for life or has remained in a catalogue of good intentions.]  (“Los derechos de los quintos,” June 27, 1994, El País)

Placement of the main topic Past studies that compare rhetorical patterns of student essays written by native speakers of English and Spanish have noted that Spanish texts tend to have longer introductions and avoid introducing the topic directly (Bar-Lev 1986; Ostler 1988; Scarcella 1984). That is, while texts written by native speakers of English introduce the topic immediately, texts written by native speakers of Spanish delay the presentation of the topic. The main topic is defined as the central topic or issue discussed in the editorial and is differentiated from the main thesis, which is an explicit statement that summarizes the position of the newspaper on the main topic. Since many editorials in the corpus have an informative function instead of an argumentative function in that they present and discuss important issues without necessarily taking a stance, the analysis of the position of the main thesis is omitted in this study. The editorials in the corpus were assigned to three classifications: the main topic presented (1) within the first sentence of the editorials, (2) within the first paragraph, and (3) after the first paragraph. If the topic was mentioned in the first paragraph and this contained only one short sentence, then the editorial was classified in the first category. However, if the first paragraph contained one long sen-



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Table 7.  Placement of the main topic Placement of Main Topic Newspaper

Total # of (within the editorials first sentence)

(within the first paragraph)

(after the first paragraph)

El Diario La Opinión The New York Times El País El Universal

30 30 30 30 30

6 9 16 18 9

6 0 0 3 0

18 21 14 9 21

tence with many preparatory phrases before the introduction of the main topic, then the second category was assigned. The results are shown in Table 7. Almost all of the editorials introduce their main topic within the first sentence or the first paragraph – that is, at the beginning of the editorial. Although El Diario appears to have a number of editorials that present the main topic after the first paragraph, this cannot be interpreted as delayed introduction of the topic. The editorials in this newspaper have the shortest paragraph length, with an average of just 49 words per paragraph in comparison to 72 (La Opinión), 61 (The New York Times), 110 (El País), and 85 (El Universal) words per paragraph for the others. With the exception of the editorials from Spain, the Spanish-language newspapers in the corpus do not delay introducing the main topic.

Use of attribution of sources As evaluative texts that try to inform and convince their readers, newspaper editorials employ devices of argumentation. This section, in particular, investigates one device of argumentation – the use of attribution (i.e., attributing ideas/statements to sources), as in the following examples. Un portavoz del Departamento de Protección Ambiental dice que la mayoría de quejas es por acondicionadores de aire en azoteas, música a todo volumen y clientes bulliciosos en tabernas. [A spokesman for the city Department of Environmental Protection said . . .]  (“Una ciudad a todo volumen,” March 8, 2004, El Diario) Según una encuenta nacional reciente, dos tercios de los estadounidenses – y tres de cada cuatro mujeres – opinan que es más importante aumentar las restriciones sobre las armas, que proteger el derecho a poseerlas. [According to a recent national survey . . .]  (“Pleito contra los fabricantes de armas,” May 27, 1999, La Opinión)

The effect and the importance of the use of attribution in journalistic and academic texts have been discussed by a number of researchers (Al-Shabbab 1986;

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Table 8.  Frequency and sources of attributed statements Type

El Diario / La Prensa (New York)

La Opinión The New York El País (Los Angeles) Times (Madrid)

El Universal (Mexico City)

Political Figures     Individuals     Parties     Others Experts/Studies     Individuals     Studies/     Organizations Others Total no. of sentences with attribution

20 (41%) 15 1 4 19 (40%) 5

12 (41%) 10 1 1 15 (52%) 1

16 (37 %) 13 3 0 23 (53 %) 9

11 (73%) 6 0 5 3 (20%) 0

40 (69%) 38 1 1 18 (31%) 18*

14 10** 49 (100%)

14 2** 29 (100%)

14 4 43 (100%)

3 1 15 (100%)

0 0 58 (100%)

*These include lawyers, businessmen, and religious figures. **Examples include “critics” and “supporters.”

Crismore, Markkanen, & Steffensen 1993; Hulteng 1973; Secanella 1981; Trew 1979; Vande Kopple 1985). The chief thrust of attribution is to appear to build evidence, which strengthens the credibility of the arguments and thus the evaluation offered by the newspaper. Secanella (1981) also claims that attribution is a necessary element for maintaining the truth-value of statements as well as enhancing the comprehension of information (p. 93). Similarly, Trew (1979) argues that the credibility of the newspaper depends on “which forces it gives expression to, or more formally, which organizations and institutions and public figures it takes as valuable sources of information and comment” (p. 140). In this respect, attributions can be used to create “intellectual or persuasive force” (Crismore et al 1993: 52). In addition, Al-Shabbab and Swales (1986) note that attribution can not only assign some degree of authority to the statement but also protect the newspaper from “accusations of bias, invention, unreliability, and so on” (p. 37). Thus, the use of attribution in editorials can both increase credibility and also protect the newspaper by reducing and shifting responsibility. Table 8 presents the frequency of attributed statements and the typical sources of attribution in the five newspapers. A glance at the frequency of attributed statements in each newspaper would reveal that while El País shows the least concern for attributing statements to specific sources, El Universal shows the most concern. The low frequency of attribution in the editorials from Spain is in line with findings from the interview with the



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director of the opinion page of El País. For the Spanish newspaper editorials, making attributions to a special source is thought to be unnecessary since the editorials are intended for an elite group of well-informed readers (Tertsch 1994, personal communication). The Mexican editorials, on the other hand, frequently attributed statements to sources, usually politicians. In spite of the interview data elicited from the subdirector of the opinion page of El Universal, which suggest that there is little need to attribute statements to particular sources, the Mexican editorials do employ the highest number of attributions. El Diario, La Opinión and The New York Times stand somewhere between the editorials from Spain and Mexico. Among the types of sources, the editorials made frequent attribution to political figures and experts in particular fields. Especially common is the tendency to quote statements from leaders of both the nation and the city. Other frequent sources of attribution include experts in a relevant field (e.g., lawyers, scientists, and so forth) and studies and surveys. Although all five newspapers employ political and expert sources, the composition of those sources varies slightly. The newspapers from Spain and Mexico place more emphasis on sources related to politics. Over two-thirds of attribution consists of political figures (e.g., 73% for El País and 69% for El Universal). Although the editorials in The New York Times also have many examples of statements that are attributed to individual political figures, the most frequently attributed source type is that of specialists/experts/ reports from various fields (e.g., “A scientist who worked on chemical arms for many years, Vil Mirzayanov, has accused Russia of . . .” and “Public health authorities have issued soothing statements that . . .”). Furthermore, the specialist category for the Mexican editorials consists of different types of specialists. Unlike the scientific nature of the sources employed in the American editorials, the specialists in the Mexican editorials include businessmen, influential lawyers/prosecutors, and high-ranking religious leaders of the country. Many of these individuals could also belong in the political category of attributed sources. In the case of the Spanish-language editorials in the U.S., the sample data show a concern for supporting statements with sources from both the political arena and experts in the field, much like The New York Times. The Spanish-language editorials use a greater number of sources from the “Experts/Studies” category than the Spanish-language newspapers from Mexico and Spain. However, at times their “scientific” sources tend to be more general and ambiguous in nature, as in the following examples: “Ni una muerte más,” dijeron las mujeres en marchas y reuniones, especialmente a donde llegaron los miembros de la organización Justicia para nuestras Hijas, for-

138 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

mada por familiares y deudos de las asesinadas y desparecidas que llegan, según cifras oficiales a 300, pero según diferentes organismos, ya suman las 500. [according to official figures . . . according to different sources]  (“Ni una muerta más en Juaréz, México,” March 21, 2004, El Diario) Según algunas encuestas y por la tendencia existente en los países latinoamericanos, el líder histórico de la izquierda, Schafik Handal, habría superado en votos al empresario Elías Antonio Saca, candidato de la derechista ARENA, que ya lleva en el poder desde 1989. [According to some surveys. . . .]  (“El Salvador y la democracia,” March 22, 2004, El Diario) Pero sus críticos dicen que Bush introdujo el tema de reforma de inmigración como una trama en un año de elecciones para obtener el voto hispano. [“But his critics say that Bush. . . .]  (“Promesa de inmigración de Bush,” February 18, 2004, El Diario) Según estimaciones oficiales, unos 16 mil estudiantes de escuelas públicas recibirán los beneficios del programa durante su despliegue. [According to official estimates. . . .]  (“Para después de clases,” May 13, 1999, La Opinión) En el contexto de estas reflexiones es que hay que ver un estudio, publicado ayer, que afirma que las malas experiencias con medicamentos cuestan al país 100 mil muertes al año. [. . . a study published yesterday. . . .]  (“El cuidado con los medicamentos,” May 11, 1999, La Opinión)

In summary, all newspaper editorials employ attributed statements to support theses, to provide additional background information, and to present counterviews. However, frequency and preference for source types vary among them. In his advice to young American editorial writers, Prentice (1981) argues that “[c]redibility is a commodity that is earned when the opinion is backed up with facts, statistics, authoritative data, evidence, defensible hypothesis, and other information knit together by the twin strands of logic and reason” (p. 5). Indeed, in the editorials of The New York Times, statements made by specialists/experts of various fields often support the newspaper’s position. In this respect, the American newspaper places high value on specialist and scientific opinion and other types of evidence to support its arguments. Likewise, the Spanish-language newspapers in the U.S. tend to manifest a need for attributing their statements to sources from specialists and studies, although at times their sources present some ambiguity (e.g., “According to some surveys . . .”). El Diario and La Opinión do not follow the patterns of editorials from Mexico and Spain. While the editorials from Spain do not make many attributions, those from Mexico place importance on presenting



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the opinions of the country’s leading political figures in order to gain support for its position or even to provide the main position of the newspaper.

Conclusion The goal of this study was to examine discourse patterns among various Spanish-speaking regions within one single genre of newspaper editorials. More specifically, by expanding on previous work in cross-cultural analysis of newspaper editorials in Spain, Mexico and the U.S., this study investigated discourse features found in bilingual communities as reflected in the Spanish of New York City (El Diario) and Los Angeles (La Opinión). Given the number of rhetorical and stylistic features examined uniformly among the Spanish varieties as represented by editorials from the four Spanish-language newspapers, there does not appear to be a native Spanish norm for writing editorials. The U.S. varieties not only differ from those of Mexico and Spain but also demonstrate noticeable rhetorical differences from each other. With the exception of one finding (that Spanish texts tend to have longer sentences), significant variations exist among the cultures represented by the four Spanish-language newspapers. In particular, the Mexican newspaper contrasts sharply from the others in that El Universal adopts the most distanced approach to addressing readers. The presentation of an editorial’s position is typically delayed; attacks on individuals are infrequent; and recommendations are typically made at global levels. El Universal has the most complex and elaborate sentence constructions and appears to show greater respect for influential political figures than any other newspaper in the sample. The sheer number of attributions made to political figures in the Mexican editorials highlights the influence that political leaders exert on the content of those editorials. The editorials from Spain, on the other hand, are not as elaborate and implicit in style as the Mexican editorials. The two U.S. Spanish-language newspapers, El Diario and La Opinión, share some features, such as shorter sentences and paragraphs, less complex sentence structure, and more concern for attributing statements to expert sources. In this respect, they differ from the patterns found in the editorials from Mexico and Spain and employ features more characteristic of The New York Times. However, El Diario also differs significantly from La Opinión by placing more emphasis on the argumentative function and the accessibility of the language. In fact, among the newspapers in the corpus, El Diario shares more features with The New York Times than any other (e.g., shorter sentences and paragraphs, the use of explicit language via commands and obligation modals, and identification of specific actors). Al-

140 Chin-Sook Pak, Rebeca Acevedo

though La Opinión shares some features with the two newspapers from New York, it addresses a more well-informed group of readers and places as much emphasis on the informative function of the editorials as do the samples from El Universal and El País. In sum, each newspaper employs a set of distinctive discourse features that sets it apart from the others. It may be misleading to talk about a Hispanic norm even for the editorials of the Spanish-language U.S. newspapers. The editorials of the five newspapers, however, do share a number of features that further define the editorial genre, at least in so-called “quality” newspapers. First, an editorial is a linguistically challenging text that allows complex sentence structures. In their article, “On Hierarchies of Reading Skills and Text Types,” Lee and Musumeci (1988) place editorials as an evaluative text type that requires high-level reading skills such as inferring, guessing, hypothesizing, and interpreting. Indeed, editorials are classified as a “superior-level” text type for reading in ACTFL (American Council on Teaching of Foreign Languages) Proficiency Guidelines. Second, as an evaluative and persuasive text, the editorial frequently makes recommendations. In order to state and support the position of the newspaper, the editorial also uses devices of argumentation such as attribution, a feature shared with some other newspaper genres. Third, because editorials tend to be typically short in length, the main topic is introduced early. The results of these findings, however, must be carefully evaluated within the context of the cultures that produce these editorials. Factors such as the targeted audience, the particular journalistic culture, educational background of the editorial writers, the political orientation of the newspaper, and the sociopolitical situation of the period during which the editorials were written can affect the communicative purpose(s) and possibly the particular discourse pattern. Furthermore, there is no ethnographic data available on the readers of Spanish-language editorials. The information provided about the readership is based on the interviewee’s assumptions. Nevertheless, the findings of such a study have valuable implications for those involved in the teaching and studying of cross-cultural communication strategies. By examining how different cultures articulate persuasion within the contexts that shape such useful genres as editorials of prestigious newspapers, global professionals and foreign language learners can not only improve critical reading of these texts, but also recognize and appreciate the pluricentrality of cultures sharing the same Spanish language – in this case, Spain, Mexico and the United States.



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References Al-Shabbab, O., & Swales, J. (1986). Rhetorical features of Arab and British news broadcasts. Anthroplogical Linguistics, 28, 31–42. Andersson, B., & Gunnarsson, B.L. (1993). Comparative text research: Swedish and German editorials. Paper presented at the Symposium Persuasive Texte in der Presse. Germanistisches Institut, Helsingfors Universitet den 17–18 May 1993. Unpublished manuscript. Azevedo, M. (2005). Introducción a la lingüística española. (2nd ed.). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Bar-Lev, Z. (1986). Discourse theory and contrastive rhetoric. Discourse Processes, 9, 235–146. Bhatia, V. (1993). Analysing genre: Language use in professional settings. London: Longman. Burgess, S. (2002). Packed houses and intimate gatherings: Audience and rhetorical structure. In J. Flowerdew (Ed.), Academic discourse (pp. 196–215). Harlow, UK: Longman. Carlson, S. B. (1988). Cultural differences in writing and reasoning skills. In A. C. Purves (Ed.), Writing across languages and cultures: Issues in contrastive rhetoric (pp. 227–260). Newbury Park, CA: SAGE Publications. Connor, U. (1996). Contrastive rhetoric: Cross-cultural aspects of second language writing. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Crismore, A., Markkanen, R., & Steffensen, M. (1993). Metadiscourse in persuasive writing: A study of texts written by American and Finnish university students. Written Communication, 10, 39–71. de Miguel, A. (1982). Sociología de las páginas de opinión. Barcelona, Spain: A.T.E. Gunesekera, M. (1989). Discourse genres in English newspapers of Singapore, South India and Sri Lanka. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI. Harris, J., Leiter, K., & Johnson, S. (1992). The complete reporter: Fundamentals of news gathering, writing, and editing (6th ed.). New York: Macmillan Publishing. Hernandez, E. (personal communication, July 9, 2004). Hulteng, J. (1973). The opinion function: Editorial and interpretive writing for the news media. New York: Harper & Row. Hynds, E. C. (1984). Editorials, opinion pages still have vital roles in most newspapers. Journalism Quarterly, 61, 624–639. Jenkins, S., & Hinds, J. (1987). Business letter writing: English, French, and Japanese. TESOL Quarterly, 21, 327–345. Kachru, Y. (1995). Cultural meaning and rhetorical styles: Toward a framework for contrastive rhetoric. In G. Cook & B. Seidlhofer (Eds.), Principle & practice in applied linguistics: Studies in honour of H.B. Widdowson (pp. 171–184). New York: Oxford University Press. Lai, P., & Wong, I. (2000). The clash of cultures in the job interview. Journal of Language for International Business, 11, 31–40. Lee, J. F., & Musumeci, D. (1988). On hierarchies of reading skills and text types. The Modern Language Journal, 72, 173–187. Love, A., & Morrison, A. (1989). Reader’s obligations: An examination of some features of Zimbabwean newspaper editorials. English Language Research Journal, 3, 139–172. Lux, P. (1991). Discourse styles of Anglo and Latin American college student writers. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ. Martín-Martín, P. (2002). A genre analysis of English and Spanish research paper abstracts in experimental social sciences. English for Specific Purposes, 22, 25–43.

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Martín-Martín, P., & Burgess, S. (2004). The rhetorical management of academia criticism in research article abstracts. Text, 24(2), 171–195. Mauranen, A. (1992). Reference in academic rhetoric: A contrastive study of Finnish and English writing. In A. Lindeberg, & N. Enkvist (Eds.), Nordic research on text and discourse: NORDTEXT Symposium 1990 (pp. 237–250). Turku, Finland: Åbo Akademi. Maya Nava, A. (personal communication, November 7, 1994). Montaño-Harmon, M. (1991). Discourse features of written Mexican Spanish: Current research in contrastive rhetoric and its implications. Hispania, 74, 417–425. Moreno, A. (1997). Genre constraints across languages: Causal metatext in Spanish and English RAs. English for Specific Purposes, 16, 161–179. Ostler, S. (1988). A study of the contrastive rhetoric of Arabic, English, Japanese, and Spanish. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA. Pak, C.-S. (1996). Newspaper editorials from the New York Times, El País, El Universal: A comparative applied genre analysis. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI. Pak, C.-S. (1997). According to which source? An analysis of the use of attribution in American, Spanish, and Mexican newspaper editorials. Global Business Language, 2, 106–118. Pak, C.-S. (2000). Cross-cultural persuasion strategies: A study of newpaper editorials from Spain, Mexico, and the U.S. The Journal of Language for International Business, 11(2), 23– 37. Prentice, T. (1981). Editorials need facts to convince. Scholastic Editor, 61, 5–6. Reid, J. (1988). Quantitative differences in English prose written by Arabic, Chinese, Spanish, and English students. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO. Santana-Seda, O. (1975). A contrastive study in rhetoric: An analysis of the organization of English and Spanish paragraphs written by native speakers of each language. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, New York University, New York. Scarcella, R. (1984). How writers orient their readers in expository essays: A comparative study of native and non-native English writers. TESOL Quarterly, 18, 671–688. Secanella, P. M. (1981). El lid, fórmula inicial de la noticia. Barcelona, Spain: A.T.E. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Tertsch, H. (personal communication, October 31, 1994). Tirkkonen-Condit, S., & Lieflander-Koistinen, L. (1989). Argumentation in Finnish versus English and German editorials. In M. Kusch, & H. Schroder (Eds.), Text-InterpretationArgumentation (pp. 173–181). Hamburg, Germany: Helmut Buske Verlag. Trew, T. (1979). ‘What the papers say’: Linguistic variation and ideological difference. In R. Fowler, B. Hodge, G. Kress, & T. Trew (Eds.), Language and control (pp. 117–156). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. U.S. Census Bureau. (2003). The Hispanic Population in the United States: March 2002. Retrieved July 2003, from http://www.census.gov/prod/2003pubs/p20–545.pdf. Vande Kopple, W. J. (1985). Some exploratory discourse on metadiscourse. College Composition and Communication, 36(1), 82–93. van Dijk, T.A. (1988). News analysis: Case studies of international and national news in the press. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.



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Vasques-Ayora, G. (1977). Introducción a la traductologia: Curso básico de traducción. Washington D.C.: Georgetown University Press. Weisman, S. (personal commuinication, March 31, 1995).

Appendix A Interview questions to a chief officer of the opinion page of the newspapers 1. El propósito y las funciones de los editoriales [Purpose and the function] – ¿Cuál es el propósito principal de los editoriales para su periódico?   [What is the main purpose of the editorials for your newspaper?] – ¿Qué efecto quiere tener en sus lectores? [What kind of influence do you aim to have have on your readers?] 2. Los lectores de los editoriales [Readers] – ¿Quiénes son los lectores de los editoriales de El Diario? ¿Tiene alguna información demográfica? [Who are your readers? Do you have any deomgraphic information?] – ¿Sabe qué porcentaje de los lectores del periódico leen la sección editorial?   [What percentage of the readers of your newspaper read the editorial section?] 3

El proceso de escribir los editoriales [Writing process] – ¿Quién escribe los editoriales? [Who writes the editorials?] – ¿Hay alguna guía o normas específicas que los redactores siguen cuando escriben los  editoriales? ¿Utilizan algún libro de estilo como guía? [Are there any specific  guidelines/policies/preferences for writing editorials? Do you follow any specific   reference books for the style?] Ej., la estructura general [general structure] la selección del tema [topic selection] el estilo de título [the style of the title] la longitud del editorial [the editorial length] el uso de citas directas [use of quotes] la referencia a una fuente específica [attribution to sources] la selección del vocabulario [vocabulary selection]

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Appendix B Editorials from the corpus: Spanish language newspapers from the U.S El Diario/La Prensa (New York) Table 9.  El Diaro/La Prensa editorials No. Date

Editorial

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Promesa de inmigración de Bush Con A-Rod Nueva York recupera su brillo Muerte por electrocución en NYC Lugar seguro para niños abandonados El desempleo bajó, pero no para todos La historia inconclusa de Puerto Rico Venezuela: dejad que el pueblo decida ¿Dónde está el dinero? La clase trabajadora no tiene dónde vivir Una ciudad a todo volumen Mentir es erróneo, y a veces ilegal Adiós a la educadora de mayor rango España y la nueva realidad política Reformando la educación bilingüe Ni una muerta más en Juárez, México El Salvador y la democracia Jornaleros tienen derecho a congregarse Se acentúa clima bélico en el mundo Richie Pérez: la lucha continúa DMV conoce de manejo, no inmigración New York City a FEMA: pague la factura Mets a celebrar sus 40 años Reconocimiento de los inmigrantes Asegúrese el sistema escolar lo escuche NJ propone latino a la Corte Suprema Renovación dolorosa, pero necesaria El derecho a la protesta (con permiso) El sistema escolar falló a Luperon Sección 8 no debe ser modificada Latinos deben luchar contra el SIDA

2-18-04 2-19-04 2-21-04 2-26-04 2-27-04 3-1-04 3-3-04 3-5-04 3-5-04 3-7-04 3-10-04 3-11-04 3-16-04 3-17-04 3-21-04 3-22-04 3-23-04 3-24-04 3-29-04 4-1-04 4-12-04 4-13-04 4-15-04 4-19-04 4-22-04 4-25-04 5-3-04 5-10-04 5-11-04 5-14-04



Spanish-language newspaper editorials from Mexico 145

La Opinión (Los Angeles) Table 10.  La Opinión (Los Angeles) editorials No. Date

Editorial

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Chávez y el cambio en Venezuela Mantener el censo No a la intolerancia Una nueva era Sí a la Proposición 1 Relegados por Hollywood El odio en las escuelas Una visión sobre el transporte El cuidado con los medicamentos Cumbre sobre violencia juvenil Para después de clases Abuso policial Una enmienda para la NRA Referéndum en Guatemala La crisis rusa Zedillo en California Cambios en el PRI Una ley inconstitucional Ecos de una visita Nueva oportunidad para los centroamericanos Voto contra las armas Ayuda a Centroamérica Sobre carga pública Pleito contra los fabricantes de armas ¡Adiós Pescador Osuna! Acusación a Milosevic Cumple 75 años la Patrulla Fronteriza Alivio sí, celebración no Desenlace electorales Creció el Metro, pero . . .

2-3-99 2-4-99 2-5-99 2-7-99 4-6-99 5-7-99 5-9-99 5-10-99 5-11-99 5-12-99 5-13-99 5-14-99 5-15-99 5-16-99 5-17-99 5-18-99 5-19-99 5-20-99 5-21-99 5-22-99 5-24-99 5-25-99 5-26-99 5-27-99 5-28-99 5-29-99 5-30-99 6-5-99 6-10-99 6-12-99

The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature An English-Spanish cross-linguistic approach Lorena Suárez, Ana I. Moreno University of León

Since the 1990s, there has been an increasing interest in the study of genres (Swales 1990). Recent research on the academic journal book review (BR) has shown that the BR in English is shaped according to a rhetorical structure that gives it genre status (Motta-Roth 1998). However, it is not known whether this rhetorical structure is shared by comparable texts in other languages. This chapter carried out an English-Spanish cross-linguistic study of the rhetorical structure of BRs on the basis of two comparable corpora of 20 BRs of literature in each language. The main results show that, despite sharing similar overall patterns of organization, the Spanish BRs of literature develop more descriptive moves and are less likely to end with criticism-loaded strategies.

Introduction Never before have scholars had such easy and wide access to scientific knowledge as they do today. It is virtually impossible for academics to process all available information on any given scientific topic, not to mention to distinguish truly valuable work from what is not. In this respect, the subgenre of the academic journal book review plays a very important role since it introduces new books to a particular discipline and, at the same time, assesses how valuable their contribution may be to the development of the field. According to Gea Valor and del Saz Rubio (2000–2001: 166), “in this genre, the writer informs the reader about the contents and structure of a recently-published book – usually the work of a fellow researcher – and most importantly evaluates the book according to various criteria, such as adequate treatment of the subject, usefulness for the prospective reader and possible future applications.” As a result, book reviews (BRs) have be-

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come an important source of information for scholars in a particular disciplinary field about which books may or may not be worth reading or acquiring. However, as acknowledged by a number of professors from The University of León (Spain) and The University of London (UK) in informal interviews, writing a book review is not always a welcome task for academics. Yet academic journal book reviews are still written and published, and writing a book review is usually considered one of those tasks academics may have to do in their career. The interesting point is that the academic journal book review is one of those genres whose communicative function is widely recognized by the expert members of the discourse community involved in producing and interpreting academic book reviews. In spite of this recognition, little is known about the features which contribute to making this class of communicative events a genre in its own right (see Swales 1990: 58 for a definition of genre). As the leading work by Swales (1990) clearly shows, one of the factors that play a very important role in the overall characterization of a genre is the rhetorical structure of the text. In fact, some research has recently explored how the schematic structure of the academic book review helps to shape this genre in order to make it recognizable by expert members of the discourse community. Starting with Motta-Roth’s (1998) pioneering empirical study of the rhetorical structure of 180 book reviews in English from the fields of Chemistry, Economics and Linguistics, this genre has been shown to be organized according to a series of moves and subfunctions that can be easily recognized. For instance, a typical move, or fragment of text with a recognizable general rhetorical function, is Outlining the book. A typical subfunction, or smaller fragment within that move, that performs a more specific rhetorical function in relation to its general purpose, is Stating the topic of each chapter. A typical subfunction within the closing move, Providing closing evaluation of the book, is Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings. Subfunctions in this move are called options since they are mutually exclusive (i.e., unlike the subfunctions within the other sections or moves of the book review, they cannot co-occur). Their function is to close the book being reviewed, usually through a verdict on such a book (see Method of Analysis below). The results from Motta-Roth’s (1998) study in relation to the overall rhetorical organization of book reviews seem to have been confirmed by other scholars such as De Carvalho (2001), who analyzed a corpus of English and Portuguese academic book reviews from the Literary Theory field in terms of their rhetorical structure, and Nicolaisen (2002), who submitted a corpus of Library and Information Science book reviews in English to move analysis. A comparison of their results reveals no crucial differences in the overall rhetorical organization of book reviews across these disciplines, in the sense that the major rhetorical functions



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 149

performed by the different moves also take place. In this respect, it would be possible to hypothesize the existence of a common pattern of overall rhetorical structure across disciplines. In spite of these common features, there seem to be slight differences within the overall rhetorical structure of book reviews across disciplines that might lead to hypothesize a certain degree of disciplinary variation. For example, in her study of the rhetorical structure of English and Portuguese academic book reviews of literature, De Carvalho (2001) detected a tendency for book reviewers from the two cultures to fuse moves Outlining the book and Highlighting parts of the book in a single move. In fact, her results led her to reduce Motta-Roth’s (1998) four moves to three by fusing moves Outlining the book and Highlighting parts of the book into only one move. The existence of disciplinary variations in the rhetorical structure of book reviews can also be conjectured from Nicolaisen’s (2002) findings within the last move Providing closing evaluation of the book of Library and Information Science book reviews. Within this move, she detects the existence of two options (Disqualifying [sic] the book despite indicated positive aspects and Neither recommending nor disqualifying the book – the latter consisting in a neutral summary-conclusion of the book) which were not present in Motta-Roth’s (1998) corpus of academic book reviews within other academic disciplines. A logical implication from these studies is that until more light is shed on the possible influence of the disciplinary factor on the rhetorical configuration of book reviews, further studies of the academic book review as a genre should at least control for this confounding factor in the design of their corpora (cf. Connor & Moreno 2005). On the other hand, the present paper also hypothesizes possible variation in the rhetorical structure of academic book reviews as a factor of the language culture. This conjecture is substantiated by De Carvalho’s (2001) study of book reviews from two writing cultures: American and Portuguese. While all the texts in her corpora seem to share a common communicative purpose, interestingly different rhetorical features are identified which may be due to differing cultural expectations. As Moreno (2004) explains, the idea that the rhetorical structures of texts in different languages might vary greatly and that such variation should be taken into account in language teaching programs has received considerable attention since it was first proposed by Kaplan (1966). Following this tradition, the present study deals with one possible question raised by the Kaplan hypothesis, i.e. whether differences actually exist in how academic book reviews of literature are internally organized to achieve their communicative purpose in two writing cultures: Spanish and English. Answering this question will contribute valuable knowledge to the field of Contrastive Rhetoric.

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Research questions and variables The major research question that the present study attempts to answer can be broken down as follows: – Do English and Spanish book reviews from academic journals on Literature conform to a similar rhetorical structure? Answering this question will allow us to make some statement about the existence of a common genre for both writing cultures in terms of its rhetorical organization. – If there are differences in terms of rhetorical structure, what is their nature? This will allow us to make some statement about differing expectations of the rhetorical structure of this genre as a function of the writing culture. In other words, the study sought to research the possible influence of the writing culture, i.e., the independent variable, on the rhetorical structure of literary academic book reviews, i.e., the dependent variable.

Data To answer our research question, the study analysed the rhetorical structure of 20 academic book reviews in English and 20 comparable academic journal book reviews in Spanish. This collection of BRs has been named the LIBRES (Literary Book Reviews in English-Spanish) corpus. The reason why it is so small is that it has been compiled with a view to being approached from various complementary perspectives (e.g. Moreno & Suárez 2006). The criteria of comparability for selection of the present corpus were based mainly on Connor and Moreno’s (2005) proposal. As Connor and Moreno (2005) argue in connection with cross-cultural studies, “in large-scale textual analyses of written genres . . . it is important that we are comparing elements that can in fact be compared . . . A common platform of comparison is important at all levels of research” (Connor & Moreno 2005: 157). One of these levels or phases of the research involves the selection of primary data. That is, in order to make a comparison valid, we need to compare text types or genres in which to observe linguistic and rhetorical features which are comparable between the two writing cultures. As Moreno (2007) argues, in this volume, to achieve a maximum of comparability, or similarity, between two corpora it is necessary to control as many relevant confounding factors as possible. This will make it possible to attribute any possible similarities or differences in the rhetorical structure of the texts to the effect of the independent variable, i.e. the writing culture. The academic disci-



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 151

pline, directly related to the field factor (cf. Moreno 2007), is a likely confounding factor. Therefore, the present study has decided to control for it statistically by collecting only texts from one major academic discipline (Literature) and four subfields (Drama, Poetry, Novel, and Literary Theory) in order to make the two corpora as similar as possible in this respect. Another reason for choosing such a discipline was that the only other existing contrastive study on academic journal book reviews between English and another language, Portuguese, was also based on Literary Theory (De Carvalho 2001). Compiling a similar corpus would make it easier to compare results. Likewise, since it is possible to distinguish between various subgenres within the book review genre, the present study narrowed its focus down to only the academic journal book review subgenre (i.e. book reviews that appear in academic journals). This restriction helped to control for certain contextual factors, such as the purpose of communication, the type of participants, the setting, the medium of publication, and so on, which might affect the rhetorical and linguistic configuration of the texts (cf. Moreno 2007). The texts in the corpora of the present study were drawn following conventional sampling procedures from four academic journals, which are the following and cover the aforementioned subfields:

English journals The Review of English Studies (texts from 2002) English Literature in Transition: 1880-1920 (texts from 2002) Notes and Queries (texts from 2000) Studies in Romanticism (texts from 2001) Spanish journals España Contemporánea (texts from 2001) Anales de la Literatura Española Contemporánea (texts from 2002) Revista de Literatura (texts from 2000) Revista de Poética Medieval (texts from 2001) The number of book reviews drawn from each of the four journals in each corpus was five. Only book reviews published from 2000 onwards were selected for the sake of relevancy. Thus the present study will attempt to capture the essence of the genre in as specific a period as possible, and in particular, as it is conceived today, since the temporal factor might also affect the rhetorical configuration of texts (cf. Moreno 2007). Another important confounding factor taken into account was text length because the extension of an academic review may determine whether it belongs to the book review genre or to related genres such as the book note, which is notably

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Table 1.  Number of words in book reviews in the corpus Number of Words Total number of words, all BRs Average number of words per BR in each corpus

English

Spanish

21,382 1,069.1

22,084 1,104.2

longer. Thus the length of all the reviews in the corpus ranged from 569 to 2,063 words. Table 1 shows the average number of words per book review and the average number of words in each corpus. The overall correspondence of length between the English and the Spanish corpora also contributes to their comparability. Lastly, by contrast to Moreno (1998), who controlled for the superstructure factor statistically in the design of her corpora, the present design left that factor uncontrolled precisely because this was the dependent variable under research.

Method of analysis The methodology employed in the present study was directed to answering the aforementioned research questions. In order to describe the rhetorical patterns of textual organization preferred by English and Spanish academic book review writers, all the book reviews in the two corpora were analyzed in terms of moves, subfunctions and options. Motta-Roth’s (1998) rhetorical model of book review moves was followed initially. The moves were identified by inferring the rhetorical function developed by the various sections in the entire text in connection with the overall purpose of the text. The subfunctions and options – the former being non-exclusive and the latter, referred to as subfunctions by Motta-Roth (1998), being exclusive – were identified as minor functional units realizing the different moves. After applying this model to our corpora, the rhetorical scheme that emerged was very similar, except for a few differences. The scheme is shown in Figure 1 and can be considered as an adapted version of Motta-Roth’s (1998) model. It represents the rhetorical structure of the book reviews from academic journals on Literature. The italicized moves, subfunctions and options highlight the differences that have arisen by contrast with Motta-Roth’s (1998) scheme. The meaning of the new subfunctions and options will be explained later. By way of illustration of how this model accounts for the rhetorical structure of one particular book review, the Appendix shows a coded version of a prototypical book review from the English corpus. The information in the subheadings of



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 153

Figure 1.  Move analysis applied to the English and Spanish corpora of BRs

the Appendix indicates the moves and, separated by a semicolon, the corresponding subfunction(s) or options realizing them. The major differences compared to Motta-Roth’s (1998) model are the following: Move 1. Introducing the book contains five variations. One relates to subfunction 1.1.1. Developing an aspect of the general topic. This subfunction, which was not present in Motta-Roth’s (1998) study, contains more detailed information of the general content of the book, which is dealt with in the subfunction called 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book. An example of subfunction 1.1.1. Developing

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an aspect of the general topic of the book is given below. A fragment of subfunction 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book within the same move is also given to show the change from the general topic of the book being reviewed to a more specific aspect of its content. In example (1), the square brackets at the beginning and the end of each fragment signal the beginning and end respectively of the subfunctions. The code at the end of the example indicates the book review from which the text fragment has been extracted. (1) [. . . the debates and tensions which Tamar Katz explores in Impressionist Subjects . . . arguing that the impressionist techniques of modernist fiction represent more than an experiment in form . . . (Defining the general topic of the book )] [. . . She seeks to show how debates about women’s nature and social-spiritual impact informed the modernist commitment to interiority with its ambiguous connection to particular sensations and abstract, mysterious truths . . . (Developing an aspect of the general topic)] [elt440–17E]

The fragment of text coded as Defining the general topic of the book in example (1) deals with the topic of the book under review in general terms. The reader gets the basic idea that the book is about debates and tensions related to Impressionist Subjects. The fragment of text coded as Developing an aspect of the general topic develops this topic by providing specific information about those debates and tensions. That is why the second paragraph has been assigned to subfunction Developing an aspect of the general topic. The second difference from Motta-Roth’s (1998) scheme within move 1. Introducing the book relates to subfunction 1.6. Informing about the writing technique/ methodology used by the writer, which tells readers about the writing technique or method employed by the author and was not acknowledged by Motta-Roth’s (1998) scheme. Consider example (2): (2) [La autora elige para su tarea un método histórico-inductivo. Es decir, selecciona los poemas que comparten el criterio de verbalizar explícitamente una fórmula de despedida, y los estudia sistemáticamente para extraer los rasgos que puedan definir el género en cuestión. (Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer)][rlit243–7S] (Trans.) [The author chooses a historical-inductive method for her task. That is to say, she selects those poems that share the criterion of explicitly verbalizing a farewell formula, and she studies them systematically in order to draw the features characterizing the genre in question. (Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer)][rlit243–7S]



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 155

In this text fragment taken from a Spanish book review, the book reviewer describes the methodological tool used by the author of the book. The reviewer regards it as an historical-inductive method, whereby such an author focuses only on poems containing a farewell formula and analyzes them in the search for common patterns that make it possible to talk about a distinct genre. The last three differences from Motta-Roth’s (1998) study in relation to move 1. Introducing the book have to do with the fact that some of the fragments within move 1. Introducing the book were of a fuzzy function, in such a way that a given fragment of text could be said to develop two rhetorical functions at the same time. This phenomenon affected the following pairs of subfunctions, though only in the Spanish corpus: 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book and 1.4. Making topic generalizations; 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book and 1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer; 1.1.1. Developing an aspect of the general topic and 1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer. In cases like these it has been necessary to introduce a new category in the scheme since it was not possible to assign these fragments to two categories at the same time. Example (3) shows a fragment of a book review from the corpus developing the functions 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book and 1.4. Making topic generalizations at the same time. (3) [El modernismo simbolista, sentido como provocación por parte de quienes sentían el desarraigo, la escisión del yo y la desmembración de la totalidad, contra la práctica arrolladora del realismo-positivista durante la Restauración, es inseparable de las opciones modernizadoras del conjunto social español hacia 1900, pese a quienes, a lo largo del siglo XX, trataron de divorciar ideológicamente el llamado intelectualismo noventayochista del no menos supuesto reaccionarismo atribuido al estetismo decadente, algunos de cuyos miembros fueron juzgados ad libitum, con argumentos biográficos a veces extrapolados de debilidades políticas muy posteriores. (Subfunctions defining the general topic of the book & making topic generalizations)] [ec117–5S] (Trans.) [The symbolist modernism, seen as provocation by those who felt the rootlessness, the split in the ego and the dismembering of totality, against the overwhelming practice of positivist realism during the Restoration, is inseparable from the modernizing options of the Spanish society around 1900, in spite of those who, throughout the 20th century, tried to separate ideologically the so-called intelectuallism of the 90’s from the not less supposed reactionarism attributed to the decadent aesthetism, some of whose members were judged ad libitum, with biographical arguments sometimes extrapolated from much later political weaknesses. (Subfunctions defining the general topic of the book & making topic generalizations)] [ec117–5S]

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The text fragment in example (3) has been assigned to subfunctions 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book and 1.4. Making topic generalizations on the grounds that it was difficult to decide which of the two subfunctions was being realized. On the one hand, it might be interpreted that the book reviewer is adding some insight from his/her own knowledge, in which case the subfunction performed would be 1.4. Making topic generalizations. On the other hand, the reader may also understand such a fragment as part of the content of the book, in the sense that all the ideas contained in the fragment can be attributed to the author of the book. Given the difficulty in deciding between the two subfunctions, the present study found it necessary to consider cases like this as a fuzzy category comprising the two subfunctions. There are also differences with respect to Motta-Roth’s (1998) scheme in relation to the other book review moves. For example, subfunction 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book from move 1. Introducing the book and subfunctions 2.1. Providing an overview of the organization of the book and 2.3. Citing extra-text material from move 2. Outlining the book are difficult to keep apart in one fragment of the English corpus, as shown in example (4). (4) [In ten richly detailed chapters supported by sixty-eight illustrations, Kate Flint examines the complexities of looking and seeing and recording and interpreting the visible world (Fusion of moves outlining the book & introducing the book; fusion of subfunctions providing an overview of the organization of the book, citing extra-text material & defining the general topic of the book)] [elt76–11E]

A similar case of fusion of subfunctions relates to moves 2. Outlining the book and 3. Highlighting parts of the book. Both in the English and the Spanish corpora, some of the book reviews selected for the study fused these two moves in a single one. This tendency seems to corroborate the results obtained by De Carvalho’s (2001) study (see introduction), who analysed a corpus of book reviews from a related academic discipline, Literary Theory. The subfunctions that specifically appeared fused across these two moves in the two corpora were 2.2. Stating the topic of each chapter from move 2. Outlining the book and 3.1. Providing focused evaluation from move 3. Highlighting parts of the book. A clear example is shown in the book review in the Appendix, which presents a section where the topic of each chapter and focused evaluation are provided at the same time. Less frequently, and only in the Spanish corpus, subfunctions 2.1. Providing an overview of the organization of the book from move 2. Outlining the book and 3.1. Providing focused evaluation from move 3. Highlighting parts of the book were also fused. In cases like these, a new category has been introduced since one function is inseparable from the other.



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 157

There are also a number of differences in relation to Motta-Roth’s (1998) scheme in move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book. One difference has to do with the fact that in the present corpora there were no realizations of MottaRoth’s (1998) Definitely disqualifying [sic] the book because there was no single case in all the book reviews where the authors simply did not recommend the book under review. That is why, in this study, Motta-Roth’s (1998) Option 10A was reformulated as 4.1. Definitely recommending the book instead of Definitely recommending/disqualifying the book. An example of option 4.1. Definitely recommending the book from the English corpus in the present study is shown in example (5). (5) [As Labbe points out, even in recent studies which have focused on different aspects of the Romantic romance, critics have exhibited a discomfort with the terms offered by romance as a genre. Her own exploration of the culturally disruptive potential of violence is welcome for allowing readers to confront a wide and varied range of texts. Whether she is reassessing well known poems or exploring the less familiar, her readings are lively and refreshing. By challenging earlier critical assessments and bringing neglected works to the fore, she is demanding a reappraisal of our definition of Romanticism itself. Impeccably researched and usefully annotated, her book will be valuable to scholars and students both of the individual poets discussed and of the Romantic period as a whole. (Definitely recommending the book)] [res147–20E]

Throughout example (5), the final paragraph of the review, the reviewer implies a recommendation of the book by bringing up some definitive positive remarks, which are not fully justified because they are based on the discussion of the book that has preceded, and by referring to the benefit that the public can receive from reading it. The second important difference in move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book relates to the fact that in the present corpora this move could be realized through an option chosen from among four. This contrasts with Motta-Roth’s study, where this move was constrained to only two options. The two new options that emerged in the present corpora are 4.3. Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths and 4.4. Providing neutral summary-conclusion of the book, whose existence as part of the rhetorical structure of book reviews has recently been reported by Nicolaisen (2002) in her study of Library and Information Science book reviews.

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4.3. Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths is the opposite option of 4.2. Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings. The importance of this option lies in the fact that it is the only one that implies non-recommendation of the book under review in the corpus of the present study. Let us consider example (6). (6) [Given Jasper’s method of treating his subject, I would suggest that it is his engagement with the minute particulars – the appropriate analogy, the engaging comparison, the startling reading of a particular text or painting – that will reward a patient reader. His claims for reconsidering the positions of Coleridge and Arnold as biblical critics, his fascinating analysis of Turner’s paintings as biblical criticism, and his claims for a renewed understanding of the relevance of romanticism to modern theological issues are certainly parts that we all should be grateful for. For my part, however, I would prefer a more systematically developed and more historically informed argument; and thus I find that this volume in “Perspectives in Romanticism” – despite some strong individual parts – does not fully deliver what the series promises. (Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths)] [srw611–3E]

The move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book shown in example (6) opens with a series of positive remarks on the book being reviewed, to later on change the direction of the evaluation into a couple of criticisms leading to not recommending the book. It should be noted how this strategy, consisting of condemning the book after having raised some positive points, produces a mitigating effect of the global non-recommendation and of the specific upcoming criticisms in particular (Belcher 1995; Gea Valor & del Saz Rubio 2000–01). This divergence in relation to Motta-Roth’s (1998) study of book reviews in Linguistics, Economics and Chemistry suggests that there might be disciplinary differences as to how appropriate it seems for authors not to recommend a book and, in case this is so, which options are more acceptable in each disciplinary culture. Further qualitative research should attempt to find out the possible reasons for this variation. Lastly, according to the new emerging option 4.4. Providing neutral summaryconclusion of the book, the reviewers choose to close the review without giving a

. Though Motta-Roth (1998) did allow for the possibility of finding her subfunction 10B (Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings) with the opposite meaning, she did not state that possibility explicitly as a distinct option. In the present study it was necessary to give the option Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths a separate status. In addition, we have decided to use the phrase not recommending instead of disqualifying because it is a more straightforward term.



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 159

final judgement of the book. Instead of providing the reader with a verdict, they simply present a brief summary or conclusion of the book. An example of this option is shown in example (7). (7) [At the end of the day, in Professor Howe’s view, Twain as a novelist cannot win; history and reality inevitably defeat the novel. There is no room here for any notion as quaint as the transforming power of the novelistic imagination. (Providing neutral summary-conclusion of the book)] [n&q383–15E]

This book review ending does not clearly attempt to recommend the book under review. It rather describes the conclusion that Professor Howe, the author, reaches. This section has described the method of analysis applied to the corpus of book reviews of the present study. Such a method of analysis in terms of rhetorical moves, subfunctions and options has identified new items with respect to Motta-Roth’s (1998) schematic model, namely subfunctions 1.1.1. Developing an aspect of the general topic; 1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer; Fuzzy category 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book/1.4. Making topic generalizations; Fuzzy category 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book/1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer; Fuzzy category 1.1.1. Developing an aspect of the general topic/1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer; Fusion of moves 1. Introducing the book and 2. Outlining the book; Fusion of subfunctions 1.1 Defining the general topic of the book, 2.1. Providing an overview of the organisation of the book, and 2.3. Citing extra-text material; Fusion of moves 2. Outlining the book and 3. Highlighting parts of the book; Fusion of subfunctions 2.1. Providing an overview of the organization of the book and 3.1. Providing focused evaluation; Fusion of subfunctions 2.2. Stating the topic of each chapter and 3.1. Providing focused evaluation; option 4.3. Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths; and option 4.4. Providing neutral summary-conclusion of the book. The following section deals with the contrastive results obtained in the study.

Contrastive results This section presents the contrastive results of the analysis of the book reviews in terms of moves, subfunctions and options, carried out independently in the two corpora. Table 2 provides an account of the absolute and relative frequencies of each of these categories for each writing culture. Given the fact that subfunctions are not mutually exclusive (i.e. the subfunctions within a move can co-occur), the sum of the frequencies of subfunctions

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Table 2.  Frequency of moves, subfunctions and options in the English and Spanish corpora English BRs (20) n % Move 1. Introducing the book Subfunction 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book Subfunction 1.1.1. Developing an aspect of the general topic Subfunction 1.2. Informing about potential readership Subfunction 1.3. Informing about the author Subfunction 1.4. Making topic generalizations Subfunction 1.5. Inserting book in the field Subfunction 1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer Fuzzy category 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book/1.4. Making topic generalisations Fuzzy category 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book/1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer Fuzzy category 1.1.1. Developing an aspect of the general topic/1.6. Informing about the writing technique/methodology used by the writer Move 2. Outlining the book Subfunction 2.1. Providing general view of the organization of the book Subfunction 2.2. Stating the topic of each chapter Subfunction 2.3. Citing extra-text material Fusion of moves 1. Introducing the book & 2. Outlining the book Subfunction 1. Defining the general topic of the book, 2.1. Providing general view of the organization of the book & 2.3. Citing extra-text material Move 3. Highlighting parts of the book Subfunction 3.1. Providing focused evaluation Fusion of moves 2. Outlining the book & 3. Highlighting parts of the book Fusion of subfuncts. 2.1. Providing general view of the organization of the book & 3.1. Providing focused evaluation Fusion of subfuncts. 2.2. Stating the topic of each chapter & 3.1. Providing focused evaluation

Spanish BRs Comparison (20) n % X2

19 18

95% 20 90% 15

100% 1.026 75% 1.558

1

5% 3

15%

1.111

1

5% 2

10%

.36

1 3 5 0

5% 15% 25% 0%

35% 15% 50% 15%

5.625** 0 2.667 3.243

0

0% 1

5%

1.026

0

0% 1

5%

1.026

0

0% 2

10%

2.105

7 4

35% 20 20% 8

100% 19.259*** 40% 1.905

6 2 1

30% 12 10% 4 5% 0

60% 20% 0%

3.623 .784 1.026

1

5% 0

0%

1.026

13 13 3

65% 8 65% 8 15% 7

40% 40% 35%

2.506 2.506 2.133

0

0% 1

5%

1.026

3

15% 6

30%

1.29

7 3 10 3



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 161

Table 2 (continued) English BRs (20) n % Move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book Option 4.1. Definitely recommending the book Option 4.2. Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings Option 4.3. Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths Option 4.4. Providing neutral summary-conclusion of the book

Spanish BRs Comparison (20) n % X2

18 3 11

90% 17 15% 11 55% 4

85% 55% 20%

.229 8.707*** 5.042*

3

15% 1

5%

1.005

1

5% 1

5%

.002

*p = .05; **p < .05; ***p < .01

within moves 1. Introducing the book and 2. Outlining the book is higher than the total frequency of appearance of each move because these moves may contain one or more than one subfunction. That is why the relative frequency of appearance of subfunctions within each move has been calculated in relation to 20, which is the total number of book reviews, i.e. the total possible absolute frequency for each subfunction. By contrast, options within move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book, are mutually exclusive; thus, their relative frequency has been calculated in relation to the total frequency of appearance of that move in each corpus. The frequencies of move 3. Highlighting parts of the book and its only possible subfunction, 3.1. Providing focused evaluation coincide necessarily. The right column in Table 2 provides statistical information in connection with the comparison of the frequencies of the use of each category across the two writing cultures under study. The results of the present study were submitted to statistical analysis through the Chi-square test of homogeneity in a contingency table. The Chi-square test is a type of non-parametric test used to compare frequencies in studies dealing with data measurable with nominal scales (cf. Brown 1988). The statistical comparison of the frequencies of use of the various moves, subfunctions and options at a p < .05 level and a p < .01 level made it possible to decide whether the differences in the appearance of each category between English and Spanish were significant and highly significant respectively, statistically speaking. Within move 1. Introducing the book, except for subfunctions 1.1. Defining the general topic of the book and 1.4. Making topic generalizations, all the other subfunctions present higher absolute frequencies in the Spanish corpus, which might suggest that this descriptive move is more elaborated on by Spanish book review writers. However, the comparison of those frequencies in English and Spanish

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through the Chi-square test shows that the difference of use of such subfunctions is only statistically significant in the case of subfunction 1.3. Informing about the author, x2 (1, N = 40) = 5.625, p = .048. Move 2. Outlining the book, the other mainly descriptive move in the book review genre, also shows higher frequencies of occurrence in the Spanish corpus. The difference of use of this move between the two corpora is highly significant statistically speaking, x2 (1, N = 40) = 19.259, p = .000. Although the frequencies of use of the subfunctions within move 2. Outlining the book are higher in the Spanish corpus, the difference of use between the two writing cultures under study is not statistically significant. Move 3. Highlighting parts of the book, and the only subfunction by which it is realized, Providing focused evaluation, can be said to be preferred by English book review writers. This contrasts with the higher frequencies of the fusion of moves 2. Outlining the book and 3. Highlighting parts of the book in the Spanish corpus of book reviews. English book review writers seem to be more likely to keep separate the description of the book’s chapters and evaluative remarks on the book. However, there is no statistical evidence for these two diverging tendencies. Especially relevant to the present study were options 4.1. Definitely recommending the book and 4.2. Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings within move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book. Both of these options reflect the English and the Spanish reviewers’ lower tendency to criticize books in a straightforward way in the concluding part of the review, although this is done differently in the two writing cultures. While Spanish reviewers show a much higher tendency to recommend books with no room for criticism through option 4.1. Definitely recommending the book, English-language reviewers tend to moderate their positive verdicts mainly through option 4.2. Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings. The difference in use of these two options is statistically significant for these two writing cultures: while the difference in use of option 4.1. Definitely recommending the book between the two languages is highly significant, x2 (1, N = 35) = 8.407, p = .010, the difference in use of option 4.2. Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings is marginally significant, x2 (1, N = 35) = 5.042, p = .056. More infrequently, English-language writers close their review with option 4.3. Not recommending the book despite indicated strengths.

Conclusion The present study can be said to have successfully answered the research question posed at the beginning. The results have shown a number of common repeated patterns in terms of the rhetorical structure of the academic book review, such as



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 163

the existence of a number of common moves, subfunctions and options between English and Spanish that help to confirm the consideration of the academic book review as a distinct genre across the two language cultures. In this sense, the study has contributed, with more evidence, to a better definition and refinement of the academic book review genre in terms of its rhetorical structure following the steps given by Motta-Roth (1998). However, contrasting the rhetorical behavior of the two writing cultures under study has revealed differences in the frequency of appearance of the various subfunctions and options within the moves. Two important observations could be corroborated statistically. First, there seems to be evidence of the fact that Spanish book reviewers are more likely to use the descriptive moves of the book review. Statistically speaking, this is reflected in move 1. Introducing the book in the use of subfunction 1.3. Informing about the author. It is also reflected in the use of move 2. Outlining the book in general. Second, the statistical analysis of the results showed that Spanish book review writers seem to be more sympathetic in their evaluations than English writers. This has been corroborated statistically in move 4. Providing closing evaluation of the book for option 4.1. Definitely recommending the book, and for option 4.2. Recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings. These differences might be attributed to the rhetorical preferences of the English and Spanish cultures in relation to book review writing, which may respond to differing cultural expectations of this genre. Thus the present cross-cultural findings have contributed to the identification of further areas of similarity and divergence between the two writing cultures compared. If we now wish to make these cross-cultural results applicable to fields such as the teaching of writing, further qualitative research should attempt to explain the sources of this variation by referring to cultural features of the two writing cultures. In other words, having found out that the writing culture (our independent variable) is likely to be the factor that accounts for certain rhetorical variations, the next logical step in the research would be to pinpoint which specific aspect(s) (e.g., values, norms, and learning processes) of the writing cultures would be responsible for a given variation in rhetorical behavior (cf. Moreno 2005). That is, not only awareness of the differences (and similarities) but also the reasons for such divergence would be helpful in applied fields such as the teaching of academic book writing in Spanish and English as L2. The study has also provided valuable tools that can be easily taught in the writing classroom, for example, a model of move analysis for book reviews of literature. An adequate application of these tools might be useful not only for teaching book review writing techniques in the L2 writing classroom but also in the L1 writing classroom. Likewise, these kinds of results might also be useful for designing guidelines for prospective authors of academic book reviews in each discipline. In

164 Lorena Suárez, Ana I. Moreno

fact, some editors consulted in this respect have already shown an interest in the possible application of the results from a study of these characteristics. Finally, the findings of the present study should be supported with similar analyses applied to larger corpora in order to find out, for example, whether English book review writers’ tendency to keep the description of the book’s chapters and focused evaluations on the book separate differs significantly, statistically speaking, from Spanish book reviewers’ tendency to describe the chapters of the book and evaluate them at the same time. It would also be interesting to look at academic book reviews from other disciplines, as stated in the introduction of the present study. Looking at different disciplines might add interesting divergences from the ones the present study has shown in relation to the writing culture factor. If differences were found, it would be very relevant to follow up this research with further studies, both qualitative and quantitative, to find out to what extent writing practices in the discipline of literature in general affect the way book review writers approach this genre.

Acknowledgements The present study is part of a research project financed by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Technology – Plan Nacional de I+D+I (2000–2003) Ref: BFF2001– 0112– entitled “Contrastive Analysis and Specialised English-Spanish translation: Applications and Tools (ACTRES)”. We would also like to thank Dr. Ulla Connor and the Indiana Center for Intercultural Communication and staff along with Dr. Itesh Sachdev for their useful comments on an earlier version of this paper.

References Belcher, D. (1995). Writing critically across the curriculum. In D. Belcher & G. Braine (Eds.), Academic writing in a second language: Essays on research and pedagogy (pp. 135–154). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Brown, J. D. (1988). Understanding research in second language learning: A teacher’s guide to statistics and research design. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Connor, U., & Moreno, A. I. (2005). Tertium comparationis: A vital component in contrastive rhetoric research. In P. Bruthiaux, D. Atkinson, W. Eggington, W. Grabe & V. Ramanathan (Eds.), Directions in applied linguistics: Essays in honor of Robert B. Kaplan (pp. 153–164). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. de Carvalho, G. (2001). Rhetorical patterns of academic book reviews written in Portuguese and in English. In 2nd International Linguistics Conference (pp. 261–268). Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro.



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Gea Valor, M. L., & del Saz Rubio, M. M. (2000–2001). The coding of linguistic politeness in the academic book review. Pragmalingüística, 8–9 (165–178). Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning: A Journal of Applied Linguistics, 16, 1–20. Moreno, A. I. (1998). The explicit signaling of premise-conclusion sequences in research articles: A contrastive framework. Text, 18, 545–585. Moreno, A. I. (2004). Retrospective labelling in premise-conclusion metatext: An EnglishSpanish contrastive study of research articles on business and economics. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 321–339. Moreno, A. I. (2007). The importance of comparable corpora for cross-cultural studies. In U. Connor, E. R. Nagelhout, & W. V. Rozycki (Eds.). Contrastive rhetoric: Reaching to intercultural rhetoric (pp. 25–41). Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Motta-Roth, D. (1998). Discourse analysis and academic book reviews: A study of text and disciplinary cultures. In I. Fortanet, S. Posteguillo, J. C. Palmer & J. F. Coll (Eds.), Genre studies in English for academic purposes (pp. 29–58). Castelló, Spain: Universitat Jaume I. Nicolaisen, P. (2002). Structure-based interpretation of scholarly book reviews: A new research technique. In Proceedings of the fourth international conference on conceptions of library and information science (pp. 123–135). Seattle: University of Washington. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Appendix Move analysis of a prototypical literary academic journal book review Kate Flint. The Victorians and the Visual Imagination. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000. xvi + 427 pp. $74.95. [elt76–11E]

Move introducing the book; subfunction defining the general topic of the book Far more than a handbook to the representational codes of Victorian narrative painting (though it provides help with that function as well), The Victorians and the Visual Imagination is best understood as several sets of essays, with different approaches, on topics related to what might now be called the Victorians’ “visual literacy” – and to our own.

Fusion of moves outlining the book & introducing the book; fusion of subfunctions providing an overview of the organization of the book, citing extra-text material & defining the general topic of the book In ten richly detailed chapters supported by sixty-eight illustrations, Kate Flint examines the complexities of looking, seeing, recording and interpreting the visible world.

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Move introducing the book; subfunction making topic generalizations Victorian paintings and novels are typically crowded with material details which encode a set of cultural values as well as represent the viewpoint of their creator. In addition, engraving and photography and cheap periodicals spread images to an ever widening public, who learned how people and objects both nearby and abroad were “supposed” to look. Twentieth-century theorists have often identified “accumulation and precise recording of detail” as not only a hallmark of the spirit of realism in art and fiction but also a significant feature of metaphysics, social science, and other Victorian modes of “reading” the world. At the same time, Victorians also recognized that appearances could be deceptive and made use of that recognition in both art and fiction.

Move introducing the book; subfunction defining the general topic of the book The book takes several different points of entry into the questions of vision in the Victorian imagination. Among its topics are the limits of visibility, the relationship between the seen and the unseen, nineteenth-century efforts to expose previously concealed physical and social phenomena, and the shift in art critics’ language from an emphasis on constructing (or teaching spectators to construct) a coherent narrative to a more broadly aesthetic analysis both of painterly technique and of questions about the psychology of perception. Thus The Victorians and the Visual Imagination is interdisciplinary in the broadest sense: it draws on art, literature, critical theory, social theory, science and philosophy, and considers the most ephemeral nineteenth-century productions as well as those that still challenge our powers of interpretation.

Fusion of moves outlining the book & highlighting parts of the book; fusion of subfunctions stating the topic of each chapter & providing focused evaluation Amid this richness, some chapters seemed to me more successful than others, though I presume other readers will make different choices. The chapter on dust (“A paradoxical substance associated with disease”), a marker of class status but also an equalizer, revealing some secrets only under a microscope yet responsible for the sky’s magnificence at sunset is itself a Victorian tour-de-force of hyper-abundant detail drawn from almost sixty nineteenth-century authorities ranging from Florence Nightingale and Isabella Beeton, through scientists such as John Tyndall, to literature by Dickens, Gaskell, Tennyson and so forth. Some of the works could have been discovered (I should think) only with the help of our most recent mode of accessing the otherwise invisible: how would Flint have found Steam Power from House Dust for Electric Lighting and Other Purposes (London: Refuse Disposal Company, 1892) or Dust Ho! and Other Pictures from Troubled Lives without the ability to make keyword searches of library catalogues? But in the end this vast heap of citations, even spun together in dizzying verbal webs of speculation, does not seem to produce anything I can remember or use. I was much more enlightened by the following chapter, “Blindness and insight”, which focused its wealth of analysis and commentary on two works from 1856, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Aurora Leigh and John Everett Millais’s The Blind Girl. Since I need the same training in how to read a painting that mid-Victorian art critics provided for less-sophisticated viewers, I learned a great deal from Flint’s exploration of the range of meanings to be extracted from The Blind Girl’s “affective significations” and typological symbolism as well as from the contexts



The rhetorical structure of academic book reviews of literature 167

in which blindness was discussed and the multiple connotations to be drawn from contemporary representations of the seen and the unseen. The book is especially impressive in its uses of nineteenth-century science. For example, Flint makes a brilliant application of debates from experimental physiology to George Eliot’s puzzling short novel The Lifted Veil. Another chapter explores the way in which scientists themselves searched for an “expressive set of visual images” which could satisfactorily convey their explanations of the unseen forces that act on the physical world. Similarly, the nineteenth-century predecessors of Freud, she argues, were drawn to a “vocabulary of surface and depth, of the hidden and the revealed, of dark and of light” which was also applied to the topography of modem cities, especially to the threats posed by both the literal and the figurative “underworld.” The two chapters on Victorian art criticism demonstrate the critics’ roles and practices as well as explore the period’s theoretical debates. Readers of ELT may be especially interested in the long chapter centered on the Ruskin-Whistler controversy. Whistler’s objection to the attempt by critics to discover a single significant meaning-or, indeed, any meaning-in a work of art brings up issues applicable in considering the modes of indeterminacy found in late-nineteenth-century literary practices. And all of us need to read “Criticism, language and narrative” both to enrich our appreciation of the “predictable associations” stirred by particular forms and objects and to broaden our response to the questions students inevitably bring up on those class days when we are showing slides of Victorian paintings in order to give them time to get further into a long novel before we begin the discussion. Chapter 10, “Hallucination and vision”, originates in a consideration of the fin-de-siècle “problem picture.” Although easy-to-read narrative paintings were still widely popular, critics had come to treat the public enthusiasm as a “mark of vulgar taste.” Problem pictures, however, presented a narrative that was not easily read; Flint calls them the “visual equivalents” of fiction such as Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady or The Wings of a Dove. Often presenting a sexually charged scene, the painting left its viewers asking questions about what was happening, what the outcome might be, and whether or not there was a didactic moral to be drawn. Since these paintings – such as Frank Dicksee’s A Reverie (1894) and Millais’s Speak! Speak! (1895) – are much less familiar than the high-Victorian narrative pictures, I certainly wish I could see them better. The book’s major flaw is not the fault of Professor Flint but of Cambridge University Press. The Victorians and the Visual Imagination has been produced on heavy slick paper with generous margins (and an awkward shape), which not only makes it almost impossible for someone without large hands and muscular forearms to hold the book in a comfortable position for reading but also raises the price to $74.95. Yet even so, many of the black-and-white illustrations, especially the photographs of those overcrowded genre paintings whose details are so important, are too muddy for us to see the distant objects or bits of background that contribute to Flint’s interpretive reading. I understand that color reproductions would put the price completely out of reach, but the compromise made here by the press is pretty unsatisfactory.

Move providing closing evaluation of the book; option recommending the book despite indicated shortcomings The price is particularly unfortunate because this is a book many people would like to own so they can reread some of the more intensely rich chapters or reach for a particular section as mental stimulation before heading off to class. The work Flint has undertaken is not nearly so simple as showing the connections between narrative painting and narrative fiction (though

168 Lorena Suárez, Ana I. Moreno

she does that too). Her demonstration of the interplay between art critics’ ways of seeing visual representations and the techniques people in literature use to interpret poetry and fiction has, I think, provided new tools for all of us. And – as always in a book of Kate Flint’s – the bibliography is simply extraordinary. Note: Review by S. Mitchell (2002) originally appeared in English Literature in Transition, 45(1), 76–79. Reprinted with permission of the editor.

Newspaper commentaries on terrorism in China and Australia A contrastive genre study Wei Wang University of Sydney

Newspaper articles are a common genre that has been examined in contrastive rhetoric research to explore its rhetorical and linguistic patterns. However, this chapter aims to go beyond this and to explore how the writers position themselves, manipulate the topic and address their readers by the use of various linguistic strategies and devices. This chapter illustrates the key findings by examining two newspaper commentaries, one Chinese and one Australian. The analysis indicates that the Chinese writer tends to avoid personal voice by the use of more facts and evidence to establish arguments, while the Australian writer shows personal identity clearly by presenting his viewpoint. These findings are discussed in relation to the respective sociocultural contexts in which the texts were written.

Introduction The terrorist attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001, while deplorable in human and political terms, have generated discussions in a range of different fields of disciplines. In the area of language and discourse research, a large number of journal articles and academic papers have emerged which discuss the media coverage and commentaries on the events of 9/11, including a special issue of Discourse & Society which devoted itself to this matter in 2004. Around the general theme of language and ideology, most of the analysis in that collection is based on verbal texts, both written and spoken, produced in one social cultural setting. Few comparative studies across different social and cultural contexts have been carried out. As argued by van Dijk (1996, 1998), newspaper opinion discourses have formidable influence upon political opinion-formation not just of the ordinary,

170 Wei Wang

everyday reader but also of institutional and/or elite actors (e.g., politicians and corporate executives). In modern societies, newspaper commentaries (opinion articles written by expert writers or other journalists, except editorials or letters to the editor, published in newspapers) assume an important communicative function by contributing to the media’s role of formulating certain “preferred” viewpoints about the world. The function of these commentaries within the larger context of newspaper coverage is to offer newspaper readers a distinctive and sometimes authoritative voice that will speak to the public directly about matters of public importance. However, along with other newspaper opinion discourses such as editorials and letters to the editor, newspaper commentaries have received less sustained theoretical and empirical attention by scholars from different fields of studies than “hard” news, where conventional journalistic standards of fairness and objectivity have been scrutinised and challenged (e.g., Fowler 1991; Scollon & Scollon 1997; van Dijk 1988; White 1998). Although both China and Australia have claimed to be anti-terrorism after 9/11, Australia seems to be much more involved emotionally, politically, and even militarily in this issue than China, due to many historical and political factors. Newspaper commentaries on terrorism produced specifically after the events of 9/11 in China and Australia provide a comparable platform for a cross-cultural and cross-language analysis which could provide further insights for understanding the Chinese and English rhetoric and discursive practices of the writers in these two sociocultural contexts. Newspaper commentaries on 9/11 produced in these two countries were usually written by academic or journalist elites who were also experienced native language writers. What they wrote in newspaper commentaries in response to the events of 9/11, and how they wrote them with similar or different linguistic strategies and devices for constructing their own writing, could be of great interest to researchers in intercultural rhetoric studies. In recent studies of contrastive rhetoric, journalistic texts have become a popular text type that draws attention from many scholars. Scollon, Scollon, & Kirkpatrick (2000) argued that there are several reasons why researchers turn to journalistic texts to answer questions raised in contrastive rhetoric studies. They suggest that the main reason is because journalistic texts are readily available and appear to form a relatively similar genre across languages and cultural groups. A second reason is that journalistic texts are examples of a highly salient genre of public discourse that may exert influences on public opinion. A third reason is that journalistic texts are generally thought to exemplify widely accepted standards of form which are less variable than the more flexible and varied academic writings. As a popular research framework, genre has widely been used in contrastive rhetoric studies (Connor 2003, 2004). One fruitful line of genre studies has been to explore the linguistic and rhetorical patterns of particular genres in order



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to identify their recognizable structural identity. However, the concept of genre adopted in this chapter entails not only describing the organizational structure of the genre concerned, but also attempting to reveal how the genre was produced in relation to its sociocultural context. That is, it aims to capture how writers use different rhetorical steps to achieve social purposes, and also describe how writers employ different linguistic devices to position themselves in relation to the events of 9/11, manipulate the topic, and address their readers in different social contexts. Because text analysis techniques employed in traditional contrastive rhetoric research are insufficient for exploring discoursal differences and similarities between writing of two languages (Connor 2003; Mauranen 2001; Ostler 2002), an integrated analytical approach mainly based on systemic functional linguistics is employed for examining the genre under investigation. The analytical tools used in this chapter include rhetorical structure, identification (Martin 2002; Martin & Rose 2003), writer identity (Clark & Ivanič 1997; Ivanič 1998), and appraisal (Martin 2000; Martin & Rose 2003; Martin & White 2005; White 2001).

Genre as social action versus genre as text type Several definitions of genre have been employed in the field of discourse analysis. The most influential definitions are from three different traditions of genre studies. The first is from English for Specific Purposes (ESP), advocated by Swales (1990). In his book, Genre Analysis: English for Academic and Research Settings, Swales defines genre as a class of communicative events with a shared set of communicative purposes. This definition was extremely influential in ESP work on genre analysis. The second is proposed by Martin from the perspective of systemic functional linguistics. Martin (1984) describes genre as a staged, goal-oriented, purposeful social activity. These two traditions of genre studies put much emphasis on identifying structural elements in texts and make statements about the patterning of these elements. The third influential definition is from the tradition of New Rhetoric genre studies. Miller (1994) argues for genre as rhetorical actions based in recurrent situations and for an open principle for genre classification based in rhetorical practice, rather than a closed one based solely on structure, substance, or aim of discourse. Genre studies in the New Rhetoric tradition focus less on features of the text and more on relations between text and context, often by employing ethnographic research or case study methods. These approaches to the analysis of genres have much in common, with considerable overlap, even though they deal with different issues and sometimes have different theoretical concerns. However, genre studies could be roughly put onto a continuum of those that focus on textual analysis at one end and contextual and

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social analysis at the other. These two ends of the continuum could be regarded as dialectical, but not dichotomous with each other. This suggests that a thorough analysis should incorporate both textual and contextual aspects at the same time. Genre analysis has drawn increasing attention in recent contrastive rhetoric research (Connor 2004). In terms of methodology, most genre-based studies have employed one or the other of “stage” or “move” – analytical models of text analysis to investigate whether or not the generic prototypical patterns of specific genre exist in a particular collection of texts. Genre analysts largely focus on generic superstructures and rhetorical functional analyses, such as “moves,” “stages,” “schematic” or “generic” structure. Thus, typical organizational structures are still the major concerns of these genre and contrastive rhetoric studies. These studies have shed many insights and contributed greatly to traditional genre and contrastive rhetoric studies. This is not, however, enough to understand the whole picture of discourse which is concerned with how writers use different languages to “achieve their social goals” (Martin 1984). To argue for genre as social action is especially relevant to the present chapter. The newspaper commentaries under investigation could be argued as social action taken in different sociocultural contexts in response to terrorist attacks, especially the events of September 11, 2001. Genre in the present chapter will be employed as descriptive and analytical rather than as a prescriptive and pedagogical tool. This includes not only descriptions of the characteristics of actual texts, especially organizational structures, but also a poststructuralist perspective on genre (Kress & Threadgold 1988; Threadgold 1989, 1994). This is a process-based theory of genre in which generic meanings are construed between and across texts (Kress & Threadgold 1988). This theory attempts to “describe the way in which practices of reading and writing and of text-making produce that subject and the social world that [people] inhabit” (Threadgold 1994: 1409). In other words, the framework being employed not only tries to describe organizational structures of actual texts and the genre concerned, but also attempts to reveal how the genre was produced in relation to its sociocultural context. That is, it aims to capture how writers achieve their social purposes by using various rhetorical steps, constructing different foci and manipulating topics and readers by using various linguistic devices, all of which are aspects of the dynamic and “stabilized-for-now” (Schryer 1993) status of genres originating in different social contexts.

Analytical framework In these genre exploration approaches, recent developments in systemic functional linguistics (Martin 2000, 2002; Martin & Macken-Horarik 2003; Martin & Rose



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2003; Martin & White 2005) are most relevant for developing a thick description of the genre under discussion. In this chapter, rhetorical structure will be employed to examine the rhetorical steps or stages, and identification (Martin 2002; Martin & Rose 2003) will be used to capture topical foci taken by the writers. Writer identity (Clark & Ivanič 1997; Ivanič 1998) is used to explore the writer’s authorial presence. A recent and important development in systemic functional linguistics – appraisal – is employed to explore interpersonal discourse, semantic resources, and resources for amplifying and engaging with evaluations (Martin 2000; Martin & Macken-Horarik 2003; Martin & Rose 2003; Martin & White 2005; White 1998, 2001). All these analytical tools are believed to offer some insight for further understanding the genre under investigation.

Rhetorical structure Rhetorical structure, in this chapter, refers to internal textual patterns. It describes the stages or steps which function in the text to realize the social purposes of different text types such as exposition, description, explanation, and recounting (Hoey 1983, 2001; Crombie 1985). For instance, the social purpose of media exposition is to argue a case in such a way that the audience is convinced of the truth of the viewpoint or the merit of the proposal. The purpose is clearly to bring readers around to the author’s view generated in different social contexts. Identification Identification is a new development in systemic functional linguistics (Martin 2002; Martin & Rose 2003). It is concerned with resources for tracking participants – with introducing people and things into a discourse and keeping track of them once there. “These are textual resources, concerned with how discourse makes sense to the reader, by keeping track of identities” (Martin & Rose 2003:  143). Simply put, participant tracking concerns who and what is being talked about at any point in a text. By carefully tracking participants at clause level, an author’s major content focuses can be revealed. Based on Eggins (1994), the participants identified will be categorized roughly into “human or nonhuman” and “generic or specific.” Writer identity Another analytical tool employed in this chapter is writer identity, developed mainly by Clark and Ivanič (1997; Ivanič 1998). According to them, the assertion of authorial presence is socially and discoursally constructed. Ivanič explores writer identity and proposes four aspects of writer identity. Among them, self as author is mostly related to a writer’s relative authoritativeness. It is concerned with the writer’s voice in the sense of the writer’s position, opinions, and beliefs.

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It has much to do with writers having their “own voice” in the sense of content rather than form. The self as author is particularly significant for analyzing the genre under discussion, since writers differ considerably in how far they claim authority as the source of the text’s content and how far they establish an authorial presence in their writing. The important component of the self as author is how, and how far, writers appear authoritative by establishing an authorial presence in their texts. It is the visible evidence of writers’ sense of authority and sense of themselves as authors. In this sense, some writers make their voices heard more than others. Writers may put themselves at the center of their writing, exerting control over it and establishing a presence within it. Other writers may relinquish control of the situation to other named authorities, or to some abstract, impersonal source, or perhaps to the reader. Clark and Ivanič (1997) suggest that writing is a political act in which writers aligns themselves with ideological positions available in the sociocultural context.

Appraisal system in English From the perspective of systemic functional linguistics, appraisal is a system of interpersonal meaning which relates to the tenor in a context of situation. In very general terms, we can define tenor as the relationship between writers and readers (Butt, Fahey, Feez, Spinks, & Yallop 2001; Halliday 1994). Initially, tenor was mainly understood by analyzing “Mood Block” and “Modality” of clauses. For furthering the understanding of tenor, Martin and his colleagues (Martin & Rose 2003) have used appraisal to account for the ways writers/speakers position their readers/audiences. In other words, tenor is concerned with how writers’ choices of lexicogrammatical patterns influence readers’ personal reactions to the meanings in a text. According to Martin and Rose (2003), a range of resources is available for analyzing the appraisal system in discourse: first, to study how an author expresses attitude; next, how to amplify attitudes; and then, how to attribute attitudes to sources. There are three main semantic regions of attitudes: expressing emotion (Affect), judging character (Judgement), and valuing the worth of things (Appreciation). In addition to these three evaluative resources, two other systems, Engagement and Graduation, are included in appraisal analysis (Martin & Rose 2003; Martin & White 2005; White 1998). Engagement adjusts a writer’s arguability to what he/she is saying. It can be categorized into monogloss (one voice) and heterogloss (multiple voices), which is the resource for construing modal responsibility by introducing additional voices via Projection, Modality, and Concession.



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Figure 1.  Model of Appraisal Analysis based on Martin and Rose (2003: 54)

Appraisal resources also include systems for grading evaluations (Graduation). This system includes force, which involves resources for turning up or down readers’ feelings about people and things, and focus, which involves resources that sharpen or blur apparently categorical distinctions. The appraisal system in English can be summarized in Figure 1. This system initiated in English, but in light of the nature of evaluative instances of language, it could be arguably suitable for understanding Chinese language in this regard as well. A detailed illustration of this will be found in the analysis of the two texts described below.

Corpus design and compilation In light of discussions regarding establishing comparable corpora for this kind of study (Chesterman 1998; Connor & Moreno 2005; Krzeszowski 1990) and for capturing the dynamic status of the genre, careful consideration was taken to set up criteria for data collection in the two different languages. First, for establishing a baseline for comparison, the time limit for data collection was set to papers published during the first three months after September 11, 2001. These papers were expected to exhibit the immediate responses to terrorism in these two countries and would capture features of the genre under discussion. From primary observation, commentaries on terrorism in China are not as common as those in Australia. I collected Chinese data by exploring a newly developed database in China, the China Core Newspaper Database (CCND), which is an important part of the China National Knowledge Infrastructure (CNKI) Project initiated by the State Council of China. Altogether 43 newspaper commentaries published from September 12, 2001 to December 31, 2001 were found

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among the approximately 440 core newspapers in China covered in the CCND. According to geographic and demographic features of newspapers in China and Australia covered in this chapter, the newspapers were categorized into “National General,” “National Specialist,” “Local General,” and “Local Popular” in order to establish a tertium comparationis (Connor & Moreno 2005) at the newspaper level. To fit into these categories, seven newspapers in Australia were included in the data collection: The Australian, The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age, The Courier Mail, The Daily Telegraph, The Herald Sun, and The Australian Financial Review. 221 commentaries on terrorism were found published in these seven newspapers during those three months. For each category, equal numbers of commentaries were selected from these two sets of data. The basic criteria for selecting texts were 1) to select commentaries closest to the date of September 11, 2001 and 2) to select commentaries most closely related to the issue of terrorism or the terrorist attacks of 9/11 rather than other issues, such as anti-terrorist actions. Consequently, a corpus of 50 newspaper commentaries on terrorism from a range of Chinese and English newspapers, focusing on responses to the events of September 11, were collected. 25 Chinese texts published in China and 25 English texts published in Australia during the same time period were used as data for textual analysis in this chapter. In this chapter, two newspaper commentaries on terrorism, one in Chinese from Mainland China and the other in English from Australia, are used to illustrate the main linguistic and discursive characteristics found in these two sets of texts respectively produced in these two sociocultural contexts. The strength of this chapter lies in examining the same genre realized in different cultures and languages from the same contextual and textual analytical perspectives.

Analysis The following section illustrates key findings by examining two newspaper commentaries in terms of rhetorical structure, identification, writer identity, and appraisal. The Chinese commentary (see Appendix A) is from the People’s Daily, the most influential newspaper in Mainland China, with readers all across China and overseas. It is often regarded as the “mouthpiece” of the Chinese government. The English sample (see Appendix B) is from The Australian, a major nationwide newspaper in Australia.



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Table 1.  Summary of rhetorical structures Text

Text type

Rhetorical Structure

Chinese text

Analytical exposition (problem/solution)

• Thesis (Headline)

English text

Analytical exposition (argument)

Situation (1) Problem (2–6) Reasons of the problem (7–14) Solution (15–28) Standpoint of the writer (29) Thesis (Headline) Orientation 1 (1) Orientation 2 (2–4) Argument 1 (5–20) – Point 1 (6-10) – Point 2 (11-12) – Point 3 (13-20) • Argument 2 (21-22) • Argument 3 (23-25) • Conclusion (26-27)

• • • • • • • • •

Note: Numbers in parentheses indicate sentence number in the texts (see Appendixes A and B).

Rhetorical structure Table 1 outlines the rhetorical structures of the Chinese and Australian examples, respectively. The headline of the Chinese text – “Common awareness: to combat terrorism cooperatively” – indicates that this text aims to argue that there is a common awareness of the need to combat terrorism cooperatively. This text is an example of an analytical (problem-solution) exposition. It does not follow the thesis-argument-conclusion model of western exposition. It takes “terrorism” as a world problem, explores the reasons underlying the problem, and finally offers a solution. In the section where the problem is presented, the writer tries to be objective by employing many examples, facts, and statistics to illustrate the cruelty and brutality of terrorism and terrorist action. At the end of the text, the writer presents a standpoint with the “Chinese government” used as the subject. This could be interpreted as a standpoint expressed on behalf of the Chinese government rather than that of the writer. The English text is also an example of an analytical (argument) exposition, which illustrates why only “Punishing bin Laden won’t stop extremists.” It analyzes the importance of ideology behind the extremist action and appeals to the West and the international community to wage an ideological war against terror-

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ism. It follows the conventional method of establishing argument: thesis-orientation-arguments-conclusion. For the Chinese text, the writer presents “terrorism” as a world problem, followed by a clear description of the reasons for the problem. The writer then proposes a solution of the problem. The text is arguably a typical Chinese rational exposition that uses facts and evidence, while in the English text, the author argues clearly for the steps he thinks should be taken to combat terrorism.

Identification In the Chinese text, five main participants are identified. They are “terrorism,” “terrorist,” “anti-terrorism,” “terrorist attack/activities,” and “innocent civilians.” It could be argued that this text seems to discuss terrorism and terrorist attacks as a world problem and attempts to reach a resolution for this problem. All the main participants are generic humans or nonhumans. Few specific participants were found in the text. Six major participants of the English text were tracked. These are “bin Laden,” “extremists,” “terror/terrorism,” “the extremist ideology,” “the U.S.,” and “the Taliban.” This shows that the text focuses on revealing the source of terrorist actions and unraveling the mystery of bin Laden and his extreme ideology. It appeals to the U.S. and the rest of the world to wage an ideological war against terrorism rather than simply punishing bin Laden. Some main participants are specific – “bin Laden,” “the U.S.,” and “the Taliban,” – while some are generic – “extremists” and “terror/terrorism.” The analysis shows that the Chinese writer focuses on generic or nonhuman participants, while the English writer discusses both generic and specific participants. Writer identity No evidence could be found in the Chinese text to indicate the writer’s self-representation as an author. This suggests that the author’s personal voice has not been heard explicitly, and it seems that the author is representing the Chinese government in the discussion. By contrast, in the English text, writer identity is clearly shown by authorial presence in the use of the first person (“I”). In the beginning of the third paragraph, the writer explicitly states, “I believe . . .” followed by detailed steps he proposes to combat terrorism. Here it seems that the writer tries to indicate a strong control of the topic under discussion and claim responsibility for the ideas put forward in the article. This forms a sharp contrast with the Chinese text, which blurs authorial presence and tries to relinquish the control of the topic to the authorities – namely, the Chinese government. These differences could be described as “object-centered” rhetoric in the Chinese text and “author-centered”



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rhetoric in the English text (Atkinson 1999). These differences can be attributed to the sociocultural contexts in which these two texts occur (see below).

Appraisal By employing an appraisal analysis, we can clearly see that Appreciation is foregrounded in both of these two texts. In the Chinese text, the writer does not try to focus on the people involved, but instead expresses the governmental attitude towards concepts such as terrorism, terrorists’ attacks, and anti-terrorism mechanisms (see Table 2). In the English text, not much evaluative lexis was found. Appreciation was foregrounded for focusing on evaluating the terrorists’ ideology. This could be due to the nature of the texts as analytical expositions which tend to be objective (see Table 3). The analysis in Tables 2 and 3 shows that both the Chinese and English text foreground Appreciation, in which the worth of “things” (e.g., terrorism, results, targets, and punishment) has been valued rather than characters having been judged. Wording that shows Engagement in the two texts is presented in Table 4. In terms of Engagement, it is interesting to note that in the Chinese text, projection and concession are seldom used to engage other attitudes while the writer presents the solutions to the problem. Only strong modality, such as the use of “should,” and “must,” is employed in terms of Engagement. This shows that the writer takes a somewhat monologic and objective attitude towards the topic. It could be argued that the Chinese text does not attempt to engage other voices in explicit ways, and the writer’s aim is to analyze the case in a highly authoritative voice, which employs many high modal verbs. All opinions are naturalized in the sense that the way the event is construed is presented as the only way of talking about it. The writer uses a set of language resources (e.g., previous facts and statistics) to be impersonal or objective. In the English text, projection, modality, and concession are used to engage other voices. As in the Chinese text, the writer attempts to analyze the case in an authoritative voice. High modal verbs such as “should,” “must,” or “have to” were also seen across the whole text. However, the writer argues his opinion strongly in a more subjective way by adding subjective elements such as “I believe . . .”; “This step is likely to be taken. . .”; “. . . are the best possible alternatives to . . .”; and “that extremist ideology is attractive. . . .” In addition, the writer clearly condemns the traditional “arrogant” clergies who have “a simplistic view of religion.” These explicit subjective elements and confrontation with others have not been found in the Chinese text.

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Table 2.  Attitude analysis of the Chinese text Sentence Expression Number (Instantiation)  1  2

 3  4  8  9 12 13

16

16

18 23 24 25 27 27 27 28 28 29 29 29

灾难性[tragic] 迷信暴力，播种仇恨 [make fetish of violence  and disseminate hatred] 暴力[violent] 无辜的[innocent] 日益增多[ever increasing]

Appraised

Attitude

后果[result] 恐怖主义者  [the terrorists]

Appreciation Provoked Judgement

手段[means] 平民[civilians] 恐怖活动[terrorist activities] 大规模[large scaled] 武装袭击[armed attacks] 白人种族主义者 极端的[extreme] [White racists] 以色列总理拉宾 作出过重大贡献的 [making great contribution] [Israeli Premier Rabin] 损害穷国利益的 [which 政策 [policies] harms the benefit of poor countries] 公正、合理的 世界政治和经济新 [just and fair] 秩序[new political and economic world order] 首要 [prime] 目标[target] 客观必然的 要求[demand] [objective and necessary] 统一的[unified] 立场[standpoint] 潜在[potential] 威胁[threat] 统一[unified] 协调[coordinate] 及时[promptly] 掌握动向[grasp] 可能的[possible] 行动[actions] 国际法准则 公认的[publicly [international norms] recognised] 长远[far-reaching] 利益[benefits] 反对[oppose] 一贯旗帜鲜明地[always clearly] 密切合作的[closely 机制[mechanism] cooperative] 不懈[unwavering] 努力[efforts]

Graduation (In Bold)

Appreciation Judgement Force Force Focus Judgement

Appreciation

Judgement

Appreciation Appreciation Appreciation Appreciation Appreciation Appreciation Focus Appreciation Appreciation Force +Focus Appreciation Focus Appreciation



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Table 3.  Attitude analysis of the English text Sentence Expression Number (Instantiation)

Appraised

 1  4  4  6  9 11 12

attack extremist warriors extremist warriors response possible alternatives sources ideology

12 12 14 14 16 16 16 20 21 21 21 22 26

horrific well-trained mainly swift the best main extremist, destructive, superficial efficient appropriate real growing destructive traditional arrogantly simplistic overwhelming attractive almost-bankrupt quick easily necessary

26

not enough

Type of Attitude

Graduation (In Bold) Focus

Judgement Force Focus Force Focus Appreciation

intelligence Appreciation means Appreciation source Appreciation terrorism Appreciation clergies Judgement clergies Judgement view Appreciation majority That extremist ideology Appreciation Appreciation Pakistan solution the extremist ideology Appreciation extradition and punishment extradition and Appreciation punishment

Focus

Focus Focus

Table 4.  Engagement analysis of the texts. Chinese text Projection Modality

Concession

必须[should], 不能[cannot], 必须 [should], 才能[can], 要[needs], 要 [need], 要[need], 应该[should], 要 [need]

English text believe that,  is that Should, probably, is likely to, must, best possible, must, should, have to, should, could, must however, though, however

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Discussion This chapter has highlighted some aspects of analysis which are usually not part of the concerns of traditional genre studies. These include describing the language use in terms of what it reveals about the writers’ identities, how writers manipulate a topic, and how writers address their readers. Although the analysis presented in this chapter is restricted to just two texts, it allows for a few cautionary statements about the application of such an analytical framework to the genre under discussion. This analysis indicates that the Chinese commentary tends to employ more facts and evidence to establish its arguments, while the English text uses the writer’s personal viewpoint to suggest steps which should be taken to combat terrorism. In terms of participants, the Chinese text tends to focus more on nonhuman or generic participants while the English text addresses both specific and generic participants. An appraisal analysis of the two texts shows that both texts tend to foreground Appreciation. However, the English-language writer tends to employ more linguistic devices (e.g., projection, concession, and modality) to engage other voices. Moreover, the English-language writer draws on outside sources to establish an argument more than the Chinese writer. In this sense, the Englishlanguage writer is more eager to convince readers by employing different language strategies and devices. High modality verbs such as “should,” “must,” and “need to” are used in both of the texts. Both writers demonstrate their authoritativeness for the topic under discussion. I would like to argue, then, that the differences of discursive practices and language use found between the Chinese and English texts are strongly influenced by their different underlying sociocultural contexts. To account for possible sociocultural and sociopolitical reasons for the similarities and differences referred to above, the following contextual aspects will be explored. The first is the situational contexts in which the newspapers were produced. That is also concerned with how the topic of terrorism is dealt with in these two sociocultural contexts. The second is sociocultural factors that may attribute to the characteristics of the genre under discussion. This will be related to sociohistorical traditions that influence the writing of these two languages. In terms of the situational context, mass media in China serves as a link between the government, the Communist Party, and the people. The dominant part of China’s journalism is an organ of the Communist Party, and political orientation and fundamental policies largely depend on those of the Party (Chang 1989). As the most important newspaper in China, the People’s Daily is expected to express the voice of the Chinese government, so it is natural for the writer of the Chinese article to speak on behalf of the government in this commentary article



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Table 5.  The public’s priorities after 9/11 November 19, 2001-December 17, 2001

Australia

China

Economy Society/social service Government system/spending Terrorism Afghanistan Other international affairs Other Don’t know Number of respondents

18% 22% 2% 13% 12% 8% 17% 8% 500

56% 20% 10% 4% 1% 1% 5% 3% 508

Source: IPSOS-Reid, Global Express Monitor, January 2002

on a highly political topic. Mass media in Australia, however, is more commercialized and profit-driven, enjoying much more freedom and independence in news selection and publication (Cunningham & Turner 2002; Marshall & Kingsbury 1996). These institutional differences can be viewed partially as reasons why the Chinese commentary employs object-centered rhetoric and problem-solution structure while the Australian commentary adopts author-centered rhetoric and an argumentative type text. Australians may be much more engaged in the discussion on terrorism than the Chinese people for many political and historical reasons. Two pieces of statistical evidence obtained after 9/11 in these two countries may underpin this observation. First is a poll on the public’s priorities after 9/11 conducted by IPSOS-Reid, Global Express Monitor in January 2002 (Everts & Isernia 2002), which indicates that more than half of the respondents in China (56%) expressed that the priority after 9/11 should be on economy rather than on terrorism per se. Through this poll, the public’s priorities were monitored in many countries, including China and Australia. Table 5 is based on the answers to the question, “Thinking of all the issues presently confronting your country, which one do you feel should receive the greatest attention from your country’s leaders?” Table 5 shows that a much lower percent of respondents (4%) in China supposed that terrorism should receive the greatest attention from the country’s leaders than in Australia. It is also observed that while terrorism is a widely discussed topic that concerns the people from all walks of life in Australia, it is largely a political or strategic theme that is restricted to the Chinese governmental and academic domains. It seems that terrorism is usually outside the concerns of the ordinary people in China. It is not surprising, then, that the Australian writers

184 Wei Wang

tend to be more specific and emotion-driven than the Chinese writers in their language use for writing the newspaper commentaries. Second, the data collection of this chapter could also be very revealing. Taking the first three months after the events of 9/11 as the timeframe for data collection, I found only 43 Chinese newspaper commentaries out of approximately 440 core newspapers in China, while for the English newspaper commentaries I collected 221 pieces from the seven key newspapers in Australia. The striking difference between the numbers of newspaper commentaries and newspapers indicates that the topic of terrorism may carry different weight among the peoples in these two countries. In addition, sociohistorical factors may influence the writing of these two languages. For instance, the lack of linguistic devices to engage other voices in the Chinese text could be rooted in the sociohistorical context of Chinese society. It is in line with the findings that Chinese writers tend to use fewer references to other works in their writings (Bloch & Chi 1995; Shi 2002; Taylor & Chen 1991). This could be traced back to the attitude of writing an essay in Chinese history. Writing an essay (quite often referred to as ba gu wen in Chinese history) on historical or political issues was regarded as an important part of managing the country or teaching descendants in China. It can be seen, then, that Chinese history writers’ attitudes towards writing are very content- and context-sensitive. Clear boundaries seem to be drawn between personal writing (e.g., poems and novels) and public writing. Personal voices have been withdrawn to a minimum in public writings to establish a widely agreed voice and social harmony. Also, when writing public essays, writers often aim to inform readers of established opinions rather than setting up a dialogue between writers and readers to negotiate opinions in some way. Taylor and Chen’s (1991) observation of a lack of tradition of disputation in Chinese history could be further confirmed by this observation regarding public versus private writings. This awareness could help us in some way to interpret the differences found in the two texts under discussion.

Implications for further research This analysis is part of a larger study in progress. An analysis of the corpus will reveal further findings beyond those presented here. The framework described in this chapter addresses issues such as identification, writer identity, and how writers manipulate topics and address their readers. This kind of analysis can raise awareness of writing not only as a product but also as a social process and trace underlying social and cultural reasons for linguistic features in the texts. All of this will provide a thicker picture of the genre under investigation as well as useful



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insights for how writers respond to the same social event in different social and cultural contexts. In understanding the hybridity and fluidity of Chinese and English rhetoric, a static and binary statement about Chinese and English writing should be avoided. The complexity and dynamic nature of genres need to be taken into consideration. To further address this complexity, a combination of analytical frameworks, such as those presented here, can be employed. The integration of different perspectives on genres will yield a much more thorough picture of these texts. In this kind of analysis, it is important to combine both linguistically oriented discourse analysis techniques and contextually oriented perspectives.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, and the anonymous reviewer for their insightful comments and suggestions that aided the revision of my chapter. I would also like to express my gratitude to Brian Paltridge, Paula McAndrew and Sook Hee Lee for their close reading of an earlier version of this chapter. As always any errors or shortcomings left are my responsibility.

Texts analyzed (See also Appendixes A and B.) The Chinese text: Tian, Ri. Common awareness: to combat terrorism jointly. The People’s Daily (Overseas edition), 3 Nov 2001. The English text: Esmaeili, Hossein. Punishing bin Laden won’t stop extremists. The Australian, 17 Sep 2001.

References Atkinson, D. (1999). Scientific discourse in sociohistorical context: The philosophical transactions of the Royal Society of London, 1675–1975. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Bloch, J., & Chi, L. (1995). A comparison of the use of citations in Chinese and English academic discourse. In D. Belcher & G. Braine (Eds.), Academic writing in a second language: Essays on research and pedagogy (pp. 231–274). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Butt, D., Fahey, R., Spinks, S., & Yallop, C. (2000). Using functional grammar: An explorer’s guide (2nd ed.). Sydney, Australia: National Centre for English Teaching and Research, Macquarie University. Chang, W. H. (1989). Mass media in China: The history and the future. Ames: Iowa State University Press.

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Chesterman, A. (1998). Contrastive functional analysis. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Clark, R., & Ivanič, R. (1997). The politics of writing. London: Routledge. Connor, U. (2003). Changing currents in contrastive rhetoric: Implications for teaching and research. In B. Kroll (Ed.), Exploring the dynamics of second language writing (pp. 218–241). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Connor, U. (2004). Intercultural rhetoric research: Beyond texts. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 291–304. Connor, U., & Moreno, A. I. (2005). Tertium comparationis: A vital component in contrastive rhetoric research. In P. Bruthiaux, D. Atkinson, W. Eggington, W. Grabe & V. Ramanathan (Eds.), Directions in applied linguistics: Essays in honor of Robert B. Kaplan (pp. 153–164). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Crombie, W. (1985). Process and relation in discourse and language learning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cunningham, S., & Turner, G. (Eds.). (2001). The media and communications in Australia. Sydney, Australia: Allen & Unwin. Edwards, J., & Martin, J. R. (2004). Interpreting tragedy: The language of 11 Sep 2001. Discourse & Society, 15(2–3). Eggins, S. (1994). An introduction to systemic functional linguistics. London: Pinter Publishers. Everts, P., & Isernia, P. (2002). Reactions to the 9/11 2001 terrorists attack in countries outside the US. Retrieved 7/07/2005 from www.politicologie.leidenuniv.nl/content_docs/ Info%20medewerkers/occ_10.pdf Fowler, R. (1991). Language in the news: Discourse and ideology in the press. London: Routledge. Halliday, M. A. K. (1994). An introduction to functional grammar (2nd ed.). London: Edward Arnold. Hoey, M. (1983). On the surface of discourse. London: Allen & Unwin. Ivanič, R. (1998). Writing and identity: The discoursal construction of identity in academic writing. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Kress, G., & Threadgold, T. (1988). Towards a social theory of genre. Southern Review, 21(3), 215–243. Krzeszowski, T. P. (1990). Contrasting languages: The scope of contrastive linguistics. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Macken-Horarik, M., & Martin, J. R. (Eds.). (2003). Negotiating heteroglossia: Social perspectives on evaluation [Special issue]. Text, 23(2). Marshall, I., & Kingsbury, D. (1996). Media realities: The news media and power in Australian society. South Melbourne, Australia: Longman. Martin, J. R. (1984). Language, register, and genre. In F. Christie (Ed.), Language studies: Children’s writing: Reader (pp. 21–30). Geelong, Victoria, Australia: Deakin University Press. Martin, J. R. (2000). Beyond exchange: Appraisal systems in English. In S. Hunston & G. Thompson (Eds.), Evaluation in text: Authorial stance and the construction of discourse (pp. 142–175). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Martin, J. R. (2002). Meaning beyond the clause: SFL perspectives. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 22, 52–74. Martin, J. R., & Macken-Horarik, M. (Eds.). (2003). Special Edition of Text, 23(2). Martin, J. R., & Rose, D. (2003). Working with discourse: Meaning beyond the clause. London: Continuum.



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Martin, J. R., & White, P. (2005). The language of evaluation: Appraisal in English. London: Palgrave. Mauranen, A. (2001). Descriptions or explanations? Some methodological issues in contrastive rhetoric. In M. Hewings (Ed.), Academic writing in context (pp. 43–54). Birmingham, UK: University of Birmingham Press. Miller, C. R. (1994). Genre as social action. In A. Freedman & P. Medway (Eds.), Genre and the new rhetoric (pp. 23–42). London: Taylor & Francis. Reprinted from Quarterly Journal of Speech, 70 (1984), 157–178. Ostler, S. E. (2002). Contrastive rhetoric: An expanding paradigm. In J. Flowerdew (Ed.), Academic discourse (pp. 167–181). London: Longman. Schryer, C. F. (1993). Records as a genre. Written Communication, 10(2), 200–234. Scollon, R., & Scollon, S. (1997). Point of view and citation: Fourteen Chinese and English versions of the “same” news story. Text, 17(1), 83–124. Scollon, R., Scollon, S., & Kirkpatrick, A. (2000). Contrastive discourse in Chinese and English: A critical appraisal. Beijing: Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press. Shi, L. (2002). How Western-trained Chinese TESOL professionals publish in their home environment. TESOL Quarterly, 36(4), 625–634. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, G., & Chen, T. (1991). Linguistic, cultural, and subcultural issues in contrastive discourse analysis: Anglo-American and Chinese scientific texts. Applied Linguistics, 12(3), 319–336. Threadgold, T. (1989). Talking about genre: Ideology and incompatible discourse. Cultural Studies, 3(1), 101–127. Threadgold, T. (1994). Genre. In R. E. Asher (Ed.), The encyclopdeia of language and linguistics (Vol. 3, pp. 1408–1411). Oxford: Pergamon Press. van Dijk, T. A. (1988). News as discourse. Hillsdale, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum. van Dijk, T. A. (1996). Opinions and ideologies in editorials. Paper presented at the 4th International Symposium of Critical Discourse Analysis: Language, Social Life and Critical Thought. van Dijk, T. A. (1998). Opinions and ideologies in the press. In A. Bell & P. Garrett (Eds.), Approaches to media discourse (pp. 21–63). Oxford: Blackwell. White, P. (1998). Telling media tales: The news story as rhetoric. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, The University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia. White, P. (2001). An introductory overview of appraisal theory. Retrieved from www.grammatics.com/appraisal/

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Appendix A Chinese text 《人民日报海外版 》

第三版

时事聚焦

2001年11月03日

People’s Daily (Overseas edition) Page 3 Foci on Current Affairs 03/11/2001 共识： 联手打击恐怖主义 天日 (1)9月11日发生在美国的一连串恐怖袭击事件所造成的灾难性后果，引起了全世界震惊。 (2)恐怖主义者迷信暴力，播种仇恨。(3)他们通过暴力手段滥杀无辜以达自己的某种目的 – 政治的、 宗教的、 团体的或个人的。(4)在 如爆炸、绑架、劫机、杀害人质等恐怖活动 中，无辜的平民成了恐怖分子手中的筹码和牺牲品。(5)1998年6月，在阿尔及利亚，恐怖分子为 发泄对政府不满，竟然在一周内割断了100多名村民的喉管。(6)1999年8月，车臣恐怖分子炸毁 了俄罗斯境内莫斯科、伏尔加顿斯克等 地4座居民大楼，导致近300名平民丧生。 (7)民族分裂主义和宗教极端主义是引发恐怖活动的重要因素。(8)冷战结束后，被两极对立 格局掩盖的民族分裂主义、宗教极端主义进一步抬头，由此引发的恐怖活动日益增多。(9)在俄 罗斯车臣地区，民族分裂主义势力为达到使车臣脱离俄罗斯的目的，发动大规模武装袭击，形成 局部性内战。(10)在中亚地区，1999年2月，宗教极端势力曾连续制造 6起企图暗杀乌兹别克斯 坦总理卡里莫夫的爆炸事件。 (11)极端思潮也是引发国际恐怖活动的重要因素之一。(12)1995年4月19日美国俄克拉荷马 联邦政府大厦爆炸事件的主犯麦克维，是一个极端的白人种族主义者。(13)1995年11月4日，为 中东和平进程的发展作出过重大贡献的以色列总理拉宾，在一次演说后被暗杀。(14)凶手是以色 列国内的极右分子。 (15)目前, 许多国家已形成了这样的共识，即反对和打击恐怖暴力活动必须解决贫富差距拉 大问题。(16)富国不能继续推行损害穷国利益的政策，国际机构必须改革现行国际 规则，逐步 建立公正、合理的世界政治和经济新秩序。(17)这样才能从根本上铲除恐怖分子和恐怖暴力活动 存在和发展的土壤和环境。 (18)值得注意的是，美国是国际恐怖分子攻击的首要目标。(19)据美国防部统计，从1968年 到1985年，在72个国家的美国人和设施遭到过恐怖袭击。(20)美国外交官遭到袭击和暗杀者已达 300多 人。(21)在世界上每年发生的恐怖事件中，以美国为打击目标的占 30％-40％。 (22)鉴于国际恐怖组织分散于世界各个角落，并且不时跨国行动，仅靠某一国家，难以杜 绝恐怖主义的袭击。(23)所以，各国联手是客观必然的要求。(24)为此，各个国家首先要对反恐 怖行动形成统一的立场。(25)要像共同对付国际贩毒等公害一样，认清恐怖主义对全人类构成的 潜在威胁，共同致力于反恐怖斗争。(26)其次，要建立情报交换、行动协调机制。(27)已有专家 提出建议，在联合国框架内建立专门的反恐怖机构，统一协调各国的反恐怖行动，及时掌握恐怖 分子的动向，预先化解可能的行动，避免或减少损失。(28)采取打击恐怖主义的军事行动应该符 合《联合国宪章》的宗旨和原则，及公认的国际法准则，要有利于维护世界和平与发展的长远利 益。 (29)中国政府一贯旗帜鲜明地反对任何形式的恐怖主义活动，近年来还与中亚邻国为共同对 付恐怖主义活动建立了密切合作的机制，为国际社会协调防止与对付恐怖主义活动作出了不懈努 力。



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Translation Common awareness: to combat terrorism jointly Tian Ri (1) The whole world was shocked by the series of terrorist attacks that happened on Sept. 11 in the U.S., and which caused catastrophic results. (2) The terrorists made a fetish of violence and disseminated hatred. (3) They massacred the innocent wantonly by violent means in order to reach their own purposes – political, religious, organizational and personal. (4) In terrorist activities such as explosions, kidnappings, hijackings and killing hostages, innocent civilians become the tokens and victims of the terrorists. (5) In June 1998, in Algeria, terrorists even cut over 100 villagers’ throats in one week as a way of venting their discontent with the government. (6) In August 1999, Chechen terrorists destroyed four residential buildings in Moscow and in the Volgadonsic area. These attacks claimed nearly 300 civilians’ lives. (7) Ethnic separatists and religious extremists are the important groups which cause terrorist activities. (8) After the Cold War, ethnic separatism and religious extremism concealed by the two polar fronts in the Cold War gained ground and brought about increased terrorist activities. (9) In Chechen, Russia, aiming to separate Chechen from Russia, ethnic separatists force launched large-scale armed attacks, which became a regional domestic war. (10) In Mid Asia, in February 1999, religious extremists carried out six explosions in their attempt to assassinate Premier Karlimof of Uzbekistan. (11) Extremists’ thoughts are also one of the factors causing international terrorist activities. (12) The prime culprit of the Oklahoma Federal government building explosion on April 19, 1995, McVeigh was an extreme White racist. (13) On November 4, 1995, the Israeli Premier Rabin who has made a great contribution to the development of Middle East Peace progress was assassinated after a speech. (14) The assassin was an extreme rightist in Israel. (15) At present, many countries have formed this kind of common awareness. It is in order to oppose and combat terrorist activities we should solve the polarization of the rich and poor. (16) Rich countries cannot keep on carrying out policies which harm poor countries. International organizations should gradually reform current international practices to establish the just and fair new political and economic world order. (17) This can basically root out the existing and developmental soil and terrain of terrorists and terrorists’ violent activities. (18) It is worth noting that the U.S. has been the prime target of international terrorists attacks. (19) Based on the statistics of the U.S. Ministry of Defense, from 1968 to 1985, Americans and their facilities in 72 countries have sustained terrorists attacks. (20) More that 300 American diplomats have sustained attacks and assassination. (21) 30%–40% of terrorists’ attacks in the world every year made the U.S. their attack target. (22) Seeing that international terrorist organizations are scattered in every corner of the world and often take cross-countries actions, it is difficult to rely on only one country to exterminate terrorist attacks. (23) So it will be crucial for every country to work hand in hand. (24) Thus, each country first needs to take a unified standpoint to oppose terrorists’ attacks. (25) We need to tackle it as a public nuisance such as international drug trafficking, and beware of the potential threat to the whole of mankind that is caused by terrorism, and engage in the anti-terrorism war together. (26) Second, we need to establish mechanisms for information exchange and the coordination of action. (27) Some experts already suggest establishing an anti-terrorism organization within the structure of the United Nations which will aim to coordinate every

190 Wei Wang

country’s anti-terrorism actions, understand the terrorists action promptly, dissolve possible actions in advance, and avoid or reduce loss. (28) Military actions which combat terrorism should comply with the missions and principles of the UN Charter, and publicly recognized international norms. These actions need to contribute to the far-reaching benefits of world peace and development. (29) China’s government always clearly opposes any form of terrorist action. In recent years China has established a closely cooperated mechanism with its Middle Asian neighboring countries to combat terrorists’ actions. It has made unwavering efforts to protect and tackle terrorist action in the world community.

Appendix B English text The Australian p. 17 Opinion 17/09/2001 Punishing bin Laden won’t stop extremists The West must wage an ideological war against terror and eliminate fanaticism at its source, Hossein Esmaeili writes

(1) The measures taken following the 1993 terrorist attack on the World Trade Centre (long prison terms for the perpetrators) did not deter terrorists from this week’s horrific attacks in New York and Washington, nor did it solve the problem of international terrorism. (2) The finger is being directed at Osama bin Laden, a Saudi-born millionaire who left his country to join Mujaheddin fighting the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan in the 1980s. (3) Tens of thousands of young men from Saudi Arabia, the Gulf countries, Egypt and Algeria joined fighters who finally pushed the Soviet Union out of Afghanistan. (4) These well-trained and mainly extremist warriors are now spread around the world, with their base in Afghanistan and Pakistan. (5) I believe that the U.S., the West and the rest of the international community should take several steps to combat terrorism originating in the Middle East and western Asia. (6) The first step, as it is expected, is a swift response by the Americans, and probably supported by the UN Security Council and other nations, against training camps, military instillations and intelligence services of bin Laden and networks associated with him and with his much isolated extremist version of Islam. (7) This step is likely to be taken by the U.S. (8) However, caution must be taken regarding the situation of Afghan people being held hostage by the Taliban. (9) The Northern Alliance opposed to the Taliban and other Afghan opposition groups living in exile are the best possible alternatives to the Taliban. (10) They must be supported by the international community. (11) The second step, which is being proposed by political analysts, politicians and terrorist experts, is to crack down on the main sources of Middle Eastern terrorism. (12) This includes two phases: first, to put pressure on Pakistan to close down Islamic schools, centres and institutions belonging to or supportive of bin Laden and his extremist, destructive, superficial ideology; second, isolating bin Laden’s followers around the world and monitoring their activities by efficient intelligence and other appropriate means.



Newspaper commentaries on terrorism in China and Australia 191

(13) The third step, which has not been raised so far by political analysts, Western media and experts, is a longer-term strategy against the terrorism that originates in the Middle East. (14) In this step, the West and the rest of the world – including Islamic nations – should find the real source of the growing destructive terrorism in the Middle East and western Asia. They have to find where the ideology and financial support behind bin Laden, his 20,000 trained Arab militia and associated groups comes from. (15) The ideology comes from within Saudi Arabia (nor directly related to the Saudi Government). (16) Traditional clergies who have isolated themselves from the rest of the Islamic world, arrogantly claiming the sole authority to interpret Islam, have a simplistic view of religion. (17) They have influenced elements of Islamic societies in Egypt, Algeria, Pakistan and Afghanistan. (18) The financial support comes from within Saudi Arabia and other rich Arab states of the Gulf. (19) Again, governments of those small oil-rich countries are not involved. (20) However, the Saudi Government and those Arab states in the Gulf should co-operate in combating the extremist ideology that is not shared by the overwhelming majority of Muslims and Arabs in the Middle East and around the World. (21) That extremist ideology is attractive in countries where poverty makes many people desperate and provides quick solutions to their problems. (22) So Afghanistan, almost-bankrupt Pakistan and perhaps in the near future Iraq are the places where the extremist ideology behind the terrorism can easily attract people. (23) The danger is that no country in the world is prepared to be involved in any activities that could offend the Saudi authorities and other oil-rich Arab states. (24) More than 60 per cent of the world’s main energy source, oil, comes from Saudi Arabia and other Persian Gulf states. (25) A long-term solution must consider these factors carefully. (26) The extradition and punishment of bin Laden and destruction of his military and training bases in Afghanistan and Pakistan, though necessary, are not enough to break the back of those narrow-minded followers of death and destruction. (27) Not only have they killed thousands of innocent people and disrupted the life of many Americans, they have also shamed the reputation of Islam and its civilisation. Dr Hossein Esmaeili is a lecturer in international law at the University of New England in Armidale, NSW

section iii

Contrastive rhetoric and the teaching of ESL/EFL writing

“Long sentences and floating commas” Mexican students’ rhetorical practices and the sociocultural context Virginia LoCastro University of Florida

This chapter reports on a study that takes a problem-drive approach to answer the question “What do Mexican Spanish university writers ‘do’ when they write in Spanish, their L1, and in English, their L2?” This ethnographic study examines learners’ writing practices in their educational environment. Data collection includes learner and participant observation accounts, classroom observations, and textbook analyses. In Part I, the sociocultural context of the Mexican university is described, followed by a functional discourse analysis of one representative example from a multilingual student’s essay. Part II discusses the educational setting, literacy training, and writing instruction from both teachers’ and learners’ perspectives. This chapter informs teachers and other language education professionals about multilingual writers in EFL contexts.

Introduction Teachers of English as a foreign language (EFL) in academic contexts in Mexico, whether or not they are trained to work with nonnative speaker (NNS) learners, will undoubtedly notice learners’ written production patterns as differing from those of native English speaker (NES) texts. Curiosity may lead them to explore features of the learners’ L1 to understand if, for example, a student consistently uses commas or semicolons differently from the patterns of punctuation markers in a NES essay or published article. In all likelihood, teachers look for traces of transfer from L1 rhetorical and formal practices to be able to interpret “all those . The extent to which NESs in the U.S. can be said to write well, including attention to prescriptive formal norms for English, is increasingly debated (see, for example, Fish 2005). For the purposes of this study, the author assumes the NES standards embodied in The Little, Brown Handbook (Fowler & Aaron 1998), among others, as a baseline.

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long sentences and floating commas,” as one colleague put it. Decision-making about what and how to teach formal features of English grammar in addition to other aspects of academic writing can be more effective if the teacher has some knowledge of the students’ L1 practices as well as of those students’ educational background. Heath (1983), Phillips (1983), Barton, (1991), and Gutierrez, Baquedano-Lopez, & Tejeda (1999) are four studies among a growing number that have examined learners’ sociocultural worlds and demonstrated the value of that knowledge in curriculum revision and instruction. Inspired by their work, the current study takes a problem-driven approach to answer the question “What do Mexican Spanish university writers ‘do’ when they write in Spanish, their L1, and in English, their presumed L2?” In order to begin to answer this question (this chapter can only provide a start), this ethnographic study examines learners’ writing practices and their educational environment. Through learners’ accounts, classroom observations, textbook analysis, and participant observation accounts, I seek to understand learners’ textual practices by studying examples of their production while simultaneously “going beyond the texts” (Connor 2004). Grabe and Kaplan (1996) focus on the need for more ethnographic studies of L2 writers. Buell (2004) supports that point of view: “interpretive, intertextual and ethnographic approaches can work together to enrich an understanding of . . . written texts” (p. 117). Her study of code-switching in learners’ second language writing informs her view that switching “codes” (Spanish-English) signals changes in practices and world views. Buell applauds these strategies as part of a repertoire of knowledge and competencies rather than “seeing them reductively as temporary deficiencies” (p. 118). This qualitative, contextual analysis frames a linguistic discourse analysis of student-produced academic writing, combining process and product approaches. The term “process” in this context refers to the sociocultural dimensions that influence the literacy practices of multilingual student writers (Connor 2004), while “product” refers to the learners’ texts. This study contributes to the field of intercultural rhetoric (IR) research, a renaming of the contrastive rhetoric framework by Connor (2004) to signal a broadening of the scope of studies to include “dynamic models of cross-cultural research” (p. 272). IR encompasses studies of both oral and written texts in multilingual environments, informed by a variety of theoretical and methodological approaches. The current study reflects the IR agenda as it constitutes an empirical investigation of a non-U.S. context conducted by a researcher engaging in participant observation of the cultural context as

. Students at Mexican universities may have indigenous languages as their L1s. In addition, there may be some who are multilingual, with English as one of their L3s.



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a resident and full-time faculty member of one of the universities serving as sites for this study. This study is informed by various assumptions in this complex, intercultural situation. One assumption of this study is that the analysis of learners’ texts implies, as a comparison, a baseline of NES norms. In Verbal Hygiene, Cameron (1995) states that the existence of norms is unavoidable, even for descriptive linguists. In sociolinguistics, it is not possible, for example, to describe and discuss a nonstandard variety of a language without having a baseline, usually that of the standard variety. Norms are de facto recognized, and although the trained linguist may attempt to avoid prescriptivism, certainly there is much evidence that, outside the relatively small category of human beings called linguists, prescriptivism cannot be avoided. Another assumption involves the articulated point of view that the student writers who contributed to this study want to be taught the audience expectations for normative academic writing in both Spanish and English. The learners in this Mexican study are enrolled in writing classes to learn and practice using the norms manifested in the rhetorical practices in English and in Spanish in their own texts. This reality of attention to norms is not unique to Mexican learners. There is evidence in a recent TESOL (2002) document to support this point of view. TESOL is developing “Standards for Teachers of Adult Learners.” Standard 5 (2002, www.tesol.org/s_tesol) states that teachers of English to adult learners “need to be able to model written language for their learners, language that is appropriate to audience, topic, and setting.” This implies recognition of contextualized norms. Scholars in critical discourse analysis label this perspective on literacy skill development of multilingual writers as instruction in “critical language awareness” (Fairclough 1992). Fairclough (1992) and Janks (2000) state that the lack of training in critical literacy skills is a form of disenfranchisement of all citizens. In the two EFL contexts in which I have taught (specifically Japan and Mexico), my experience has been that learners of EFL, if they are motivated to study writing, have needs which they can articulate: they want to write well enough to create well-written texts in English so that they can (1) study abroad in exchange programs or for postgraduate study, (2) publish articles in journals in their professional fields in the future, if not currently, (3) work abroad at least for short sojourns, and (4) become better writers to meet personal, intrinsic needs. When asked, they indicate they seek to become bilingual/bicultural writers, not replac-

. Note that TESOL is currently revising the document regarding these standards.

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ing their L1 with English, the most commonly studied L2 in both countries (LoCastro, in progress). Further, recognition of the needs of multilingual writers informs Matsuda’s (1997) notion of a dynamic model of L2 writing. That is, Matsuda argues that teachers need to help learners in their classrooms negotiate access to discourse communities “by becoming familiar with the discourse-level conventions” (p. 55). Emphasizing reader expectations, Connor (2002) argues that “cultural differences need to be explicitly taught in order to acculturate [multilingual] writers to the target discourse community” (p. 505). Thus, while acknowledging the legitimacy of the concerns of Kubota (1999) and Ramanathan and Atkinson (1999), among others, regarding multilingual writers’ choices to retain their sociocultural identities, I adopt the stated goals of the informants for this study. In the sections that follow, details of the methodology of the current study are elaborated. Findings are presented and discussed for Part I, the discourse analysis of learners’ texts, and Part II, the ethnographic components of the study. The study emphasizes the value of the qualitative discourse analysis of the participants’ work, supplemented with a grounded description of their background. Both parts go beyond many studies of multilingual writers that have tended to be limited to text analysis. I argue that this dual approach, learning about the sociocultural context of the participants and their literacy practices, is crucial in understanding their situated world.

Previous English-Spanish cross-rhetoric studies This section briefly reviews two intercultural rhetoric studies of English-Spanish writers and their texts that illustrate relevant concerns for the present study. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to provide an extensive review of the literature regarding contrastive studies of multilingual writers of these two world languages. The studies that follow are among many (see Lux 1991; Montano-Harmon 1991) that engage in discourse analysis of Spanish and American texts where linguistic and rhetorical features of the two languages are compared. Neff, Dafouz, Diez, Prieto, & Craig (2004) point out the disadvantage of using student-written texts in intercultural rhetoric studies: a case is made for comparing NES norms with the norms of Spanish used by proficient, published L1 writers of Peninsula Spanish. They argue that the features observed in the provided examples of L2 Spanish and L2 English texts derive not from L1 rhetorical practices but rather are novice writer features. However, within the situated literacy framework, it is legitimate to examine learners’ written production to understand their skills and the rhetorical features of their texts. Neff et al. (2004) carried out a



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project on argumentative texts by (1) professional (published) English and Spanish writers, (2) Peninsula Spanish university students writing in their L1 (Spanish) and their L2 (English), and (3) L1 English writers at U.S. universities. They studied structural features, including the number of words per T-unit and per clause, along with other measures of syntactic complexity and information structures, specifically types of clauses and number and type of connectors. Results suggest preference patterns derived from the students’ L1 regarding subordinate clause embedding across the populations investigated. However, the authors conclude that the “loose coordination” (i.e., the long paragraph pattern with few explicit cohesive markers) derives not from the L1 Spanish rhetorical practices, but rather from the fact that the writers were novices. Simpson (2000) studied paragraphs from articles published in academic journals written by expert native speakers of Latin American Spanish and English in their L1s. Carrying out both a physical analysis (e.g., number of words per paragraph, per clause, etc.) and a topic structural analysis, Simpson found that the physical analysis supported findings of earlier studies that characterize the Spanish rhetorical style as favoring elaborated sentences with many clauses. The topic structural analysis also showed a distinctive tendency of Latin American Spanish towards linking ideas across paragraphs by means of an extended sequential pattern. Thus, Simpson’s study illustrates two noticeable differences regarding written texts in the two languages. While Simpson’s first finding regarding elaborated sentences reflects those of earlier studies, the second describes a cohesive strategy to link ideas across the distance of a paragraph. Neff et al. (2004), Simpson (2000), and others cited above, while informing the current study, are limited in their conclusions regarding English-Spanish cross-rhetorical practices. The analyses focus primarily on structural features of English and Spanish writing with some attention given to features of extended texts. The study described in this chapter engages in a functional analysis of L1 writing, in particular drawing attention to multilingual writers’ underlying communicative intentions in their choices of textual features and patterns.

Previous situated literacy studies in Mexico In contrast to research carried out in the U.S. since the early 1980s (see Heath 1983; Phillips 1983, among others), few scholars have studied the Mexican Spanish context of literacy practices in Mexico. One example is Kalman (1999), an anthropologist, who conducted an ethnographic study of literacy practices in a small plaza located off the main zocalo in Mexico City where, for centuries, scribes have produced texts from love letters to government documents for citizens who

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presumably lack the necessary literacy skills. After a year of observations and interviews with both the scribes and their clients, Kalman discovered that often the clients were not illiterate; rather, they lacked confidence in their skills, the means to produce typed documents, or the capacity to meet the complicated requirements of government documents commonly required in many instances in everyday life in Mexico. Kalman’s work is an illuminating context-sensitive study of the situated literacy practices of a small culture in contemporary Mexico. In a study more directly relevant to the present chapter, Del Rosal Vargas (2002) reports on his students’ L1 essay writing for an academic writing course. Del Rosal is a professor at a public university where he teaches L1 writing to university students. In a paper at a conference on academic writing in Mexico, Del Rosal (2002) emphasized the importance of studying school environment to understand some of the reasons learners produce texts without argumentation. He demonstrated how a student’s essay had no indications or signs of either dialogue or a discursive development of ideas. There was no argumentation; all the information in one example essay was composed of unexamined, distant ideas. I call the type of text produced by the student “encyclopedia” writing, and it is not uncommon for teachers to wonder if the student has not simply copied text from an encyclopedia. This style has become conventionalized within the Mexican Spanish context. Del Rosal’s interpretation was that the student avoided any dialogue as a form of defensive stance against a school environment that prioritizes conformity and dependence, and perhaps to the teacher’s potential reaction to the student’s work. In effect, university students have internalized the cultural restraint on expression of the self in the formal educational context. There is evidence to support Del Rosal’s interpretation. Levinson’s (2001) study of a secundaria (junior high school) in Central Mexico describes how students who offered creative, innovative responses on homework assignments were rarely praised as the teacher reviewed the answers in class. The emphasis was on a “collective equality that encouraged...enforced, student participation with the grupo (group)” (p. 134). A third study with relevance to the present project is Camps’ (2000) dissertation. Camps looked at the writing practices of six Mexican students at U.K. universities where they were studying for masters or doctoral degrees. His purpose involved understanding what students had brought with them to universities from their EFL writing courses at the Instituo Tecnológico y de Estudios Superiores de Monterry, Campus Ciudad de Mexico (ITESM-CCM), to handle the academic demands on them, specifically regarding academic writing. Because Camps had been one of the writing teachers at ITESM-CCM, he was able to compare the sources of knowledge of that small culture with the adaptation to the demands of the new small culture in which his informants found themselves while in the



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U.K. His study also exemplifies a situated literacy approach to learning about the dynamics of his new informants’ contexts. Kalman (1999), Del Rosal Vargas (2002), and Camps (2000) all contribute to fostering an understanding of the cultural context of literacy skill development in modern Mexico. The current study seeks to go beyond their work to examine, through a more inclusive ethnographic study, the informants’ sociocultural background, making an original contribution to our knowledge of academic literacy training. It combines analysis of textual practices and the educational context of the multilingual student writers; this study, consequently, addresses questions not explored by previous research.

The study The participants in this study were students at two universities located in Puebla, Mexico; one is a private institution, La Universidad de las Americas-Puebla, (UDLA), and the other is a public university, Benemerita Universidad Autónomo de Puebla (BUAP), supported by the Mexican government, the Secretaría de Educación Pública (SEP). The UDLA students (n = 46) come from families with high socioeconomic status, reflected in their ability to pay the tuition at the university. All were nonlanguage majors in their final semesters at the university, enrolled in an academic writing course taught by English-speaking teachers with advanced degrees. The BUAP students (n = 21) were all English language majors enrolled in their final semester at the university in a linguistics course. These students are predominantly from local Puebla families from lower socioeconomic backgrounds. Of the two groups of students, those at BUAP are more representative of Mexican students in general; UDLA students are similar to those who continue their education in the U.S., Canada, the U.K. and European countries. In addition to students, teachers were also included in the study to gain their perspective on writing instruction in the Mexican context. Although all of them have a master’s degree (three in foreign language teaching and two in literature), none of them has had any specialized training in the teaching of writing. During the period of data collection, I was a full-time faculty member at UDLA. I am a trained sociolinguist with an interest in academic writing and literacy. I twice taught advanced academic writing courses to undergraduates and directed M.A. theses of graduate students in the Applied Linguistics Program. Thus, I engaged in continuous, ongoing observation of the local context of multilingual writers in their small culture and interactions with other overlapping small cultures in Central Mexico.

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The universities are situated in the state of Puebla, in Central Mexico. BUAP is located within the city of Puebla itself on two campuses, while UDLA can be found six miles away on the outskirts of Puebla, in the small town of Cholula. Since the two universities are situated in different areas of the city, the two groups of informants would not generally interact with each other. Although this study views students and teachers as members of a small culture, students may be viewed as forming two groups. There are major socioeconomic differences between students in private and public universities which undoubtedly have social and cultural consequences. Nevertheless, the analysis and findings discussed below view them as comprising one small culture on the basis of two characteristics. First, they are potentially members of the same group as multilingual writers struggling with academic writing in their L1 and L2. Second, almost all expressed a desire to study, work and/or live abroad in the future, in responses to a questionnaire item. Data consists of students’ written texts, classroom observations, interviews with teachers and informants, documents, and data from tutorials with four students (LoCastro, in progress). The data were collected by myself and cooperating colleagues and research assistants, all of whom were students or teachers at the universities during the period of this ethnographic study (2000–2003). All the students who participated were informed publicly of the purpose of the data collection. The data analysis in the next section, “Functional Discourse Analysis,” comprises a discourse/functional analysis of learner-produced texts. One representative example from the data was chosen for a close analysis of formal properties, focusing on the communicative purpose of features that are nonstandard from the point of view of NES norms. The features that are discussed do not provide an exhaustive overview of texts written by the Mexican Spanish informants in the study. They serve to illustrate salient characteristics for the purpose of informing teachers and researchers about this type of linguistic analysis and the learners’ writing practices. “Ethnographic Study” describes the findings from the ethnographic component of the study: the Mexican educational system and literacy training, the teaching of writing, and learners’ perspectives on writing instruction. Regarding the questionnaire data, there are both quantitative and qualitative analyses of parts deemed valuable for this chapter. The qualitative analysis focuses on patterns concerning the learners’ behavior that can be derived from the data.



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Functional discourse analysis Analysis of the learners’ texts, though preliminary, is based on a functional perspective that focuses on what the learners do in their writing. A functional approach starts with a description of the communicative function of a linguistic item or part of a sentence prior to studying how the particular function is enacted linguistically. Error analysis is not a concern. The teacher of English academic writing confronts a number of indications of nonstandard usage in the learner language: spelling errors, misuse of personal pronouns, long sentences, simple sentence structure, misplaced commas and semicolons, fused sentences, lack of connectors or cohesive devices, etc. The choice of textual features for analysis is data-driven; i.e., multiple instances of the features discussed below were found in student essays and M.A. theses I read over a five-year period. In both L1 and L2 texts by student writers, I was required to provide feedback as a teacher and/or M.A. thesis director. The choice of items was also influenced by discussions with Mexican and non-Mexican colleagues at the same universities as well as other universities with experience with Mexican Spanish writers in the U.S., Mexico, and elsewhere. Finally, the studies of scholars have also informed the choice: see, among others, Camps (2000); Lux (1991); Neff et al. (2004); Simpson (2000). The unit of analysis for this study is the conventional “sentence,” defined as starting with a capital letter and ending with some form of end-of-sentence punctuation. In research regarding the value of T-units versus the sentence as the basic unit of analysis, Bardovi-Harlig (1992) argues that the sentence has greater psycholinguistic validity for the writer. Due to the difficulty of establishing equivalent units in Spanish and English (see also Simpson 2000), I consequently decided to adopt Bardovi-Harlig’s rationale. The following section focuses on an example of academic writing in Spanish to illustrate features that are commonly found in the second language writing of informants of this study. The example chosen for this chapter comes from the thesis of a student in the M.A. program in Applied Linguistics at UDLA. It illustrates in particular the elaboration component (Lux 1994), loose coordination, and few explicit cohesive markers – common features of Mexican Spanish writers. The entire passage would be viewed as one sentence, on the definition that a “sentence” begins with a capital letter and ends with a period.

. I put “sentence” in quotation marks as it depends on whether one is referring to the unit in NES or in the conventions of Mexican Spanish writers in the study.

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Al comparar el método comunicativo y participativo de la enseñanza de la matemática con el método de enseñanza tradicional, se encontró que el primero fue más eficiente sobre el segundo debido a que el método tradicional tiene una estructura rígida en su forma de enseñanza y en donde se hace énfasis en procedimientos rutinarios, fórmulas y demostraciones carentes de significado para los estudiantes, este tipo de procedimientos es para la mayoría de los estudiantes estériles, aburridos y carentes de sentido, fuera de contexto y del ámbito cultural de los estudiantes, además la impartición de la clase se realiza a través de monólogos par parte del maestro con lo que la parte interactiva de la enseñanza se pierde. [Comparing the communicative and participative method of teaching mathematics with the traditional method, one finds that the first one is more effective than the second, due to the traditional method having a rigid structure in its form of teaching and where emphasis is put on routine procedures, formulas, and demonstrations devoid of meaningfulness for the students. This type of procedure is for the majority of the students sterile, boring, and devoid of meaning, without context, and outside the cultural context of the students, in addition to the fact that the class is realized through monologues by the teacher where the interactive dimension of teaching is lost.]

The following diagram of the text provides a breakdown of the constituent clauses to demonstrate how they are connected to form this “sentence.” The linguistic means to connect the constituents are in the boxes. The numbers signal the presence of conjugated verbs. Al comparar el método comunicativo y participativo de la enseñanza de la matemática con el método de enseñanza tradicional, 1. se encontró que el primero fue mas eficiente sobre el segundo debido a que el método tradicional tiene una estructura rígida en su forma de enseñanza y en donde se hace énfasis en procedimientos rutinarios, formulas y demostraciones carentes de significado para los estudiantes, 2. este tipo de procedimientos es para la mayoría de los estudiantes estériles, aburridos y carentes de sentido, fuera de contexto y del ámbito cultural de los estudiantes, 3. además la impartición de la clase se realiza a través de monólogos por parte del maestro con lo que la parte interactiva de la enseñanza se pierde.

There is a mismatch of terms that becomes apparent in studying English and Spanish academic writing practices. For example, a sentence in English does not equal either oración (sentence) or párrafo (paragraph) in Spanish. The translation equivalents are not functional equivalents. Moreover, the syntactic structures of these



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linguistic categories are rendered following cultural practices. Typically, a sentence in English academic writing is composed of two or more main clauses, linked with a connector word, with other clauses embedded in one of the main clauses. In Mexican Spanish, what is called a párrafo can be expanded with additive clauses appended with only commas, as seen in the example, or semicolons to join them. The result can be labeled as “run-on” or “fused” sentences in English. The example illustrates what might be labeled a sentence-long paragraph in Spanish. Eliciting talk from students in writing classes, as well as from graduate students about their own writing, they make the point that, according to what they had been told (if they have received writing instruction earlier), all ideas related or linked to the main idea of a “paragraph” should be kept together. This is what students are taught to do in writing classes in English. However, whereas American English has gone through some campaigns to make written texts presumably more reader friendly, anecdotal evidence from Mexican multilingual writers suggests they were instructed to build “paragraphs” that include all related sub-ideas. In fact, one student explained it is viewed as positive and more polite to write such “sentences,” demonstrating to the professor, the main reader of the essays, how intelligent one is by writing long sentences. Thus, what is appropriate language usage in formal, written texts in English and in Spanish varies according to the sociocultural context. There are both differences and similarities in comparisons between learners’ L1 and L2 writing and those of NESs. Just as politeness is manifested differently depending on the language, syntactic patterns will also convey linguistic information in the manner deemed appropriate for the particular language. The writer of the example had communicative purposes in mind in writing the text as he did, following the norms of his cultural background. In addition to the longer sentence structure seen in the example, there is a noticeable lack of overt cohesive devices in comparison to NES rhetorical practices in the text of the Mexican writers. Coherence may be enacted through a variety of linguistic means. Languages and culturally influenced rhetorical traditions may include a repertoire of means to signal cohesion that diverges from what is normative for NESs. One such strategy is the repetition of lexical items, forming a lexical chain (see Halliday 1989). Subordination can also be done without surface level connectors in Spanish, according to von Mentz (2001); coherence as a cognitive dimension does not require explicit markers in texts, Another means to signal cohesion is punctuation markers, including the comma and semicolon. Regarding punctuation conventions, there are two interpretations of the origin of the markers. In contrast to the grammatical system for English (Halliday 1989), the system for Peninsular Spanish (REAL 1999) is based on commas and other intrasentential markers representing breath pauses in the

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stream of speech in written texts. This convention regarding the placement of commas leaves Mexican Spanish writers at a loss as to the placement of punctuation markers in their L2 texts with conventions that follow a different system. In addition to differences in punctuation conventions, there are beliefs and practices that arise regarding the oral and written codes in Spanish. The written code has been clearly associated with elite groups of society through the centuries. This attitude derives from the historic context where only members of the elite were able to become literate due to the role of the Catholic Church. Even today, Mexican students are taught that in la lengua culta (cultured language), more subordination is required, whereas in less culta texts, more coordination and more commas are noticeable. Thus, there is a diglossic situation regarding the high variety (written code) and the low variety (oral code), a fact that is not surprising, given the problem of literacy development in Mexico. The prioritizing of the high variety as the norm for writing in Spanish is reinforced by views that the “cultured” style is also regarded as more “polite,” and that it signals higher intellectual ability on the part of the writer. Such influences are not found only in the Mexican Spanish context. Scollon (1997: 357) notes that, with ESL/EFL learners from non-schooled traditions, there are likely to be influences from the oral code of the relevant language on literacy practices.

Ethnographic study This section contains the findings from the ethnographic data collected in tandem with students’ sample essays at the two university sites. My goal here is to provide further evidence that the quality of this writing is anchored in the sociocultural context of contemporary Mexico. First, an overview of the Mexican educational system is presented, followed by a description of writing instruction from the point of view of both teachers and learners.

Educational system and L1 literacy training The educational system, in the form of the SEP, the Ministry of Education of Mexico, promotes and engages in many activities to improve literacy development, presumably fostering the cultural capital of its citizens. Government offices distribute pamphlets urging parents of small children to expose them to literacy

. The REAL is regarded in Mexico as the definitive source of information on the language and its mechanics, such as rules for punctuation and grammar.



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practices, i.e., simple reading and writing tasks. Nevertheless, only a relatively small number of students arrive at university level able to read and write in their L1 well enough for the coursework. Clearly, Mexican learners are not receiving the kind of instruction they need to develop their cultural capital so as to function, particularly after university, in the workplace (see among others, Lillis 2001; Lewis 2001). The teaching of L1 literacy begins formally in the six years of primary (primaria) school. Currently, there are six courses in Spanish oriented towards the functional use of the language. That is, the focus is on the content or communicative message, not on the writing per se. In that way, the teaching of the written and oral codes of the language in primary school are for the purpose of developing strategies permitting the students to communicate in either code. The how of writing is not addressed. The secondary school (secundaria), or junior high school, is three years. During that period, there are three courses in the first language where grammatical and literary aspects of the Spanish language are studied. The preparatory (preparatoria) period, equivalent to senior high school, is six semesters; there are reading and writing courses, and one course on the use of the library for research purposes. Students learn academic writing skills and how to carry out small research projects. There is still a noticeable lack of attention to writing skills development. The introduction of second and third languages varies greatly; private schools, with more financial resources and staff, may provide classes in several languages from the start of primary school. In addition, there are schools supported by agencies of foreign governments – France, Germany, Japan – that are bilingual from the start of schooling. Public or state-supported schools have fewer resources and must follow the mandated curriculum, which entails the delayed introduction of foreign language education. Finally, geography plays a role: urban schools are more likely to have foreign language classes than schools in rural areas where preparatory schools may not exist (see Levinson 2001, for a more elaborated view of the Mexican educational system).

Teaching of writing Anecdotal evidence and questionnaire findings from the current study indicate that instruction in writing at all levels of the Mexican educational system is problematic due to lack of local resources and unexamined beliefs and practices. Despite best intentions and efforts, there are not enough school buildings or teachers, in particular trained teachers, to provide the population with education beyond the mandated secondary level.

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Further, writing instructors seem to follow the policy that mere practice in writing, in either L1 or L2, is sufficient. Copying, following models of literary writers, and “playing it safe” with the non-dialogue style comprise writing instruction, which indicates a lack of awareness that writing needs to be explicitly taught over time. Both Levinson (2001) and Vaughan (1997) point out that the government of Mexico seeks to promote equal education up to the end of secondary school for all Mexican children, deemphasizing attention to aspects related to elitism. This policy may deemphasize attention to advanced literacy skills such as academic writing for learners who intend to continue their education at the preparatory and university levels. It is generally claimed by the media, academics, and scholars that reading literacy skills are weak in Mexico. Headlines in the popular press in Mexico claim that only 20 percent of secondary students can comprehend what they read. Mexico is criticized by many Mexicans for not being a “reading public.” Consequently, the extensive and intensive reading required as a precursor for writing is lacking. Classroom observation data from all levels of the Mexican system give some insights for the outside analyst. Teachers in primary school, particularly during the first several years, focus more on having students write than on teaching the writing process. In the last two years, there are explanations about the writing of short texts where textbooks containing activities that help the learners practice writing serve as guides both for teachers and learners. At the secondary level, teachers also take into consideration the process of constructing written texts. Writing becomes a daily activity, both in class and for homework. At the preparatory level, where the teaching of writing is linked closely to reading, authentic-like texts are analyzed by teachers and students. Study of the organization of texts is carried out in class with students putting much emphasis on locating the main ideas of paragraphs. It is assumed that students can then apply these strategies to their own writing tasks. An important observation, an aspect that can be gleaned from the textbook analysis as well, is that much time is dedicated to those aspects of writing related to orthography and punctuation. Yet there appears to be little interest in these elements at the level of prescriptive rules or in their role in communicating effectively the content of the written text. Students in this study reported never having been taught the rules for punctuation in their L1. Levinson (2001) claims that evaluation of students’ essays in the context of the secundaria he studied emphasized a finished product with correctness (p. 135). There was little interest and/or time for teachers to be engaged with the process of writing, that is, how the students created texts. Teachers were also unconcerned either about students’ “copying,” as they believed “the subject would be learned.” Teachers viewed the copying as “better than nothing.” In effect, as long as students



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could copy a passage with correct spelling and punctuation – that is, function as scribes –teachers assumed they had achieved the objectives of the SEP. It seems that writers as “scribes” (rather than as creators of texts) is a theme that is found in discussions of literacy practices in Mexico. Another means to learn what happens regarding writing instruction in Mexico is through examination of curricula and related materials. There are SEP curricula for pre-, primary, and secondary schools, all of which map out teachers’ responsibilities, objectives, and activities. Attention is given to spoken and written language differences in Spanish, awareness of literature, communicative competence, and working in groups, throughout the curricula, with instruction on library use at the end of primary school. At all levels of the educational system the SEP curriculum and textbooks must be used in the public school system, with some choice allowed in private schools. An analysis of available textbooks on academic writing for teaching Spanish as an L1, and the few on the market for English academic writing (mostly for senior high school and university level instruction), demonstrates an emphasis on the following areas:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

punctuation accentuation (accent marks) copying correctly what is given by teachers verb tenses, gerunds prepositions sentences (oraciones) common errors (for example, por qué, por que, porque) figures of speech

Such a list reinforces the impression that learners in writing classes in Mexico are likely to experience much attention to form. In Bourdieu’s (1991) terminology, they are expected to become “scribes” rather than writers or creators of texts. The range of university level textbooks for L1 writing instruction includes a set written for Pearson Education – Latin America, which reflects a strong influence from composition books for NES learners in the U.S. These textbooks, however, are generally regarded by Mexican teachers as being too heavily influenced by non-Mexican, non-Spanish sources. They are sold in bookstores alongside another type of textbook (see, for example, Escalante 2000) of which there are many more examples. This second type has three sections: grammar, common errors, and figurative language use. The examples tend to be all from literary sources. As Hinkel (2000) argues, it is not clear how helpful that text genre in a writing man-

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ual will be for learners required to write academic essays, including such aspects as avoiding plagiarism and adopting citation practices. It is necessary to keep in mind that these materials represent the overt curriculum, what might be called the “desiderata” of ministry officials. It is difficult to generalize, therefore, from the published documents to what extent there may be mismatches between the overt and the covert curriculums. In addition to textbooks, there are other materials that support academic writing. In the U.S., there are a number of sources that one can easily cite with regards to published norms for academic writing in English: APA (American Psychological Association 2001), MLA (Gibaldi 1995), and the Chicago Manual of Style (1993), to name only some of the better-known style sheets. Moreover, newspapers as well have their own in-house manuals, and there are numerous textbooks, such as The Little, Brown Handbook (Fowler & Aaron 1998), for English composition classes as well as Swales and Feak’s (2000, 2004) textbooks for graduate students. In Mexico, the only document similar to, for example, the APA manual is that of the REAL Academica Española (1999), published by the Peninsula Spanish national authority for that language, similar to the Académie Française in France. There is a dictionary and a handbook on spelling, accentuation, and punctuation. However, neither the REAL nor other types of handbooks for writing include most of what one uses the APA for: citation, reference lists, and the creation of manuscripts for publication. Thus, materials available for informing academic writing in Mexico are clearly limited, not addressing areas such as citation and text organization that are regarded as basic in the English-publishing world.

Teachers’ perspectives Three teachers who work in preparatory schools and two who teach at the secondary level agreed to be interviewed about their experiences with teaching literacy skills. In general, the teachers felt discouraged about how writing is taught. They commented that writing instruction was problematic partially because of the negative attitudes students have towards the combined reading and writing courses. That reaction, in the view of the teachers, is due in part to the fact that reading and writing at the preparatory level are viewed as special bodies of knowledge and not as skills and competencies that need to be developed. Their discussions centered on classroom practices, criteria for correction of students’ texts, and finally the difficulties of teaching in the Mexican educational system. The following is a composite of the teachers’ accounts.



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The teachers indicated that, for reading as well as for writing instruction, they work with the students on the location of the thesis statement, supporting statements, and the main ideas in a paragraph. Skills very frequently emphasized are paraphrasing and paragraph writing. Paraphrasing enables teachers to check whether or not the students have merely copied the text of an author. It is also used in conjunction with the interpretation and translation of texts. Teachers’ insistence on the writing of paragraphs is necessary, as students tend to write in isolated sentences. Then, within the paragraph framework, the teachers teach how to write sentences. In addition, summary writing is commonly assigned to students. This strategy helps teachers to determine whether or not the student has understood the reading. However, the teachers interviewed complained about the directions for summary writing in the mandated writing instruction manuals. Moreover, the correction of summaries sometimes provides little benefit due to poor quality of students’ writing, in the opinion of the interviewed teachers. The process approach of using multiple drafts is another strategy that the teachers try to use in the classroom, although in general the correction of drafts is carried out by the students themselves. As with other practices in the Mexican classroom, error correction also contributes to students’ underdeveloped writing skills. Despite the existence of criteria for correct spelling and punctuation marks in Spanish, there is a great diversity in the application of those criteria when the teachers revise students’ texts. This fact is related directly to the beliefs and knowledge of the teachers, as many researchers (see Li 1996) have indicated. The definitions of “good writing” appear to be influenced by various linguistic, cultural, and ideological factors as well as individual teachers’ training and experience with writing academic texts, all of which affect the types of correction and the writing instruction. The correction of students’ texts is carried out frequently in the classroom, during pair or group work; learners are also asked to engage in self-correction. Individual correction by the teachers is less frequent. The teachers indicated that, although they recognize the importance of individual correction, they are not able to provide it due to the large number of students in each group. Another factor is the features corrected by teachers in students’ texts. In primary school, correction focuses on orthography and grammar. As for secondary school, the features given most importance are the coherence of arguments, orthography, and the physical presentation of the students’ work. At the preparatory level, writing instruction is strictly linked to reading. Feedback is related to aspects connected with the readings in students’ textbooks. Correction at this level first centers on orthographic and syntactic aspects, then presentation and coherence. Regarding the use of connectors and discourse markers,

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it appears that not much attention is given to the correction of these linguistic forms in students’ texts. This lack of attention to cohesive devices may derive from the fact that cohesion is achieved differently in Spanish from the linguistic means found in English. Plagiarism, it appears, is not a factor that is taken into account in feedback practices. On this point, the author of the source text in the reading textbook is generally considered to be important; in effect, this characteristic means that the students “follow” the original text. Moreover, features related to citations and the use of sources are not addressed frequently. It is important to draw attention to a certain incongruity that exists between the criteria that the teachers consider important and the criteria that in reality they apply at the time of making the corrections. That is, there is a mismatch between what they acknowledge as important and what happens in reality; each teacher corrects what s/he considers important under the pressure of real time teaching responsibilities. Finally, the teachers remarked on the difficulty involved in the teaching of writing in a society with serious literacy problems. They argued that the success of writing instruction cannot be the sole responsibility of the language or literature teachers. In their view, the institutions should implement programs that promote reading and the writing of texts that go beyond the responsibilities of the writing teachers themselves. In sum, the teachers were suggesting a writing-across-thecurriculum approach to literacy skills development.

Learners’ perspectives Learners’ perspectives on the writing instruction they received serve to illustrate further reasons for the kind of writing they are expected to produce in the Mexican educational system. A questionnaire was administered to obtain self-report data from learners about their previous experiences with writing instruction. It was given to 67 informants, 21 from the public university and 46 from the private one. An exhaustive overview of all the collected data is not possible here; a discussion of salient categories follows. One of the questions asked if the informants had had classes specifically for writing instruction. Table 1 summarizes the responses to this question. The majority of informants indicated that they had received some training in writing academic texts; however, 14 selected “never,” and only eight remembered having some writing instruction “most years.” Comments written on the instrument itself revealed that, when the informants selected “single course” or “some years,” they themselves were not clear about whether or not they could



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Table 1.  Responses to the question of whether the informants had had classes specifically for writing instruction Never

Single class

Some years

Most years

Every year

14

21

24

8

0

Table 2.  Most frequently used techniques for teaching writing Most frequently used

Second most frequently used Third most frequently used

The teacher lectured.

We wrote research papers.

We discussed writing.

We studied grammar and did grammar exercises. We read and corrected each other’s papers. We learned about spelling and We discussed writing. punctuation. We did workbook exercises. We studied grammar and did grammar exercises.

We wrote in class. We learned patterns of organization. We wrote research papers.

We gave oral presentations on our papers. We read and corrected each other’s papers. We wrote in class.

We studied grammar and did grammar exercises.

claim to have had actual writing instruction, as most of the time the courses have a reading and writing content base. Writing is used as a means to check reading comprehension without much instruction on writing per se. Thus, when 14 of the informants selected “never,” it should be kept in mind their possible interpretation of the question when generalizing from the results. Those who indicated that they had received writing instruction “most years” had gone to private schools. This correlation is not surprising, as the previous discussion noted the greater resources available to private schools in Mexico. Now the discussion turns to teaching techniques used in any class that informants could view as attempting to teach them about writing. They were asked to indicate the three techniques most frequently used by their teachers. Table 2 summarizes the responses to this question. There are clearly repetitions; moreover, the teaching techniques lack variety in general and suggest a limited repertoire for writing instruction. Without a study involving regular classroom observations, it is difficult to assess to what extent, for example, teachers’ lectures about writing took up class time versus the amount of time students wrote in class.

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Table 3.  Informants’ perceptions of instructor emphasis Most emphasized

Second most emphasized

Third most emphasized

Clarity of main idea Correct grammar and spelling Organization

Organization Clarity of main idea

Correct grammar and spelling Organization

Correct grammar and spelling

Using good examples and details to illustrate main ideas Originality and imagination

The questionnaire also attempted to learn about what the teachers most emphasized, from the informants’ point of view, in awarding grades. Table 3 summarizes these responses. Teachers seem to pay attention for the most part to correct grammar and punctuation, organization, and clarity of the main idea. Anecdotal evidence supports these questionnaire findings. From interview data with four students in a non-language content course at the private university where I taught, all indicated that, despite doing a lot of writing related to reading assignments, they did not get the kind of feedback they needed in order to improve their writing skills. If any feedback was given, specifically correction or negative evidence, their teachers tended to either do it with the whole class or have the students work in pairs, giving feedback to each other on their own work. It was a rare teacher who managed to find the time or who was motivated enough to provide careful, helpful comments and suggest corrections. It appears that writing tasks function as a means to award grades and for disciplinary purposes. One of the informants commented that more than one teacher he had would simply check off that he had submitted a paper in the grade book, and he would not see his paper again. In many cases, the learners in the case studies claimed they did not know what the basis was for their grades. Such means of handling students’ work may be one of the reasons for the generally negative attitudes associated with writing instruction and writing in general, at least among the current generation of university students.

Conclusions and implications One of the students in the M.A. program in Applied Linguistics at UDLA who was researching plagiarism in the Mexican educational context wrote recently, “If in education, students learn new ways of thinking, then it is only logical they need to learn new ways of writing” (Ramirez 2003). Student writers in the Mexican context in Puebla expressed their needs for more informed writing instruction



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in both their L1 and L2. However, concern in the growing literature examining multilingual writers in the U.S. is limited to the ESL context of North America, where the notion of voice and creation of a self-identity in the L2 – i.e., English, clearly the majority language in the U.S. context – remains anchored in the world of minority groups and immigrants to the United States. In other environments, EFL learners may seek to develop their own voices in professional contexts, being instrumentally motivated to become successful multilingual writers within the paradigm of adopting the increasingly international norms for academic writing. Informants in the study expressed feelings of being disempowered; they seek to increase their cultural capital for their future careers. The current study, by taking a non-deficit, critical perspective, provides a start in informing researchers both within and outside Mexico of the local writing practices and the complex sociocultural context influenced by educational and social inequities. Future studies may focus on such questions as: How can literacy skills, first in the L1, then in the L2, be more effectively taught or developed in the multilingual writer? How can the L1 cultural values and practices as exemplified in writing texts be respected? How can motivated learners be helped to achieve their bi-literacy goals? In sum, the purpose of this chapter is to contribute to the knowledge base of writing practices of multilingual student writers, specifically those living in EFL contexts. Further, it seeks to inform teachers, dissertation/thesis directors, manuscript readers, and editors who work with international graduate students and professionals who are increasingly visible in tertiary and postgraduate institutions where they study, work, and publish in their L2. These individuals may influence multilingual writers in negative ways if they remain unaware of multilingual writers’ considerable abilities, despite the use of nonstandard forms and unconventional rhetorical practices.

Acknowledgements The study on which this chapter is based was supported by a project funded (2000–2004) by the Mexican Government, specifically Consejo Nacional de Ciencía y Tecnología Project No. G34449-H (Conacyt). The author also wishes to thank the research assistants and the students who participated in the study as well as La Universidad de las Américas, Puebla for facilitating completion of the study. In addition, I would also like to thank María Eugenía Garduño Pérez of BUAP for her invaluable help.

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References American Psychological Association. (2001). Publication manual of the American Psychological Association (5th ed.). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Bardovi-Harlig, K. (1992). A second look at T-unit analysis: Reconsidering the sentence. TESOL Quarterly, 26, 390–395. Barton, D. (1991). The social nature of writing. In D. Barton & R. Ivanič (Eds.), Writing in the community (pp. 1–13). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Bourdieu, P. (1991). Language and symbolic power (G. Raymond & M. Adamson, Trans.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Buell, M. Z. (2004). Code-switching and second language writing: How multiple codes are combined in a text. In C. Bazerman & P. Prior (Eds.), What writing does and how it does it: An introduction to analyzing texts and textual practices (pp. 97–122). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Cameron, D. (1995). Verbal hygiene. London: Routledge. Camps, D. (2000). Drawing on, adapting and recreating writing practices for their academic purposes: The case of six Mexican postgraduate students at four British universities. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Lancaster University, UK. The Chicago manual of style. (1993). (14th ed.). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Connor, U. (2002). New directions in contrastive rhetoric. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 493–510. Connor, U. (2004). Intercultural rhetoric research: Beyond texts. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 291–304. Del Rosal Vargas, G. (2002). El desarrollo de las habilidades discursivas. In Cuadernos de Difusión Académica del Area de Redacción Universitaria. Puebla, Mexico: Universidad de las Américas Puebla. Escalante, B. (2000). Curso de redacción para escritores y periodistas: Teoría y ejercicios. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. Fairclough, N. (Ed.). (1992). Critical language awareness. London: Longman. Fish, S. (2005, May 31). Devoid of content. The New York Times, p. A17. Fowler, H. R., & Aaron, J. E. (1998). The Little, Brown Handbook (7th ed.). New York: Longman. Gibaldi, J. (1995). MLA handbook for writers of research papers (4th ed.). New York: Modern Language Association of America. Grabe, W., & Kaplan, R. B. (1996). Theory and practice of writing: An applied linguistic perspective. London, UK: Longman. Gutierriez, K., Baquedano-Lopez, P., & Tejeda, C. (1999). Rethinking diversity: Hybridity and hybrid language practices in the third space. Mind, Culture, and Activity, 6(4), 286–303. Halliday, M. A. K. (1989). Spoken and written language. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Heath, S. B. (1983). Ways with words: Language, life, and works in communities and classrooms. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hinkel, E. (2000). The goals and the politics of L2 writing instruction. TESOL Matters, 10, 12. Janks, H. (2000). Domination, access, diversity and design: A synthesis for critical literacy education. Educational Review, 52, 175–186. Kalman, J. (1999). Writing on the plaza: Mediated literacy practice among scribes and clients in Mexico City. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press.



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Kubota, R. (1999). Japanese culture constructed by discourses: Implications for applied linguistics research and English language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 33, 9–35. Levinson, B. A. (2001). We are all equal: Student culture and identity at a Mexican secondary school, 1988–1998. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Lewis, C. (2001). Literacy practices as social acts: Power, status, and cultural norms in the classroom. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Li, X. M. (1996). “Good writing” in cross-cultural context. Albany: State University of New York Press. Lillis, T. M. (2001). Student writing: Access, regulation, desire. London: Routledge. LoCastro, V. (in progress). Teacher expectations and learner efforts. Lux, P. A. (1991). Discourse styles of Anglo and Latin American college student writers. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Arizona State University, Tempe. Matsuda, P. K. (1997). Contrastive rhetoric in context: A dynamic model of L2 writing. Journal of Second Language Writing, 6, 45–60. Montaño-Harmon, M. R. (1991). Discourse features in the compositions of Mexican English as a second language, Mexican-American, Chicano and Anglo high school students: considerations for the formulation of educational policy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Southern California, Los Angeles. Neff, J., Dafouz, E., Diez, M., Prieto, R., & Chaudron, C. (2004). Contrastive discourse analysis: Argumentative text in English and Spanish. In C. L. Moder & A. Martinovic-Zic (Eds.), Discourse across languages and cultures (pp. 267–283). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Philips, S. U. (1983). The invisible culture: Communication in classroom and community on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation. New York: Longman. Ramanathan, V., & Atkinson, D. (1999). Individualism, academic writing, and ESL writers. Journal of Second Language Writing, 8, 45–75. Ramirez, A. (2003). Unpublished manuscript. Universidad de las Americas-Puebla, Mexico. REAL Academia Española. (1999). Ortografía de la lengua española. Madrid: Espana Calpe. Scollon, R. (1997). Contrastive rhetoric, contrastive poetics, or perhaps something else? TESOL Quarterly, 31, 352–358. Simpson, J. M. (2000). Topical structure analysis of academic paragraphs in English and Spanish. Journal of Second Language Writing, 9, 293–309. Swales, J., & Feak, C. B. (2000). English in today’s research world: A writing guide. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Swales, J., & Feak, C. B. (2004). Academic writing for graduate students (2nd ed.). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. TESOL. (2002). Standards for teachers of adult learners. Retrieved March 22, 2002, from http:// www.tesol.org/s_tesol Vaughan, M. K. (1997). Cultural politics in revolution: Teachers, peasants, and schools in Mexico, 1930–1940. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. von Mentz de Boege, B. (personal communication, 2001). CISEAS, Mexico City.

English Web page use in an EFL setting A contrastive rhetoric view of the development  of information literacy Kara McBride Saint Louis University

The nonlinear and interactive nature of Internet searches makes them quite different from other types of reading acts. This chapter describes a study that investigated how English as a foreign language (EFL) Internet users in a Chilean university community approached English language websites and databases. Participants were observed in computer workshops, surveyed, interviewed, and asked to use a think-aloud protocol while navigating unfamiliar websites in English. Contrastive rhetoric and schema theory were used to interpret the findings. English-specific problems included word order confusions and incorrect interpretations of synonyms. Among the younger participants, level of English proficiency did not correlate highly with skill in finding information over the Internet. Differences between user schemata and Web page layouts were found to negatively affect some information search attempts. Pedagogical implications are discussed.

Introduction Information literacy has been defined as “[recognizing] when information is needed and [having] the ability to locate, evaluate, and use effectively the needed information” (American Library Association 2004). Academics throughout the world who seek information about their fields of study often must retrieve a substantial amount of that information in English. The retrieved documents can usually be easily translated into the information seeker’s own language, but the information searches themselves must be carried out in English. Although some attention has been given to information literacy programs for nonnative English speakers (Warschauer 2002), the role that the language barrier plays in the process of acquiring information literacy has not been addressed. Being able to find a document on the Internet without knowing beforehand precisely which

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document one seeks is a skill that develops over time. One develops the ability to guess the right search terms, to combine them so that neither too many nor too few documents are hit upon by a search engine, and sometimes to use Boolean operators to refine the relationships between terms. Acquiring this subtle art is all the more complicated if the database or catalogue through which one must search was developed in a culture other than one’s own. Classification is arguably the central activity in all daily and scientific activities, and it emerges through social dialogue (García Marco & Navarro 1993). As such, methods of classification can differ from one society to another. Connell (1995), in describing the metaknowledge that experienced database searchers possess, includes awareness of the principle of specific entry as fundamental for successful searches. To illustrate this, Connell gives the simple example of looking for a book about jazz and knowing to look under the term “jazz” and not “music.” Traditions of usage within a culture will, over time, determine when to organize information under a larger category and when to use more specific terms. Such knowledge is thus culturally bound. Information is organized in libraries and databases on the principle of collocation. All related terms that rightfully fall together must be cross-referenced to each other. Since, however, it is not feasible to index a work under all possible descriptors, a domain of controlled vocabulary is established, in which key terms define the major categories and hierarchical ordering of taxonomies of knowledge entities (Smiraglia 2002). Not only does the information seeker need to know where on a hierarchy of categories he or she needs to begin a search, it is also necessary to know the precise terms that have become, through usage, the keywords that hold together corpora of texts. The American Library Association (2004) lists specific skills that constitute information literacy, including three which are impacted when there are linguistic and cultural differences between authors and information seekers: “An information literate person is able to… access the needed information effectively and efficiently, evaluate information and its sources critically, [and] incorporate selected information into one’s knowledge.” Language differences play a role here because access to information cannot be as effective or efficient when it is done in a language one has not mastered. Being unfamiliar with the context of the source of the information will negatively affect the ability for critical evaluation. These factors will in turn complicate the proper incorporation of new information into what was previously known. Readers of a traditional, printed text know to simply read the pages in ascending order. In contrast, Web site readers must choose between hyperlinks, which can lead them to different sections of a document, or take them to a different site altogether. Even more flexible and unpredictable is the path followed by a database



English Web page use in an EFL setting 221

user. Database users typically have no lists of topics to choose from but instead must provide the key terms themselves. To find the information that one seeks, an information literate person must figure out, interact with, and manipulate the organizational logic of the Web site or database that he or she uses. However, this organizational logic may not match with what the Web site user or database user is familiar with. This is how the word ‘surf ’ came to be used for the experience of looking at web pages: it is almost like you are being carried by forces that you don’t control. If you go to a library and just sit in a chair, nothing will happen, but with the minimal effort of clicking a mouse you can very quickly be surrounded by informa(Boardman 2004: 70–71) tion – metaphorically lost at sea. 

Contrastive rhetoric and reading Beginning with Kaplan’s (1966) seminal work, contrastive rhetoric has helped to identify differences in the presentation and organization of textual information between cultures and between languages. Over the years, there has evolved a more complex understanding of the many interweaving and dynamic cultural, historical, and social factors that help to create these differences (Connor 2004). This evolution has included a broader conception of culture itself, which takes into account “small” cultures, such as a disciplinary culture (Atkinson 2004). The professional context that members of a discipline share in common shapes the rhetoric of the discipline’s written products, and new members of the profession are socialized into writing within the discipline (Hyland 2000). Language differences and their influence on writing can be explored by examining manifestations of the same phenomenon across languages. For example, research articles from the same discipline but written in different languages can be compared (e.g., Moreno 2004). More commonly, contrastive rhetoric studies have looked at how nonnative speakers operate within a second language genre. Contrastive rhetoric has traditionally concerned itself with second language writing, and rarely with second language reading. One exception to this is Thatcher (2004), who looked at how Ecuadorian readers respond to electronic genres, such as e-mail. The content of e-mail has many of the characteristics of oral communication, yet it is stripped of the information that voice can communicate through tone and rhythm. Email also lacks the kind of visual input, such as facial expressions, that typically accompanies conversational exchanges. The Ecuadorian participants found the text-only nature of e-mail to obscure messages in that format. Thatcher suggests that the Ecuadorians of his study were particularly affected by these restrictions

222 Kara McBride

inherent in e-mail because they come from what can be described as a high-context tradition. Like the Ecuadorians, the Chileans in the present study come from a high-context tradition. Their use of the Internet might then be predicted to be highly influenced by the visual context that Internet text is encountered in. As will be seen, the findings of the study support this prediction.

Textual organization and schemata Carrell (1987) is another author who discusses reading from the contrastive rhetoric framework. She outlines research that demonstrates that the organization of a text affects reading comprehension as well as recall. Also, she notes, it has been found that signaling devices – words such as “thus,” “consequently,” and “summary” – aid most readers’ comprehension. Such devices are thought to improve reading comprehension by making clearer a text’s hierarchical structure. The hierarchical structure dictates the relationship that the parts of a text have to one another, and this in turn aids the reader in retaining the most important information and integrating it into the reader’s developing mental model (Kintsch & van Dijk 1978). Lesser details must be discarded because of limitations on a reader’s working memory. “Sentences are assigned meaning and reference not only on the basis of their constituent components but also relative to the interpretation of other, mostly previous, sentences” (Kintsch & van Dijk 1978: 389). However, in the case of reading hypertext-rich Web sites, or when using search engines or databases, the original hierarchical structure of the text(s) may become completely obscured, depending on how the reader chooses to proceed from one document to another. The burden on the reader is greater in the hypertext context. Charney (1994) argues that by skipping around to different parts of texts, one reads in a less cohesive context, with the effect that one ultimately reads a less cohesive text. Whether or not a reader is able to properly detect the structure of a text depends on the schema by which the reader is operating. The reader’s schema functions as an abstract script that the reader expects the text to adhere to (de Beaugrande 1980). When an academic reads an article from within his or her own disciplinary culture, he or she has the advantage of being familiar with the genre; a corresponding schema is well established, and this facilitates reading. Academic articles online are often presented in a format that is similar to the way they are presented in printed journals. This also helps the reader by presenting the material in a predictable and familiar manner. Thus, the information seeker can proceed through the stages of scanning through a document in order to decide if a thorough reading is worth his or her time, and then perhaps reading the article from top to bottom; these stages should not differ much from the way one



English Web page use in an EFL setting 223

experiences them with printed texts. For this reason, it was never expected that the participants in the study described here would have trouble with this side of their Internet use. What was the object of study was the process of finding this information online through search engines, databases, and hypertext links, and how such operations would in turn be complicated by the additional challenge of doing these things in a second language. The study was undertaken with the understanding that linguistic features were not the only culturally-determined factors that would influence the EFL searchers’ success rate. Visual characteristics of Web pages carry a great deal of information that is meant to guide the users’ movement and choice of hyperlinks within sites. The visual impact of Web pages and the ease of going between one and another influence the way in which words themselves are put together.

Visual aspects of the Internet The Internet’s graphic manifestation is essential to its character and indeed its popularity. The Internet only started to become widely used in 1991, when it was taken from its purely text-based, UNIX-like format to including graphics (Bolter & Grusin 1999). Burbules (1998) traces how, both in print and television, the presentation of information has shifted away from the centrality of text. Images have become increasingly important in these media. This shift is referred to as remediation. Burbules argues, however, that this term is misleading, because it wrongly suggests that visuals are simply taking the place of text and are therefore communicating the same information as the text they are replacing. Burbules claims instead that the nature of messages has changed to something more easily captured in a quick glance. Words now carry less of the central message and tend instead, on an imageladen page, to serve a pointing function. In order to capture the Web navigator’s attention and quickly direct him or her to interesting parts of a Web site, Web page creators often choose short, dense phrases, rather than full sentences (Boardman 2004). This is often done by forming long noun phrases with multiple modifiers, such as “a general computer use workshop.” This is something that is not possible in Spanish, the native language of this study’s participants. Commenting on the ease of stringing words together in noun phrases in English, as opposed to other languages, Boardman (2004) muses, Where instantaneous decoding of lexical meaning and semantic relations is important, in the instant where the casual surfer decides whether to stay at that page or hit the Back button, perhaps the English noun phrase structure offers the kind of condensed linguistic code that web designers need.  (p. 61)

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These complex noun phrases, whose decoding requires word order rules – also quite different from Spanish – are the linguistic pointers that indicate links between Web pages. The author of a Web page decides which links to put where, and how to identify them. Tacit assumptions lie behind these decisions and carry the stamp of the author’s cultural context (Burbules 1998; Fulcher 2003). In the earlier stages of Web site design, links were almost always marked by the traditional underlined blue words. Increasingly, this is being replaced by hyperlinks that are logos, buttons, or regular text that has no special marking when the cursor is not hovering over it. Often, to find a hyperlink, the reader must know when to expect one. The user must understand a number of cues, which can include color schemes, fonts, placement on a page and the changing behavior of the cursor (Boardman 2004). In a paper entitled “Cultural processing of technology,” Saferstein (1991) describes a serious misunderstanding that resulted when a (U.S.) West Coast educator contacted an East Coast computer programmer about changing logo designs in educational software. Although both professionals worked on the same computer-oriented educational project and came from the same country, each could not understand the meanings that the other attached to certain icons. Naturally, differences between people from different countries and who speak different languages allow for an even greater potential for misinterpretation.

Observational methods Watching a Web navigator clicking on a link does not tell the researcher whether the navigator then finds what he or she expected to find, nor much indeed at all about the thought processes of the navigator. Thus, in addition to observing navigational habits, it is revealing to hear the navigator’s description of the process. This might be done either concurrently with the search, or retrospectively. Both methods were used in this study. The former, using the think-aloud protocol, involves giving the participant a task to do, and asking the participant to “think aloud” while performing the task. The fundamental assumption of this methodology is that the participants’ verbalizations are truly representative of their cognitive processes, even though it is recognized that the participant will not be able to verbalize the most automatic parts of the process (Pomerantz 2004). By hearing the participants’ own description of what they are doing, the researcher can become aware of subtle but potentially important details of a process. Birns, Joffre, Leclerc and Paulsen (2002) give the example of learning whether a person shopping online expects to click on a “shopping cart” icon or a “checkout” button



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to begin a purchase. A small difference like this matters, because often one cannot find what one does not know one is looking for. A number of Internet and database use studies employ both concurrent and retrospective methods of study (e.g., Birns, et al. 2002; Fidel, Davies, Douglass, Holder, Hopkins, & Jushner 1999; Pomerantz 2004; Van Den Haak, De Jong, & Schellens 2003). Van Den Haak, et al. (2003) found that the two methods on the whole gave similar information, but more explanations and suggestions were given during retrospection, while online methods tended to produce responses limited to pure descriptions of actions. This last study shows that participating in the think-aloud protocol does not always interfere with the performance of the task, as one might fear. This might be especially worrisome in a task like the one done in this study, where the participants read in their second language and reported on it in their first language. Leow and Morgan-Short (2004) also did not find a significant difference in text comprehension between participants who did and those who did not verbalize their thought process in their first language while reading in a second language.

The study This study looked at how Chilean academics without a firm mastery of English accessed, evaluated, and incorporated into their previous knowledge information from English Web sites. The following questions guided the investigation: 1. Are English as a foreign language (EFL) navigators who have a higher level of English more adept at finding information on English Web pages? 2. What aspects of English cause the greatest difficulties for Spanish speakers using English Web sites? 3. What nonlinguistic characteristics of Web pages serve as stumbling blocks to Chilean EFL Web page users?

Context The Chilean educational system The years of Chile’s dictatorship under Augusto Pinochet (1973–1989) were marked by a reaction against the previous, socialist leader’s policies. This resulted in increased economic growth, but at a cost of the torture, death, or exile of a number of intellectuals, political leaders, and others. Education in Chile during

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those years was largely disrupted, and when functioning, operated in a banking model style of pedagogy, despite the direct involvement of critical pedagogy’s founding father Paulo Freire in the Chilean educational system in the late 60s (Austin 1997). After the dictatorship ended, massive reform efforts, supported technically and financially by several European countries, were made in order to bring in more integrative methods of teaching (Chilean Ministry of Education 1995). Educational reform involved a strong influx of computer technology, which then kept pace with innovation, unlike the country’s understocked libraries. Due to the unavailability of current books and journals in Chilean libraries, at universities and elsewhere, the Internet is an even more essential research tool to a Chilean academic than to someone in the U.S.

English education The university where the data were collected is in a rural area of south central Chile. Its approximately 4,000 students are mostly from the region. In years prior to when the study was conducted, all students at the university were required to take one semester of general academic English reading and one semester of specialty-specific reading. English classes at that university had, just the year before the study was conducted, become entirely optional, with most English classes switching to a conversation format. The majority of students arriving at the university at the time were still unable to produce complete sentences in English, despite a national policy of English studies beginning by at least the fifth year of grade school. Most professors at the university were also unable to converse fluently in English.

Computer accessibility A general computer use workshop is required of all first-year students at the university. The university had seven open-access computer labs at the time, making an undergraduate’s wait for a computer no longer there than at most U.S. universities. Outside the university, there were at least four large (15+ computers), and a great many small, cyber cafés in the community, where the cost for computer use was affordable even for most students.



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Method Data were collected from 25 participants in three formats. One point of contact was by attending two different nine-hour workshops given at the university on the use of the Internet for research (different from the required workshop for first year students). Of the 25 students who attended those workshops, 14 returned completed surveys that asked them about, in addition to basic demographic information, how they had learned computer and Internet skills, what they used them for, and what their various experiences were with those media (see Appendix A for a translation of this survey). From those 14 participants, four were interviewed at length. Like the survey, all interviews were conducted in Spanish. The interviews had two main phases: one part during which the participant showed and explained Web pages that he or she used regularly, in both Spanish and English (where applicable); and another part during which the participant was asked to look for specific information on English Web sites and follow a think-aloud protocol throughout. The same tasks were given to all participants (see Appendix B for a list of the core interview tasks). The shortest interview lasted 40 minutes. Besides the four volunteers from the workshops, another three students (one of whom was a graduate student) were given the same interview. Additionally, nine faculty and staff were interviewed. Four of these shared limited English knowledge in common with the students, and their interviews were like those of the students. The other five were fluent in English, and some of them specialized in uses of the Internet. Interviews with these five aimed to gather their expert opinions.

Participants These latter five (experts) were the following: an English professor with more than 20 years teaching at the university; a head of a division of the business school; the person in charge of the university’s online education courses; the computer science staff member who ran the observed Internet workshops; and the librarian who teaches (other) Internet workshops. The other four faculty/staff, with limited English skills, were two secretaries; one computer support technician; and the head of another division of the business school. Table 1 contains information about the sex, field of study, navigation skills, and reading ability in English of the 17 students. Navigation and reading ability scores came from the surveys (questions 7 and 18 from Appendix A) and are self-evaluations. When no survey was available, the participants were asked the questions orally. The students’ majors cover all but one (psychology) of the majors offered at the university. The same kind of information is also given for the four faculty/staff

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Table 1.  Participant information Participant Sex Major or job ID

Navigation skills (1-5)

English reading Interviewed ability (1-5)

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U

5 5 5 5 4.5 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 3 3 3 3 4 3 3 1

4 4 4 1 3 2 3 2 2 3 3 4.5 3 4 3.5 3 2 3 4 4 1

m f f f m f m m m m m f m m m m m f m f f

medical technology horticulture agriculture law business law agriculture agriculture civil engineering business dentistry forestry dentistry not stated business dentistry business comp support business prof secretary secretary

x x

x

x x

x x x x x x

(participants R, S, T and U) whose interviews were done in a manner similar to those of the students, except that job descriptions are given instead of majors.

Results Participants’ ability to find information on the Internet varied radically from one participant to another. One participant (participant U) could not successfully use any Web site other than, to a limited degree, that of the university where she worked. Other participants used the Internet only to access and navigate a very limited number of Web sites, and any sites beyond those were difficult for these people to navigate. These participants who answered surveys reported (question 8 of the survey in Appendix A) having failed at other times to find on the Internet, working in Spanish, information on such major topics as the Chilean external debt, Chile’s national mining company (CODELCO), and some health issues.



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During the observed workshops, these students followed the instructor’s directions closely. The two participants in this group who were interviewed (T and U) mostly declined to attempt to find information on new Web sites during interviews but were eager to show off and navigate around their favorite Web sites. People in the middle range had some experience using search engines to explore new pages, both in Spanish and English. When faced with a new Web site, such as the University of Arizona Web site, they usually stumbled upon, after a few wrong turns, the sought-after information. If a few clicks down a chosen path did not yield the desired results, they would return to the main page and try somewhere else. After about three such attempts, they would begin to voice doubts as to whether the information was available, or they would declare themselves unable to find the information. This matches with Poock and Lefond’s (2003) Web site usability study in which they found that even for users reading in their first language, “If they can not find the information they are seeking in three ‘clicks,’ they indicated an increased likelihood to give up their search” (p. 17). The best navigators demonstrated relative ease in finding information during both the workshops and the interviews, even when they were using English Web sites that they had never used before. In their survey responses describing previous navigating difficulties that they had experienced (question 10 from Appendix A), they demonstrated their heightened understanding of the process, citing “impatience” and “I put in too general of a term at first” as past problems. (The other difficulty cited by them was the Internet connection going down.) During the observed workshops, these navigators generally had several windows open at once, the least attended-to window inevitably being the one that they maintained in order to follow the Internet workshop instructor’s lead. They reported having learned little in the workshops, staying around only because they would later get a certificate of attendance.

Effect of English proficiency level As may be observed from Table 1, the answer to the first research question is that navigation skills among the student participants had essentially no correlation (0.05) with language ability. The participants who were proficient in using Web sites in their native language, Spanish, all reported choosing to occasionally use Web sites in English as well. On the other hand, there is a strong correlation (0.75) between the two indicators for the four faculty/staff included in Table 1. The extent to which the participants understood extended texts, once settled upon after being found through a browser or database, depended primarily upon their experience with reading similar texts in English before. For instance, all stu-

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dents could render a fairly effective reading of an academic article written within their specialty.

Problematic features of English The second research question asked what features of English caused the greatest difficulties for Spanish speakers using Web sites in English. The major problem with English that the participants encountered had to do with word order. Participants would enter search terms in the wrong order, and this would result in their failure to find what they were looking for. When search engines list hits (i.e., Web pages matching the search terms that have been entered), they first list those Web pages that contain the search terms appearing on the page in the order that the search terms were entered into the search engine by the user. Often the participants in this study entered in English search terms backwards, following the Spanish order of modified-modifier – the opposite of the correct order in English. In a large database or in a search engine like Google, hits containing the search terms in the order that expresses the meaning intended by the information seeker may come only after hundreds of off-topic results (consider, for example, the difference in meaning of “abstract writing” versus “writing abstract.”). If the user really meant to search for something expressible by “XY” but instead entered “YX,” he or she will first be shown hundreds of Web pages that contain the word “Y” first and the word “X” second. Looking through some of these pages, the user sees that the recovered pages do not relate to the user’s topic of interest. The pages that would be of interest to the user may not appear until, say, the 35th page of hits, but the user has no way of knowing this. Finding too many off-topic hits, one participant (Participant I) used an often very effective trick: he entered the search terms with quotation marks around them, thus securing the word order. Typically this restricts the search so that the number of hits is more manageable. In this case, however, this move resulted in no hits whatsoever. Participant I had entered “Norms ISO” instead of “ISO norms.” “Norms” cannot serve as a modifier but only as a noun, thus no pages with “norms” in the modifier position were hit upon. Although Participant I was at the time trying to find information that his professor had previously found for him on the Internet – on the topic he was writing his senior thesis on – he eventually had to abandon his efforts to find that information during the interview. Word order is the single largest cause for Chileans’ unsuccessful searches on academic topics in English databases, according to the librarian specializing in Internet use who was interviewed for this study. The second most common problem, according to her, is when a person does a search on a synonym of the



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correct search term rather than the actual term used in the technical sense. This occurred especially when students looked up terms in Spanish-English dictionaries. This was a common problem, even though the students and faculty she saw making this mistake presumably had already read many articles in English about the topic of their inquiry and should have been able to pick out key terms from those sources. Misinterpretation of cognates was also a common source of trouble. For instance one participant (B) saw “alumni” on a university Web site and assumed it would lead to information on applying to the school, because of the word’s similarity to the Spanish word for students, alumnos. Clicking on the “alumni” link, she became confused with what she found, despite her strong reading skills in English, and she eventually asked to move on to another part of the interview. A few times within the study a participant managed to locate a Web page that was on the right topic but was too specific. An effective move would have been to navigate to one level up on the Web site, either by manipulating the URL (such as going from www.cnn.com/WEATHER/, to www.cnn.com) or by following links on the page. Finding, for example, pages about “English literature” instead of “English as a second language” or “Fulbright” instead of “scholarships,” the participants declared “this isn’t it” instead of recognizing “this is almost it.” In all such cases, the participants abandoned their searches instead of probing for nearby links.

Nonlinguistic features The third research question asked what, if any, nonlinguistic features of Web pages caused problems for the participants. A consistent problem observed during the study was the fact that links on the edges of Web pages in English were almost always overlooked by the Chilean participants. For many of the stock questions that were used in the think-aloud part of the interviews (see Appendix B), responding correctly required noticing some of the reference links placed at the edges of the Web pages. The participants either failed to use these peripheral links or they took a very long time before trying them out. Most Chilean university Web sites, like most Chilean Web sites in general, contain extensive Flash introductions and/or several flashing icons and scrolling message boards. Participant R, the computer support person, said that she sometimes preferred English versions of Web support pages because they contained the same drivers, downloads, etc., as their Spanish language equivalents but had fewer words and less distracting icons. However, all other participants in the study, besides Participants R and J, responded negatively to the survey’s question (question 16 in Appendix A) about

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whether they had noticed nonverbal contrasts in U.S. and Chilean Web sites. Visual and nonverbal characteristics of Web sites will be taken up in further detail in the discussion.

Discussion There was a strong (0.75) correlation between English proficiency level and navigation skill among the four faculty/staff not fluent in English. For that generation of Chileans, both English ability and Internet expertise are typically the results of learning that happened later in life, beyond college age. Both skills are today considered essential for getting ahead in Chilean society. The three participants who rated themselves with 3s and 4s (average or slightly above) in these two skills all spoke of using the Internet extensively in their work, as well as having taken English classes as an adult. In stark contrast, Participant U, a secretary who gave herself the lowest rating in both English ability and navigation skills, was a single mother of two, paid near minimum wage, who had not had the time nor resources in recent years to work on either of those two skills. Also, her job did not demand it of her. Unlike the situation with the older participants of the study, student users’ English ability did not correlate with how well they were able to use the Internet to locate information. This agrees with the conclusion of an earlier study (Bilal 1989) in which it was found that English ability in no way predicted international students’ successful acquisition of new library skills in a U.S. setting. This lack of correlation implies that the skill of finding information on the Internet is distinct from reading. Because Web pages are not merely text but rely also on formatting, icons, and other visual features to convey meaning, there is a sense in which Web pages are not read but used (Kress 1998). Most navigators operate in a quick, superficial “surfing” mode, grabbing onto whatever links catch their attention, as opposed to a mode of critical reading (Burbules 1998). Words, to the information seeker operating in this mode, take on pointing functions instead of deeper, more complex meanings. Web page users may switch into a mode of match/no match when evaluating the potential usefulness of a link. Certainly a criterion of match/no match operates when the Web user types in good search terms in the wrong order. Although a close match in one sense, it results in a failed search, as discussed earlier. This is sure to confuse the nonnative English speaker and delay his or her learning about which search terms are effective. Entering search terms in the wrong order is a straightforward outcome of a basic difference between English and Spanish word order. This tendency to confuse word order may be exacerbated, however, by the surfing mode in which



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navigators typically operate, in which words can serve the same function as icons, without a complex syntax tying the words together. Scanning pages in a match/no match mode may be why participants were sometimes observed failing to recognize close connections between what they had found (for example “English literature”) and what they were looking for (“English as a second language”). Furthermore, going from link to link can effectively circumvent whatever hierarchical structure might have originally been in the text. A different hierarchical order may exist in the Web user’s mental model of the electronic text he or she has visited. This alternative hierarchical order might be based upon the Web user’s world knowledge and assumptions, or on the chronological order in which Web pages were hit upon, among other influences. The alternative hierarchical structure of the Web user’s mental model may or may not correspond to the author’s or authors’ original intentions. If it does not, Web searches are likely to end in failure. The moments during the interviews when participants were forced to give up on information searches generally came about when the participant was ineffectively incorporating the retrieved information into previous knowledge. That is, the participants would get partial information but would be unable to use their previous knowledge to interpret it. Making no sense of the data, they would reach the conclusion that the sought-after information was simply not there. Sometimes they expressed mild surprise that the page was written in the nonsensical way in which they were interpreting it. The Web text had at these points lost its coherence for the user. If the Web users had at their disposal a schema that could accommodate the kind of input that they had encountered, they would, presumably, be able to make sense of the information. One feat of fairly impressive, nonlinear search engine usage that a great many people who speak no English have mastered is downloading music off of file-sharing Web sites. Because of a familiarity with the music and the purpose of such Web sites, a young Latin American music pirate has no problem using these sites, even if they are entirely in English. This was at the time in fact a widespread phenomenon in Chile. The participants in this study who were best at using the Internet had all spent hours on end of unsupervised free time to play on the Internet and explore. Participant J, who spoke no English, claimed to have taken his job in student government in order to have access to an office space that had an Internet connection. The other advanced navigators who were interviewed and/or surveyed, reported spending long hours in the university’s open-access computer labs. Most of them also spent a considerable amount of time at cyber cafés. The only four student participants who had a computer with Internet access at their (parents’) homes were, notably, precisely the four most adept and knowledgeable navigators: par-

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ticipants A, B, C, and D. Although the interviewed staff/faculty had computers in their offices, they rarely (if ever) had free, unstructured time to explore topics of their own choosing – except, notably, participant R, the computer technician. By navigating, one learns to navigate. By following hunches and experiencing both success and failure, one starts to get a feel for the logic behind the organization, and one creates new schemata to handle the new genre. Interestingly, there was one phenomenon concerning which none of the participants seem to have developed an appropriate schema. It concerned a purely visual cue in Web navigation. All participants at least initially failed to notice links that were in banners or off to the side in U.S. Web pages. This was likely due to the visual style differences between Chilean and U.S. Web sites. To test this hypothesis, a survey of 28 U.S. university Web sites from around the country and of the Web sites of 15 larger Chilean universities (see Appendix C for list) was made. Indeed, a general trend was found. U.S. university Web sites tend to push reference materials and tools into the margins or in banners at the top of their Web pages, labeling them using a small font. Seeking to show their vitality as institutions, almost all U.S. universities put news items in large text and in the center of the page. Chilean Web sites, on the other hand, usually place reference tools in the center and mark them using a large font. News items are off in the margins but highlighted with flashing icons or scrolling text. This may explain why the participants in this study took a very long time to make use of (if they ever did) information found in banners or off to the sides in U.S. Web sites.

Pedagogical implications Contrastive rhetoric has served to point out what conventions of the research paper (and other genres) ESL/EFL students could most profit from having their attention drawn to as they learn to write their own research papers. In the domain of improving ESL/EFL students’ information literacy with English language Web sites and databases, we can identify common features of these media that students could most benefit from examining in greater detail. With respect to the visual presentation, students should be led to appreciate the typical layout of Web pages and the fact that, in the U.S., the most vital tools are usually located on the periphery of a Web page. To aid in the identification of useful keywords for Internet searches, students should be taught to use the indices, subject lists, and thesauri that come with most commonly used databases such as Medline (a resource for medical information) and ERIC (the educational database). A user of these databases can type in his or her search terms and then choose to look them up in one of these references.



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These indices will list terms that are semantically related to what the user has entered. They also give definitions of the keywords and provide collocation-based “see also” lists.

Limitations and future research The participants of this study came from only one university in Chile. It would be illuminating to see what, if any, major differences would be found by conducting a similar study in a dissimilar EFL context – for example, studying Internet users in countries where computers are less available to schoolchildren, or where the native language is much less like English, with fewer cognates and less opportunity for word order transfers. The findings of this study imply that people are better able to build schemata for Web surfing as they gain more experience in these activities. One becomes, in a sense, socialized into the Internet culture. This implies that children who have grown up with an Internet-connected computer always available to them could have an entirely different set of schemata guiding Internet usage. It would be fascinating to investigate, from a contrastive rhetoric point of view, the potential differences in reading and writing schemata, due to the amount and quality of Internet exposure, of members of different generations. Results of the current study indicate that such differences between these “small” cultures exist and that the genre of the Internet search can cause the reader to make greater use of visual cues, which in turn changes the nature of a reader’s use of text – perhaps any kind of text.

Acknowledgements Special thanks go to Mark Boardman, who through personal e-mail communication helped me think through the differences as well as the similarities between reading printed and online texts.

References American Library Association. (2004). Information literacy competency standards for higher education. Retrieved January 7, 2005, from http://www.ala.org/acrl/ilcomstan.html Atkinson, D. (2004). Contrasting rhetorics/contrasting cultures: Why contrastive rhetoric needs a better conceptualization of culture. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 277–290.

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Austin, R. (1997). Freire, Frei, and the literacy texts in Chile, 1964–1970. In C. A. Torres & A. Puiggrós (Eds.), Latin American education: Comparative perspectives (pp. 323–348). Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Bilal, D. M. (1989). International students’ acquisition of library research skills: Relationship with their English language proficiency. The Reference Librarian, 24, 129–145. Birns, J. H., Joffre, K. A., Leclerc, J. F., & Paulsen, C. A. (2002). Getting the Whole Picture: Collecting Usability Data Using Two Methods – Concurrent Think Aloud and Retrospective Probing. Paper presented at the 11th Annual Meeting of the Usability Professionals’ Association, Orlando, FL. Boardman, M. (2005). The language of websites. London: Routledge. Bolter, J. D., & Grusin, R. A. (1999). Remediation: Understanding new media. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Burbules, N. C. (1998). Rhetorics of the web: Hyperreading and critical literacy. In I. Snyder (Ed.), Page to screen: Taking literacy into the electronic era (pp. 102–122). London: Routledge. Carrell, P. L. (1987). Text as interaction: Some implications of text analysis and reading research for ESL composition. In U. Connor & R. B. Kaplan (Eds.), Writing across languages: Analysis of L2 text (pp. 47–56). Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Charney, D. H. (1994). The effect of hypertext on processes of reading and writing. In C. L. Selfe & S. Hilligoss (Eds.), Literacy and computers: The complications of teaching and learning with technology (pp. 238–263). New York: Modern Language Association of America. Chilean Ministry of Education. (1995). La reforma educativa en marcha: Politicas del Ministerio de Educación. Santiago, Chile: Ministerio. Connell, T. H. (1995). Subject searching in online catalogs: Metaknowledge used by experienced searchers. Journal of the American Society for Information Science, 46, 506–518. Connor, U. (2004). Contrastive rhetoric in EAP: Introduction. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 271–276. de Beaugrande, R. (1980). Text, discourse, and process: Toward a multidisciplinary science of texts. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Fidel, R., Davies, R. K., Douglass, M. H., Holder, J. K., Hopkins, C. J., Kushner, E. J., et al. (1999). A visit to the information mall: Web searching behavior of high school students. Journal of the American Society for Information Science, 50, 24–37. Fulcher, G. (2003). Interface design in computer-based language testing. Language Testing, 20, 384–408. García Marco, F. J., & Navarro, M. A. (1993). On some contributions of the cognitive sciences and epistemology to a theory of classification. Knowledge Organization, 20, 126–132. Hyland, K. (2000). Disciplinary discourses: Social interaction in academic genres. Harlow, UK: Longman. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning: A Journal of Applied Linguistics, 16, 1–20. Kintsch, W., & van Dijk, T. A. (1978). Toward a model of text comprehension and production. Psychological Review, 85(5), 363–394. Kress, G. (1998). Visual and verbal modes of representation in electronically mediated communication: The potentials of new forms of text. In I. Snyder (Ed.), Page to screen: Taking literacy into the electronic era (pp. 53–79). London: Routledge. Leow, R. P., & Morgan-Short, K. (2004). To think aloud or not to think aloud: The issue of reactivity in SLA research methodology. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 26, 35–57.



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Medline. (n.d.). Retrieved September 30, 2004, from http://medlineplus.gov Moreno, A. I. (2004). Retrospective labelling in premise-conclusion metatext: An EnglishSpanish contrastive study of research articles on business and economics. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 321–339. Pomerantz, J. (2004). Factors influencing digital reference triage: A think-aloud study. The Library Quarterly, 74(3), 235–264. Poock, M. C., & Lefond, D. (2003). Characteristics of effective graduate school Web sites: Implications for the recruitment of graduate students. College & University, 78(3), 15–19. Saferstein, B. (1991, August 23–27). Cultural processing of technology: Two cases of the strength of cognitive ties. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association. Smiraglia, R. P. (2002). The progress of theory in knowledge organization. Library Trends, 50(3), 330–349. Thatcher, B. (2004). Rhetorics and communication media across cultures. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 305–320. van den Haak, M., De Jong, M., & Schellens, P. J. (2003). Retrospective vs. concurrent thinkaloud protocols: Testing the usability of an online library catalogue. Behaviour & Information Technology, 22, 339–351. Warschauer, M. (2002). A developmental perspective on technology in language education. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 453–475.

Appendix A Survey 1. How much time per week do you spend using a computer? 2. How important are computers to you? Indicate 1–5. 1=of little importance to 5=extremely important. 3. What do you use computers for? Indicate “word processing,” “databases,” etc. 4. How often do you use the Internet or other electronic forms to access information? 5. How many hours per week do you spend on the Internet? 6. How do you find information when you are in the library? 7. How well do you think you are able to find and use the information that you seek on the Internet? Indicate 1 to 5: 1=very poor; 5=very effective. 8. Have you ever been completely unsuccessful in a particular search for information on the Internet? 9. Is there something that you know is possible to access on the Internet but that you do not know how to access? If so, what? 10. What difficulties do you encounter when you use the Internet? 11. How do you try to overcome those difficulties? 12. What difficulties do you have in gaining access to the Internet? 13. If you wanted to teach someone (who spoke Spanish) how to efficiently use Web pages in English, what advice would you give? 14. Do you think that in Chile Internet access is as good as in other countries? 15. Do you restrict your Internet access to sites written in Spanish?

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16. Other than the language, have you noticed any differences in the typical organization of Web pages from other countries, as compared to Chilean Web pages? 17. Do you have difficulty reading sites written in English? If so, what do you do to overcome these problems? 18. How well do you read English? Indicate 1=very poorly to 5=very well. 19. Rate your ability to write in English. Indicate 1=very poorly to 5=very well. 20. Rate your ability to speak English. Indicate 1=very poorly to 5=very well. 21. Rate your ability to understand spoken English. Indicate 1=very poorly to 5=very well. 22. How important is it to you to read/ write well in English. Indicate 1=not important to 5=very important. 23. How important is it to you to speak and understand spoken English? Indicate 1=not important to 5=very important. 24. What experience do you have with languages other than Spanish and English? 25. How do you feel about the Anglo-American culture? Indicate 1=strongly dislike to 5=strongly like. Please comment, if you wish. 26. How well do the English courses [at your university] prepare you in English? In what aspects have you been well prepared? What changes would you suggest? 27. How have you learned the English that you do know? Please describe the English instruction that you have had and indicate the total time. Include any informal exposure to English, including travels, opportunities to converse in English, additional reading that you do on your own, music interests, etc.

Appendix B The core tasks given during the think-aloud navigation part of interviews* 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Find the Web site of my university, the University of Arizona. Describe to me what you see on the main page. How could you find information about me on this Web page? When do classes start in the fall? What English as a second language classes are available on campus? If you wanted to study here, how would you begin gathering information about the application process? 7. Do they offer classes in your field of study? 8. How much would it cost you to attend this university? 9. Can you find any information about scholarships? 10. Is the tuition at the University of Arizona comparable to tuition at other universities? 11. Can you find information about scholarships elsewhere, on another university Web site or otherwise? *Other questions were added, according to the person’s demonstrated interests.



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Appendix C U.S. and Chilean university Web sites compared (based on Web site access January 10, 2005) U.S. Web sites with news items in center Auburn University Brigham Young University Columbia University Harvard University Hawaii Pacific University Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis University of Alaska University of Arizona University of Arkansas University of Chicago University of Colorado at Boulder University of Delaware University of Georgia University of Kansas University of Kentucky University of Maine University of Michigan University of New Hampshire University of Oregon University of Southern California University of Tennessee Washington State University U.S. Web sites with no news on page Florida State University University of Southern Florida U.S. Web sites with reference tools central Tulane University University of Idaho University of Nevada University of Wisconsin-Madison Yale University Chilean Web sites with the references central Universidad Austral de Chile Universidad Católica del Norte Universidad de Antofagasta Universidad de Concepción Universidad de Magallanes Universidad de Talca Universidad Diego Portales

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Chilean Web sites with no news Universidad Central de Chile Universidad Playa Ancha Chilean Web sites with the news central but the references just as big Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile Universidad Adolfo Ibáñez Universidad Arturo Prat Universidad de Chile Universidad de los Andes Universidad Tarapacá Universidad Técnica Federico Santa María

From Confucianism to Marxism A century of theme treatment in Chinese  writing instruction Xiaoye You The Pennsylvania State University

Theme treatment is a long neglected issue in intercultural studies of school writing. Taking a historical approach, this chapter traces theme treatment in Chinese school essay writing during the 20th century. The study shows that Chinese school writing moved from neo-Confucian topics to Socialist issues for the most part of the century and that the themes always needed to be “correct,” or in alignment with the dominant Chinese ideology. Currently, Chinese students write on diversified themes reflecting a hybrid value system emerging in Chinese society. The study further reveals that theme treatment carried equal, if not more, weight to textual organization in that it often decided the selection of types of writing and dictated the layout of text structure.

When recapitulating the history of contrastive rhetoric, Connor (2003) asserts that contrastive studies in school essay writing, along with studies in other genres, will continue to shed insight in both ESL and EFL writing instruction. Her positive assertion about studies in school essay writing stems from her openness to the criticism of contrastive rhetoric that has emerged in recent years. She cautions the field, “Consistent with postmodern indications, contrastive rhetoric needs to promote further research-situated reflexivity, to be more sensitive to local characteristics and particularity of writing activity, and to become more conscious of the influences of power and ideology in any setting” (p. 236). Therefore, to pursue further inquires in school essay writing, the staple of contrastive rhetoric, we need to be more reflexive and critical of our assumptions, methods, and analyses. The foremost step we can take is to examine several criticisms of contrastive rhetoric in relation to studies of school essay writing.

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Contrastive rhetoric has been criticized for having directed researchers’ primary attention to “different linguistic configurations” (Connor 2003: 218). Because of the traditional interest in linguistic configurations, while the organization of expository essays in different cultures and communities has been examined in numerous studies, other aspects of school essays still await further investigation (Connor 1996). When approached from non-linguistic perspectives, those other aspects may be taken to a front stage. For example, when investigating Chinese and American high school teachers’ perceptions of “good writing” from a cultural perspective, Li (1996) reports that teachers in both countries consider some important aspects of writing other than organization. They resort to such criteria as their preconceived functions of writing, moral propriety of the themes, use of details, and language style when they evaluate student essays. Moreover, Li observes that these criteria are culturally bound and subject to each individual teacher’s life experiences. Nevertheless, until now, none of these aspects has received enough attention in cross-cultural studies of school writing. Critics also assert that a rather essentialist, static view of language use prevails in traditional contrastive rhetoric (Kubota 1999; Kubota & Lehner 2004; Spack 1997; Zamel 1997). Ever since Kaplan (1966) conducted his cross-cultural studies on English compositions written by students of different language backgrounds, contrastive studies in school writing have been primarily deployed on a first-language parameter, assuming the influence of rhetorical tradition as embodied in the first language on the production of second-language writing. Therefore, these studies have contributed to what Liu (1994) calls “a dominant paradigm in comparative rhetoric,” which works under the assumption that “there exists an easily abstractable and consistently definable set of ‘essential’ characteristics in Chinese or any other rhetorical tradition” (p. 322). Besides the essentialist impulse, traditional contrastive rhetoric downplays possible changes in language use resulting from the conflation and conflicts of rhetorical traditions in an increasingly globalized world (You 2005). Neglecting the historical fluidity of rhetorical traditions and language use, comparative studies on school writing have unfortunately landed on shaky ground. This chapter attempts to deconstruct the essentialist, static view of language use in contrastive rhetoric by examining an important, but long neglected, aspect of school writing: the treatment of theme in writing instruction. In her study of “good writing” in Mainland Chinese high schools, Li (1996) observes that both Confucian values and Marxist ideology still permeate Chinese writing instruction, and she makes a thought-provoking statement: Yet it will be interesting to see whether the capitalist market economy, now making rapid inroads in China, will accomplish what Communism failed in the past



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century: to shake Confucianism, which has held Chinese minds for more than (p. 117) two thousand years, and turn the “vehicle of Tao” to bestsellers. 

The issue that she raises in her intriguing remarks calls for an in-depth study of how themes have shifted in Chinese writing instruction during the last century. An inquiry along this line may well illustrate the complexity and fluidity of rhetorical practices in Chinese writing instruction, thus defying the essentialist, static view of language use in contrastive rhetoric. Methodical inquiries into theme treatment across different cultures and communities can also help us develop a complex understanding of the literary and rhetorical traditions of ESL and EFL students. First, I would like to define theme in this study as a topic, or a dominant idea or motif, which unifies a piece of school writing. It can be the title, the main argument, or the thesis of an essay. Next, a historical study of theme treatment needs to seek answers for several important questions: 1. 2. 3. 4.

What are the purposes for teaching writing at a certain historical moment? Which themes or topics are promoted in the mainstream school education? What is suggested about how to explore and develop a theme? What is the relationship between the theme and the textual organization of an essay? 5. What kind of epistemology and ideology is perpetuated through the treatment of themes? These questions will function as heuristics for exploring the different aspects of theme treatment within a particular educational context. By answering these questions, we may map out the trajectory of theme treatment in Chinese writing instruction over the last century. Studies conducted in the same spirit in other cultures and communities will allow us to compare different trajectories and finally achieve a deep appreciation of the extremely rich literary and rhetorical heritage that ESL and EFL students have brought with them. In the rest of this chapter, I will trace the treatment of zhuti (theme) in some influential Chinese writing textbooks and collections of student essays published during the 20th century. Through cross-referencing with educational decrees, school announcements, and writing tasks in the highly centralized college entrance examinations, I will show that the emphases of themes have shifted constantly in Mainland Chinese writing instruction over the last century and that the treatment of theme always precedes and overlooks textual organization in the student’s composing process. Finally, I will argue that the treatment of theme, oftentimes representing and perpetuating the cultural and epistemological values

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of the dominant class, deserves more attention in cross-cultural studies of school writing.

Neo-Confucian themes in the late Qing Dynasty (1664–1911) Writing instruction in the late Qing schools was geared solely towards preparing students for civil service examinations. This aim was clearly stated in the announcements or catalogues of many academies. For example, the catalogue of Tengchow College (one of the early modern Chinese colleges) stated that “emphasis is laid upon the writing of these [eight-legged] essays, because they are required in the government examinations for degrees, and because public opinion demands proficiency in them as essential to respectable scholarship” (1891: 4). Therefore, essay examinations dictated how writing was taught in the academy, including the treatment of theme. Categorized according to the types of writing tasks, there were three major themes in the essay examinations: elucidating Confucian values, exposing the relevance of past events to the present, and deliberating upon social issues of national significance. In the late Qing Dynasty, the most important type of writing task required in provincial and metropolitan civil service examinations was the renowned bagu (eight-legged) essay. A sentence or a short passage would be quoted from each of the Four Books and the Five Classics, Confucian canons written two thousand years before. For each quote, examinees would write an essay to elucidate the quotation, maneuvering through six to eight rhetorical moves in several hundred Chinese characters. The logical structure of bagu essays, as observed by Guy (1994), resembles the deductive reasoning style in the American collegiate debate format, but it values quite a different kind of proof when making an argument. Rather than relying upon empirical evidence, Guy notes, examinees resorted to their “perception.” Or to be more accurate, they had to explicate the quotations strictly following the annotations of a neo-Confucian scholar, Zhu Xi (1130–1200), rather than their own opinions. The second type of writing task was an essay called lun (commentary), in which examinees were asked to comment on a certain historical figure or event. This type of essay normally begins with a statement followed by an elaboration of the topic; next, the historical significance of the person or the event in question is thoroughly discussed; and finally, the essay concludes by suggesting some relevance of the topic to the present. The third type of writing task, which was undervalued in the grading process, was a set of five policy essays called ce (policy-elaboration). Given concrete problems of national importance, such as famine relief, water conservation, frontier



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security, military provision, local order, economic development, and public education, examinees would elaborate on the problems and discuss how to handle them properly. But as many of these issues were politically sensitive, oftentimes examiners would write the politically correct answers into the questions. Therefore, the question “often was so lengthy and comprehensive that little was left for a student to do except to paraphrase, converting the question into his answer” (Chang 1994: 295). Invariably, three major themes encapsulate neo-Confucian ideology and epistemology. Although Confucian classics were produced more than two thousand years ago, the Confucian school of thinking had been enshrined by the Chinese ruling class since the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.–220 A.D.) and enriched by later scholars. Confucius holds that social stability and prosperity can be achieved only through fulfillment of the moral contract between the ruler and the ruled at three hierarchical levels: the emperor and his officials, the husband and his wife, and the father and his son. He celebrates such principles for moral behaviors as benevolence (ren), righteousness (yi), loyalty to social traditions (li), wisdom (zhi), and trust (xin). To fulfill the moral contract, to achieve the celebrated virtues, one needs to constantly examine his or her inner self. Only through self-examination will one achieve the wisdom of Tao, or the way the whole universe works. The three major themes in civil service examinations encourage both seeking of the Confucian wisdom through self-examination and deliberating on social issues according to the wisdom of Tao. With varying purposes, the three major themes warranted different organizational patterns. For bagu essays, logical reasoning follows a deductive scheme with both writer and rater’s primary focus on the skillful use of six or eight rhetorical moves. The purpose was solely to elucidate quotations from Confucian canons rather than to dispute any arguments emerging from the modern world. In lun essays, the objective was to discuss, or to expose, the significance of a historical event in relation to the present. As for ce essays, the organizational pattern oftentimes started with a discussion of the particular issue and ended with some suggestions for action. Speaking on behalf of the sages (dai sheng xian li yan), the writer assumed an authoritative ethos addressing an inferior audience. The writer functioned to educate, enlighten, and elucidate rather than, to argue with the audience. At the end of the 19th century, a series of educational reforms were waged by the Qing regime to rescue itself from political crises. In 1898, after repeated petitions from government officials and enlightened intellectuals, the government started to add more practical subjects to civil service examinations, including domestic politics, foreign affairs, business management, military science, natural sciences, and engineering. In 1901, a new educational system modeled on the West was established throughout the nation. The new system expanded school

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curricula beyond the Four Books and Five Classics by including mathematics and physical education in the lower primary school, and foreign languages, physics, chemistry, and biology in both the higher primary school and the middle school. In 1905, the civil service examination system was entirely abandoned.

Diversified themes in Republican China (1912–1949) However, the educational reforms did not save the Qing regime. Inspired by capitalist development in the industrial countries, the emerging bourgeois radicals in China were determined to terminate the feudal social formation and to establish a republican state. After battles on the political, cultural, and military fronts, the Republic of China was founded in 1912. In Republican China, education no longer intended to serve the feudal political and social structure. Instead of producing social elites and government officials, education was defined as providing basic education to its citizens for the new nation-state. More specifically, for both the primary and middle schools, the new educational order set the goals as “to cultivate [in the students] the moral basis for citizenship, and provide the knowledge and skills necessary in life” (Chen 1962: 224). As Confucian classics were no longer the exclusive reading materials in schools, themes dealing with other subject matter gradually flourished in the Chinese writing class. Expressed as a nostalgic sentiment towards the waning influences of Chinese classics, old themes (such as elucidating Confucian values), discussing past events, and deliberating upon social issues, were still frequently assigned to the students by writing teachers. These themes filled up some popular collections of student essays, such as Cai (1913), a collection that went through 24 printings between 1913 and 1928. However, exposure to natural science subjects gradually instilled in both the teachers and students an empiricist attitude towards life and nature, which became the new themes in the writing classroom (You 2005). For example, themes that students dealt with in expository and argumentative essays expanded to include patriotism, ways of life, life goals, equipment for scientific experiments, science, art, theater, and academic research (Jiang 1940/1989). This epistemological shift can also be observed in entrance examinations administered by different colleges. For example, the writing tasks for students intending to enter National Peking University were all expository argumentation before 1921, but the themes moved from clearly Confucian values to more pragmatic issues. The topic for the 1917 exam was “On the unity of good writing and appropriate behavior,” a quote from the Confucian classics; however, topics for the next three years exhibited a clear departure – “On common sense as



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the foundation of academic research” (1918), “Knowledge ought to be derived from empirical studies” (1919), and “On the benefits and drawbacks of civil service examinations” (1920). Into the late 1920s and the 1930s, writing tasks for students applying to this university started to include narrative and descriptive types of writing, valuing the individual’s unique life experience and voice, such as “Describe the most memorable event in your life (It must be a true experience, whether it is the happiest, the saddest, or the most interesting event.)” (1935) and “Describe an unforgettable moment in your childhood” (1942). As the number of themes and types of writing both increased, the Confucian value system was pushed aside by democratic and scientific values. The treatment of theme was hardly touched upon in theoretical treatises in writing instruction published before 1949. Instead, closely related to theme treatment in those works are discussions on the purposes of writing and the desirable attitude towards writing. The most influential theoretical works on composition in Republican China were published in the early 1920s, such as Chen (1922/1978), Liang (1923/1989), and Ye (1924). Different from the neo-Confucian perception of writing instruction as a vehicle of the Way, the three composition theorists agreed that writing was a means for expressing self and reality truthfully. Ye offered a detailed discussion on both the purpose and the right attitude towards writing. He remarked, “Human beings are social animals. Due to both their inborn nature and practical reasons, they hope to share with the others their observations, experiences, hopes, and emotions. The wider their words spread, the better” (p. 1). He urged writers to speak honestly when they write: “. . . Striving for honesty in writing means the following: In terms of material selection, we should use true, profound rather than unverifiable, trivial substance. Regarding the attitude towards writing, we should speak sincerely and seriously rather than using slippery, frivolous, and despicable language” (p. 12). Writing about one’s experiences in his or her true voice thus defies the time-honored neo-Confucian values of writing; i.e., writing is to advocate the Way, or the essence of maintaining social hierarchy, in the voice of the Confucian sages. Responding to an increasingly diversified range of themes dealt with in the Chinese writing class, writing scholars and teachers expressed a great interest in text structure. Books on written composition published in Republican China devoted much of their attention to discussions of how to lay out a text. Influenced by composition textbooks published in the United States, Chen (1922/1978), Liang (1923/1989), and Ye (1924) unanimously structured their works in alignment with the four modes of discourse: narration, description, exposition, and argumentation. All three authors selected examples from both classical and modern Chinese works to illustrate their discussions of the structures of the four modes (You 2005). Focusing on expository and argumentative essays, for example, Jiang (1940/1989)

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illustrates various ways to structure a text. Regarding how to start an expository argumentation essay (yilun wen), he suggests four approaches that were commonly seen in Chinese writing. The writer can start the essay by stating the theme/argument first (a deductive scheme thereafter), mapping out the different dimensions of an issue and choosing to focus on one dimension first, introducing background information about the subject matter before revealing the writer’s argument, or using an analogy or evidence. Regarding the closing of an argumentative essay, Jiang suggests that the writer can restate the argument, call for action, or refute the opponent’s views. Diversified themes called for different ways of reasoning, which thus trampled the dominance of the relatively few text structures popular in the civil service examinations of the late Qing.

Socialist themes in Maoist China (1949–1976) With the establishment of the Communist regime in 1949, Marxist teaching came to shape rhetorical practices in writing classrooms in Mainland China. Writing instruction was assigned a new, overarching function: “to cultivate in the students revolutionary thoughts and morality through the study of Chinese language” (Dong 1951: 5). What could a writing teacher do to achieve the goal of cultivating revolutionary thoughts and morality in students? The impact of Marxism is most noticeable in the aspect of invention, or “to see the available means of persuasion in each case” in the teaching of writing (Aristotle 1991: 36). A set of Marxist heuristics for rhetorical invention was suggested in writing textbooks published in the new regime. A peek into Zhu (1951), an influential composition textbook for college students, will unveil some key heuristics. Similar to the structure of other composition textbooks published before, this book was organized under six chapters: theme, structure, presentation, diction, sentence, and punctuation. In the chapter of “theme,” the author laid out the “scientific,” or Marxist, way of observing and analyzing the subject matter in question. First, Zhu instructs students that as writers they should be responsible to their readers. He says, “We should choose correct, constructive, and educational themes rather than themes that are untruthful, negative, or meaningless. We should offer the readers nutrients rather than poison or drugs” (p. 2). Next, he promotes Marxist dialectics as the guiding heuristics in developing thoughts: to avoid overgeneralization, to acknowledge both unity and conflicts of the subject matter, to have a developmental perspective, and to differentiate between the appearance and the essence of the subject matter. In the chapters of “structure” and “presentation,” he emphasizes that the selection, organization, and presentation of materials in writing all need to center on the chosen theme.



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Throughout the entire book, student writings were used as examples to illuminate various rhetorical principles. On the chapter of “theme,” Zhu stresses that the writer should take “the right stand” and cultivate correct opinions. He quotes a full-length student essay to illustrate “the right stand,” or the celebrated position of the masses. The essay describes a widow during the land reform movement soon after the People’s Republic was established in 1949. Zhu comments at the end of the essay: The student described the figure vividly and used the peasant’s language quite skillfully. However, in terms of the selection of theme, this essay is problematic. A suppressed woman typical in the old society, Mrs. Zhu Wang is perseverant, industrious, and kind. She struggled in her miserable life with little resistance, submitting everything in her life to fate. Such a figure and such a story exactly cater to the taste of petty bourgeoisies. Therefore, the author expressed his sympathy, unconsciously celebrating her loyalty to her deceased husband and her filial obedience to her parents.  (p. 5)

Rather than “catering to the taste of the petty bourgeoisies,” who clung to the traditional Confucian values of fate, loyalty, and filial obedience, Zhu suggests that the author should have taken the position of the masses, focusing on the great achievements of the land reform movement in which, under the leadership of the Communist Party, peasants were liberated from the exploitation of the landlords. Zhu’s emphasis on constructing correct, constructive, and educational themes in writing clearly echoes one of Chairman Mao Zedong’s earlier speeches, “Against the Eight-legged Style Writing within the Party,” delivered in 1942. In this speech, Mao warned Party members against writing without a clear theme, without an honest and scientific attitude, without audience awareness, or without using the people’s language. During the Cultural Revolution (1967–1976), the treatment of theme was further constricted to revolutionary topics. Into the late 1960s, fearful of the influence of the Soviet Union’s “revisionist” interpretation of Communism and of “peaceful evolution” from the capitalist West, Mao argued that material enrichment was not enough for China to enter a Communist society and that only a cultural revolution would unify and strengthen Communist goals within the people’s consciousness. Hence, a revolution in the cultural domain was initiated. Regarding the treatment of theme in Chinese writing instruction, Marxist heuristics were reduced to only following the Party’s propaganda machine closely. Addressing the issue of selecting themes, Xiezuo Mantan (On Writing), a book published for youth (Compiling Team 1975), advises,

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First of all, we should select themes solely according to the needs of the current struggles. When we write essays, in order to serve the current political struggles, we must lend support to the different focuses of the Party’s propaganda work as they vary in different periods. Like what Lenin has advocated, we must select themes that are politically important, catching the majority’s attention, or addressing the most urgent issues.  (p. 13)

This guideline is advised because, according to Mao, writing is not only an effective weapon for uniting and educating the masses, but also a weapon for attacking and destroying enemies. To discover an excellent theme, the book further instructs, a writer must study Marx, Lenin, and Mao’s works closely and learn how to employ the Marxist position, worldview, and methods to observe matters and analyze life experiences. Only through observing life in close alignment with the focus of the Party’s political work would a significant theme be refined. Political themes with an emphasis on class struggles further polarized the Confucian value system, which advocates social stability and harmony. With the theme correctly chosen, text structure will be deployed accordingly. Addressing the writing of great criticism essays (da pipan wenzhang), a genre popular during the Cultural Revolution, the book declares that the quality of a great criticism essay relies primarily on whether the author can first perceive the main issue (yaohai) that reflects the counteractive nature of the object of the criticism. The next step is to deploy the materials (evidence) centering on the perceived issue (theme/argument). The book states, After the main issue of the object of criticism being determined, we must explain it well through analysis. We need to enlighten and convince the readers by informing them why the object is wrong and counteractive, and why it is the main issue. When we write a great criticism essay, we need not only a clear-cut opinion but also sufficient supporting materials, and have them organically unified. The process of using supporting materials to illustrate an opinion is also a process of analysis. To undertake a good analysis, the major thrust is to employ the sharp weapons of dialectic materialism and historical materialism to conduct [social] class analysis.  (p. 90)

Advocating a deductive scheme, the book moves on to suggest some expository techniques. For example, the writer should use facts in his or her analysis to make a powerful argument; the writer can compare the counteractive opinions of the object of criticism with the principles of Marxism and Maoism; or the writer can analyze the class nature and political aim of the object of criticism. Therefore, in writing a great criticism essay, the determination of a theme embarks on and controls the deployment of the supporting materials – the argumentation structure.



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Depoliticized themes in Post-Mao China (1977–present) The treatment of theme witnessed a depoliticizing process after the Cultural Revolution. Cultural determinism and class struggle were replaced by a more pragmatic agenda for social development after Mao’s death in 1976. The Communist Party adopted economic reform and opened up policy, hoping to boost a new wave of economic construction for national modernization. As class struggle fell out of the center of social life, topics in the writing class gradually became depoliticized and increasingly diversified. Although the themes themselves were increasingly depoliticized, Marxist heuristics, in selecting themes, continued to shape writing instruction after the Cultural Revolution. For example, in Lu, Shi & Fan (1982), a textbook written for students in teachers’ colleges, the treatment of theme was still political. In the section “Building up Themes and Selecting Materials,” the authors postulate that themes need to be “correct,” “clear-cut,” and “focused.” They define a correct theme as follows: What we meant by a correct theme is that the chosen theme must abide by the Four Cardinal Principles, and is in agreement with the Party’s political lines, guiding principles, and policies. For essays that are written to serve the Four Modernizations, their themes are surely correct. There are some other essays, such as travel notes, essays describing the landscapes of our motherland, and essays introducing handicraft articles as well as scientific knowledge. Although they do not serve the Four Modernizations directly, they offer the reader knowledge, aesthetic appeals, and positive influence. Therefore the themes of those es(p. 20) says are equally correct. 

They move on to suggest Marxist heuristics in refining the theme. First, the writer needs to make sure that the theme reflects the defining features of the present era. He or she should break away from personal boundaries and examine the significance of the subject matter from a global perspective: i.e., to examine it within its historical and political context. Second and third, the writer needs to study the individual features of the subject matter carefully and identify its essence.

. The Four Cardinal Principles were political rhetoric completely inherited from the Maoist period, referring to the socialist road, the people’s democratic dictatorship, the leadership by the Party, and Marxism-Leninism and Mao Zedong’s thought. . The Four Modernizations were a political slogan articulated by the Chinese premier Zhou Enlai in the mid-1970s, referring to the modernizations of industry, agriculture, defense, and science and technology.

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The shift to depoliticized themes with theme treatment remaining political can be noted in college entrance examinations in the early 1980s. For example, in both the 1980 and 1981 Chinese language tests, students were asked to write an essay exposing their thoughts after reading a passage. They were, as stated in the prompts of both tests, required to express “correct opinions and a clear-cut theme.” Using poplars as an example, the reading passage for the 1981 test conveys the idea that trees are much easier to destroy than to plant. In a well-quoted student essay, the writer responded to the passage by writing politically correct contents into a nonpolitical topic: When Lin Biao and the Gang of Four were in power, our economic construction suffered from serious destructions and came to the verge of collapsing. After we crushed the Gang of Four, particularly after the Third Plenary Session of the Party’s Eleventh Central Committee, the focus of our Party shifted to economic construction. . . . Our country is still poor, lagging behind other countries. The “tree” has been just planted; it is still tender and weak, and easy to be destroyed. But if each of us protects it consciously and waters it painstakingly, the “tree” will definitely grow taller and taller. (Compiling Team 2003: 711)

By comparing the country’s economic construction to planting young trees, the author rendered unambiguous support to the Communist Party. Thus, the student was awarded a high score for consciously abiding by the Party’s political line and policies. In the 1990s, while the treatment of theme continued, to some degree, to utilize Marxist heuristics, the themes were further depoliticized, reflecting a mixed value system emerging in the country. The Marxist treatment of theme and the diversified themes can be captured in the collections of excellent student essays published in China. In Sun et al. (1998), a collection of high school students’ expository argumentation essays, the authors make it clear that the argument, or the theme of an expository argumentation essay, needs to be correct, distinctive, novel, and profound. “A correct theme,” for the authors, means “the argument should accurately and scientifically reflect the nature of the objective matters” (p. 3). To develop correct theme, the authors suggest: As a high school student, the writer must achieve self-improvement through extensive reading and wide contact with society. While enriching his or her life experience, the writer should improve the ability to tell truth, virtue, and beauty apart from falsity, evil, and ugliness. It is the only means through which the writer

. Both Lin Biao and the Gang of Four were political leftists in the Chinese Communist Party.



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will be able to bring out correct and clear-cut opinions that reflect the spirit of the times, the leading features of the society, as well as the will of the majority. (p. 3)

While themes still need to be correct, the definition of “a correct theme” was apparently recontextualized in an increasingly capitalist society. No longer required to follow the Party line, themes thus became more liberal and diversified. The selected student essays in this book reflect “the spirit of the time” and “the will of the majority.” Of the 234 essays included in the book, the titles cover a wide range of topics in contemporary Chinese society, including individualized education, consumerism, spiritual pollution caused by advertisements, profit-driven hospitals, the key to personal success, and issues of environmental protection. In the essays, traditional moral codes, including both Confucian and Marxist values, are reevaluated in the context of a market economy. Some traditional values continue to be celebrated, such as filial obedience to parents, the priority of the collective, and industry and perseverance in work. More strikingly, many traditional values are reexamined in the new sociohistorical context and thereafter assigned new meanings. For example, yi yi gu xing (clinging obstinately to one’s course) is traditionally criticized as someone being individualistic and stubborn. However, a student writer argues, “Surely we oppose clinging obstinately to one’s course when this person strives only for personal interest or when that person knows that he or she is on a wrong track. But when someone is engaged in a just course, seeking truth, virtue, and beauty . . . the spirit of clinging obstinately to one’s course should be appreciated” (p. 78). Another student writer denounced a long-esteemed Confucian saying, zhao wen dao, xi si ke yi (When one hears the Way in the morning, that person should feel content if he or she dies in the evening). Resorting to dialectic materialism, the writer contends that “hearing the Way” embodies the process of learning (which only constitutes the preparation stage for social practice) and that the most important part of one’s life is not to acquire knowledge, but rather to make use of that knowledge for the benefit of human beings. Therefore, the meaning of life does not only rest on “hearing the Way.” In these diversified themes, traditional values, including both Confucianism and Marxism, are recontextualized, representing a conscientious thrust among Chinese teachers and students to negotiate a moral equilibrium between tradition and the ongoing market economy.

Conclusion In this historical survey of Chinese writing instruction over the last century, a trajectory of theme treatment has surfaced. The emphases of the themes silently

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promoted the varying ideologies of the dominant social groups, reflecting the power of school education, one of the ideological state apparatuses (Althusser 1971). In the late Qing, themes for school essay writing were constricted by the Confucian classics and reinforced by civil service examinations. In Republican China, both themes and text structures for school essays were liberated from the confinement of the Confucian classics by the extended school curricula. After the Communist Party gained power in 1949, themes became highly tinted by socialist ideology and gradually depoliticized after the Cultural Revolution. Current themes treated in the expository argumentation essays in Mainland Chinese schools indicate an emerging, hybridized value system that embodies elements of Confucianism, Marxism, and market economy. Underneath this historical evolution of theme treatment flowed Western currents in philosophy (such as Marxism and democracy), science, education, and rhetorical theories, which entered China during the last two centuries. The trajectory of theme treatment in Chinese writing instruction over the last century reveals the complexity and fluidity of rhetorical practices in China. This study also illustrates how a historical approach may contribute new knowledge to contrastive studies of school essay writing. In agreement with Li’s (1996) observation of “good writing” in Mainland China, this study has revealed that the treatment of theme carries equal, if not more, weight to textual organization in assessing Chinese school writing. Whether the dominant ideology was Confucianism or Marxism, the themes always needed to be “correct,” or in alignment with the dominant ideology. Furthermore, this study finds that the treatment of theme oftentimes decides the selection of types of writing and dictates the layout of text structure, which has been rarely touched upon in comparative studies of school writing. Therefore, to gain a more nuanced understanding of the extremely rich literary and rhetorical traditions of ESL and EFL students, I suggest that more historical inquiries be conducted in our exploration of school essay writing.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Ulla Connor, Ed Nagelhout, Yichun Liu, Paul Kei Matsuda, and Gigi Taylor for their constructive comments and suggestions on earlier versions of this essay.



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References Althusser, L. (1971). Lenin and philosophy, and other essays. London: New Left Books. Aristotle. (1991). On rhetoric: A theory of civic discourse (G. A. Kennedy, Trans.). New York: Oxford University Press. Cai, Y. (1913). Zuixin lunshuowen hai [A collection of the latest expository essays]. Shanghai: Gonghe Shuju. Chang, W. (1994). Legal education in Ch’ing China. In B. A. Elman & A. Woodside (Eds.), Education and society in late imperial China, 1600–1900 (pp. 292–339). Berkeley: University of California Press. Chen, Q. (1962). Zuijing sanshi nian zhongguo jiaoyu shi [A history of Chinese education during the last three decades]. Taipei: Wenxin Sudian. Chen, W. (1978). Zuowen fa jiangyi [Lectures on written composition]. Hong Kong: Chuangzuo Shushe. Compiling Team. (1975). Xiezuo mantan [On writing]. Shanghai: Shanghai Remin Chubanshe. Compiling Team. (2003). Zhongguo mingxiao jingpin zuowen daquan (Gaozhong juan) [A complete collection of excellent compositions by students of Chinese elite schools (High school volume)]. Beijing: Kaiming Chubanshe. Connor, U. (1996). Contrastive rhetoric: Cross-cultural aspects of second language writing. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Connor, U. (2003). Changing currents in contrastive rhetoric: Implications for teaching and research. In B. Kroll (Ed.), Exploring the dynamics of second language writing (pp. 218–241). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Dong, C. (1951). Gaige women de zhongxue yuwen jiaoxue [To reform our middle-school Chinese language teaching]. In Educational References Department (Ed.), Zhongxue yuwen jiaoxue de gaijing [The improvement of Chinese language education in middle schools] (pp. 1–17). Beijing: Remin Jiayou Chubanshe. Guy, R. K. (1994). Fang Pao and the Ch’in-ting Ssu-shu-wen. In B. A. Elman & A. Woodside (Eds.), Education and society in Late Imperial China, 1600–1900 (pp. 150–182). Berkeley: University of California Press. Jiang, Z. (1940/1989). Lunshou wen yi ti shu zuofa [Multiple ways to composing expository argumentation essays]. Taipei: Wen Shi Zhe Chubanshe. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning 16, 1–20. Kubota, R. (1999). Japanese culture constructed by discourses: Implications for applied linguistics research and English language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 33, 9–35. Kubota, R., & Lehner, A. (2004). Toward critical contrastive rhetoric. Journal of Second Language Writing, 13, 7–27. Li, X. M. (1996). “Good writing” in cross-cultural context. Albany: State University of New York Press. Liang, Q. (1989). Zuowen jiaoxue fa [Composition pedagogy]. In Yinbinshi Heji [Yingbinshi Collection] (Vol. 70, pp. 1–41). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Liu, Y. (1996). To capture the essence of chinese rhetoric: An anatomy of a paradigm in comparative rhetoric. Rhetoric Review, 14, 318–335.

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Lu, D., Shi, Y., & Fan, P. (1982). Xiezuo jiaocheng [Lectures in writing]. Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue Chubanshe. National Peking University. (1922). Guoli Beijing Daxue yuke ruxue shiyan shiti (Minguo liu nian qi shiyi nian zhi) [National Peking University pre-college entrance examination papers (1917–1922)]. Beijing: Beijing University Archive. National Peking University. (1935). Guoli Beijing Daxue ruxue shiyan shiti [National Peking University entrance examination papers]. Beijing: Beijing University Archive. National Peking University. (1942). Guoli Xinan Lianhe Daxue sanshiyi nian du xinsheng ruxue kaoshi guowen shiti [National Southwest Associated University entrance examination of 1942, Chinese language paper]. Beijing: Tsinghua University Archive. Spack, R. (1997). The rhetorical construction of multilingual students. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 765–774. Sun, Y., Qiang, Y., Hua, P., Li, S., & Xu, S. (1998). Xinbian quanguo zhongxuesheng yilunwen daquan [A new collection of Chinese high school students’ expository argumentation essays]. Shanghai: Dongfang Chuban Zhongxin. Tengchow College. (1891). Catalogue. Shanghai: American Presbyterian Mission Press. Ye, S. (1924). Zuowen lun [On written composition]. Shanghai: The Commercial Press. You, X. (2005). Conflation of rhetorical traditions: The formation of modern Chinese writing instruction. Rhetoric Review, 24(2), 150–169. Zamel, V. (1997). Toward a model of transculturation. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 341–352. Zhu, D. (1951). Zuowen zhidao [Composition guide]. Beijing: Kaiming Chubanshe.

Plagiarism in an intercultural rhetoric context What we can learn about one from the other Joel Bloch The Ohio State University

This chapter discusses how an examination of plagiarism in a cross-cultural context can reflect on some of the controversial issues in intercultural communication. It examines how rethinking our attitudes towards traditional views of how plagiarism should be viewed and how these views compare to attitudes held in other parts of the world can exemplify an alternative perspective on research in intercultural rhetoric. This alternative perspective responds to many, though not all, of the criticisms leveled against contrastive rhetoric. Pedagogical approaches based on this alternative perspective are suggested.

The study of plagiarism as a topic in intercultural rhetoric is particularly interesting because it goes beyond the traditional focus on organizational patterns in contrastive rhetoric research. Plagiarism has been studied extensively in a contrastive rhetoric context and the issues that have arisen very much reflect the kinds of criticism Leki (1997) and others have made about the paradigmatic nature of intercultural rhetoric as a means of understanding writing in a second language. Over the years, there has been an often heated debate over whether instances of plagiarism can be attributed to a learner’s L1 rhetorical or cultural background or to other factors such as developmental differences and lack of training (Atkinson 2002; Bloch 2001; Bloch & Chi 1995; Buranen 1999; Deckert 1993; Fox 1994; Kubota 1998, 2002; Matsuda 1997; Pecorari 2003; Pennycook 1996; Scollon 1995). Chinese speakers, in particular, have been the subject of much discussion on plagiarism. It has been continually argued that Chinese and Western traditions regarding plagiarism are opposites. One often hears that Chinese have no comparable rhetorical tradition, that Chinese have no tradition of intellectual property, and that Chinese students plagiarize because they feel it is an appropriate thing to do. These claims reflect not only an impoverished view of Chinese rhetorical

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traditions but also our own view of the complexity of the issues surrounding plagiarism (Bloch & Chi 1995). This chapter reflects on how the study of plagiarism can help us understand the relevance of intercultural rhetoric in the study of L2 composition. It is argued here that the study of plagiarism can both exemplify the potential of research in intercultural rhetoric and, at the same time, respond to some of the criticisms that have been levied against intercultural rhetoric. In this way, the paradigmatic nature of intercultural rhetoric can be seen as being still relevant to the study of L2 composition.

The paradigmatic nature of intercultural rhetoric While many feel that the term “paradigm” is overused, contrastive rhetoric remains one of the best examples of Thomas Kuhn’s (1970) concept in the field of ESL/EFL research. Kuhn’s idea that sometimes incommensurable views on a topic develop in a contested field over a period of time is one way of explaining the continual interest in contrastive rhetoric. In a contested field – paradigms – Kuhn has shown that paradigms must be able to respond to such challenges if they are to survive. Casanave (2004) has identified contrastive rhetoric as one of the key ongoing controversies in L2 composition. From decade to decade, contrastive rhetoric has faced a variety of challenges to its assumptions regarding language learning, culture, rhetoric and ideology. Since the publication of Robert Kaplan’s (1966) article on comparative patterns of organization across cultures, contrastive rhetoric has promulgated an ongoing debate over the role of culture in the transfer of rhetoric from a writer’s first language to the target or second language. For L2 composition theory, Kaplan’s 1966 paper ushered in a new era of research on second language writing (Connor 2003). Kaplan’s article was the major factor in breaking the study of L2 composition away from the teaching of oral language, which had been based on an assumption in both linguistics and applied linguistics that writing was simply putting spoken language down on paper (Freeman 1985). By focusing on writing in one language as a reflection of writing in another, Kaplan took a major step in separating the research and teaching of writing from the research and teaching of speaking. Kaplan accomplished this transformation by not simply relying on linguistic research to base his approach, but by drawing on work from outside the field of linguistics, such as the work in contemporary rhetoric of Francis Christensen. In the following years, contrastive rhetoric made a second important contribution, in this case the differentiating of L2 composition research from L1 research. Unlike L1 research, which tended to view inexperienced writers as novices who



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lacked the appropriate writing strategies, much like a beginning chess player who knows little beyond the basic moves (Flower & Hayes 1980), contrastive rhetoric research demonstrated how these same writers could bring to the writing task a whole array of strategies drawn from their L1 rhetoric. One of the earliest criticisms came from those arguing for a developmental rather than intercultural explanation of problems often found in L2 writing (Deckert 1993; Mohan & Lo 1985; Raimes 1989). Contrastive rhetoric has remained one of the most fiercely contested areas. Today, with charges of racism and essentialism being hurled back and forth (Atkinson 2002; Kubota 2002), it often appears that advocates and opponents of contrastive rhetoric occupy two diametrically opposed worlds, despite the similarity in the goals they sometimes share. This idea of incommensurability, as Kuhn (1977) would later explain, does not mean the ideas are mutually incomprehensible; rather, there are deep, perhaps irreconcilable, differences between the two groups. However, the response to these attacks is not simply defensive. Attacks can benefit the development of a paradigm by forcing it to creatively respond through continual rethinking and adapting of its fundamental premises. The fact that we are still discussing contrastive rhetoric shows that it has been able to adapt to many, although not all, of the attacks that have been laid against it. There are numerous examples on both sides showing these shifts in the argument. The opposition to contrastive rhetoric has shifted from a focus on developmentalism (Deckert 1993; Mohan & Lo 1985) to a focus on cultural and political issues (Canagarajah 2002; Kubota 1998). On the other side, as cognitive approaches replaced the behaviorism in the 1980s as the dominant means of explaining language learning composition theory, there were parallel shifts in how these new learning theories were applied to contrastive rhetoric research. Grabe and Kaplan (1989), for example, shifted from the traditional behaviorist view about the transfer to a more cognitive approach by adapting the cognitive concept of “schema” to explain how patterns from the writer’s L1 may or may not be drawn upon during the writing process. This approach attempted to respond to charges of linguistic determinism by arguing that the transfer of L1 rhetorical patterns might be less deterministic than had been previously argued. Additional factors have also influenced the climate of the debate over contrastive rhetoric. Literacy and rhetorical theory have raised questions about how the nature of writing itself may affect our view of contrastive rhetoric. Research on the effects of literacy (Heath 1983; Ong 1982) has indicated areas where literacy and culture interact so that so-called “literate” societies may share certain characteristics irrespective of cultural differences. This research has shown how different cultures share a complex matrix of literacy practices that share critical similarities but may vary in specific manifestations in specific areas. For example, in one

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comparative study of the use of intertextuality in Chinese- and English-language rhetoric, it was found that both traditions relied heavily on the use of the ability to access previously published texts – which itself is a characteristic of a literate society – but vary in the specifics of how the texts are cited (Bloch & Chi 1995). Studies in variability within a culture can add a further dimension to the problem. Genre analysis has raised questions about how we should view rhetorical differences across and within different genres (Hyland 2000; Swales 1990). Bloch and Chi (1995), for example, argued that a contrastive study of academic writing cannot be generalized to other forms of writing or rhetorical contexts. The development of new forms of writing environments, such as those associated with the Internet and the World Wide Web, have raised new areas for research. Research into cyber literacy has examined differences between print and digital literacy (Bloch 2004). Finally, there has been a much greater interest in non-Western forms of rhetoric, such as Chinese (Garrett 1991, 1993a, 1993b), which has given contrastive rhetoric research a much richer basis for comparing forms of intercultural communication. For this reason, I will henceforth refer to contrastive rhetoric by its more evolved and encompassing term, intercultural rhetoric. All of the factors mentioned previously have also combined to give research a more expansive view of what is meant by the term rhetoric. In L1 composition theory, the shift from the current-traditional paradigm to a cognitive approach, and later to an epistemological approach, has placed greater emphasis on aspects of rhetoric such as argumentation and intertextuality rather than on organization and style. Kaplan’s early approach seemed to assume that rhetoric referred primarily to organization, thus ignoring other aspects of Western rhetorical theory, most importantly the epistemological nature of rhetoric (Berlin 1984). Kaplan’s early assumptions about intercultural rhetoric focused primarily on issues of organization and style, an approach known in L1 composition teaching as the current traditional approach (Young 1976). For example, Robert Bander (1978), in his popular composition book American English Rhetoric, drew upon Kaplan’s (1966) work, even reproducing his “doodles” in the preface. Bander presented annotated models of various organization patterns and then suggested assignments to simply reproduce the models. This focus on organizational mode left intercultural rhetoric research more vulnerable to attacks on its theoretical basis. Leki (1997), for example, has criticized this research on organization such as that on the importance of intercultural rhetoric research on the ba-gu-wen in Chinese and the ki-shu-ten-ketsu form in Japanese rhetoric (Hinds 1983), because they do not account for how rhetorical decisions are made “in response to social, political, and rhetorical contexts and histories” (Leki 1997: 236). Leki seems to be arguing here against traditional definitions of “rhetoric” found in intercultural rhetoric research that have been decontextualized from



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the study of how rhetoric develops in social, economic, and political contexts. This problem has not been unique to intercultural rhetoric. Speaking of the study of the history of Chinese rhetoric, Mary Garrett, one of its leading authorities, similarly has chastised rhetoricians for choosing some form of ancient rhetoric, perhaps from Confucius or the Tang dynasty, and then skipping centuries of historical development to claim that it still exists exactly in the same form as did its origination (cited in Wang 2004). This approach has often resulted not only in a stereotypical view of the dichotomy between rhetorical traditions, which Leki (1997) argued contributes to this apparent otherness of non-Western forms of rhetoric often found in intercultural rhetoric research, but also an impoverished view of the writing process, which is a view supported by the work of Kubota and Lehner (2004) and Canagarajah (2002). The result has been that we often know little about the L1 rhetorical traditions that writers are allegedly bringing to bear on their L2, which has led to charges that intercultural rhetoric research has negatively stereotyped non-Western forms of rhetoric so they are viewed as inherently inferior to dominant Western forms (Kubota 1998). Influenced by Bourdieu, Foucault, and others, Kubota and Lehner (2004) argue for a more inclusive view of culture that can account for the power relations that exist within that culture, which may lead to a richer view of the rhetorical traditions L2 writers have, and a more complex picture of how these views affect L2 writing. No issue, moreover, has been as fiercely debated among ESL/EFL teachers than how plagiarism should be handled in the classroom (Stanley 2002). As is seen in the listserv postings on plagiarism that Stanley collected, how teaching about plagiarism is approached is not simply a pedagogical choice but is also reflective of how we want to be viewed as teachers. For critics of intercultural rhetoric research such as Kachru (1997), the pedagogical use of intercultural rhetoric has served to change the behavior of L2 writers so that they only use a standard form of English that incorporates values that may be at odds with the students’ home culture. Because of the moral issues often associated with plagiarism as a form of theft, perhaps no issue better exemplifies this criticism, which Kubota (2004) calls “assimilationist and segregationalist ideologies” (p. 34). She argues that this dichotomy between sameness and difference, as seen in the debate over plagiarism, denigrates both Chinese culture and education while ignoring the richness and diversity of its rhetorical and educational traditions. If one examines the debate over differences between Chinese and Western concepts of plagiarism, her argument has merit. The idea that Chinese students plagiarize because of their Confucian tradition (Matalene 1985), for instance, ignores the importance in Confucianism to adaptation and interpretation, as well as the importance of alternative forms of rhetoric in the Chinese tradition. This

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linkage between plagiarism and memorization, moreover, ignores the transformational power memorization can have in understanding the deeper meaning of the text. This has been echoed in contemporary research about how both first and second language writers can immerse themselves in the forms of writing they are trying to emulate (Hull & Rose 1989; Pecorari 2003).

The historical relationship between plagiarism and intellectual property The study of these issues relating to plagiarism in an intercultural rhetoric context can be an excellent response to the criticisms of Leki (1997) by showing plagiarism must be understood in a social, political, and historical context. There has been much research showing how these various contexts have contributed to this debate over plagiarism (Howard 1999; Lunsford & Ede 1994; Jaszi 1994). This research has argued that since the traditional definition about plagiarism and intellectual property reflected the social, cultural, and economic context of the 18th and early 19th centuries, they were not necessarily applicable to the contemporary composition classroom which privileges collaboration and intertextuality, as well as alternative contexts such as the Internet. Therefore, an intercultural rhetoric approach must take into account the complex interactions between these and how the concept of plagiarism has evolved in this environment. As has been often pointed out, the word “plagiarism” comes from the Latin plagiarius, meaning a kidnapper. The use of this metaphor has imputed a large degree of moralist judgment to the issue of plagiarism because of the assumption that the theft of intellectual property is similar to the theft of real property. However, the stealing metaphor has been strongly challenged as a basis for thinking about plagiarism. Factors such as the development of a romantic view of authorship and the shift toward the commercial publication of art both affected the development of our current norms and values towards plagiarism and intellectual property. Romanticism placed authorship at the center of artistic expression, thus giving the author/artist the moral authority to control their work. Intellectual property law, on the other hand, developed in an economic contest between the author and the publisher, with the publisher initially winning out and gaining control of artistic creations (Rose 1993). The issue with intellectual property then, as it is today, was both social and economic. As the publishing industry in England developed at a time when the bourgeois class was gaining in power, the political climate favored a shift of power in the control of artistic expression to the publishers. Therefore, it can be seen that the forces that began in the eighteenth century to shape our modern concepts of plagiarism were both social and economic but



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not deeply engrained in the culture of Western society, as many supporters of intercultural rhetoric have argued. This perspective on plagiarism challenges the view that somehow culture is “hardwired” and therefore can never change. Barthes (1972) distinguishes between what is natural and what is historical on the grounds that what is natural does not seem changeable but what is historical can be changed. We have argued elsewhere that understanding Chinese rhetorical traditions in general and plagiarism in particular requires an understanding of historical traditions that are both complex and in constant change. However, a historical perspective on the relationship between intellectual property and plagiarism shows some key differences that could undermine the appropriateness of this type of cultural comparison. The historical and economic basis for our current understanding of plagiarism makes it likely that the differences between the dominant attitudes here in the U.S. and those from other, particularly non-European cultures, may exist but cannot simply be attributed to a lack of knowledge or training in composition. On the other hand, a historical perspective makes it equally unlikely that any two cultures could possibly share the same historical and economic development that would produce similar views on plagiarism. Therefore, it is almost inevitable that some cultural differences will exist. Nevertheless, the danger is that such cultural differences in how plagiarism is perceived can be readily attributed to a cultural “deficit.” We often hear that Chinese students plagiarize because they think they are doing the appropriate thing based on their cultural background (e.g., Fox 1994). In this perspective, China is seen as a more collectivist culture that does not value individualism as much as it is valued in the West, which places a high value on private property, both real and intellectual. The otherness of China is therefore both inevitable and absolute, and as Kubota (1998) has argued, can be easily perceived as being morally inferior. This supposed dichotomy in the attitudes towards plagiarism between the U.S. and China is sometimes simplistic, since it often hides the historical development of attitudes towards plagiarism – or, in other words, what is historical and changeable has been transformed into something that is natural and fixed. However, history also shows that attitudes towards plagiarism today have dramatically changed, undermining the argument that they are hardwired into our culture. As historical accounts of plagiarism show, Americans did not always value the ownership of intellectual property despite the high value we have given to individualism in the culture. Vaidhyanathan (2001) argues that our modern day concepts of intellectual property developed not because of the intrinsic nature of our culture, but because of economic concerns related to the rise of the U.S. as a producer of intellectual property and as developer of new forms of intellectual properties, such as the motion picture.

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As Vaidhyanathan (2001) has shown, America in the 19th century looked like the culture of plagiarism we often attribute to China today. There was wholesale plagiarism and rampant copying of intellectual property. Writers such as Charles Dickens complained bitterly about how his work was being stolen in the former colonies. Russell (1991) and Berlin (1984) describe widespread instances of plagiarism in the universities. On the other hand, as Alford (1995) has shown, this issue was not being ignored in China, as is often thought. Historical accounts of intellectual property in China show that by the time the issue of intellectual property became paramount in the United States, China had been wrestling with it for a thousand years (Alford 1995). This historical perspective on the relationship between intellectual property and plagiarism illustrates how research in intercultural rhetoric can respond to earlier notions of plagiarism. These notions have been challenged not only by showing how plagiarism can be understood within an evolving cultural context, but also by illustrating how a rhetorical concept, such as plagiarism, reflects historical differences in cultures that can lead to different attitudes and definitions across cultures. Developing a historical perspective can, therefore, respond to charges of essentialism in intercultural rhetoric research by rejecting simple generalizations about cultural differences and searching for a more complex view of the issues surrounding plagiarism. This, in turn, undermines the appearance that attitudes toward plagiarism are hardwired and intractable.

Variable definitions of plagiarism and intellectual property A more synchronic approach that examines the variability of plagiarism within a culture is a second way to respond to challenges to the paradigm. The charge of essentialism laid by Canagarajah (2002) against intercultural rhetoric research has been particularly relevant in the assumption that there is a consistent and agreed-upon definition of plagiarism that unambiguously reflects deeply held cultural values. As Kachru (1997) argues, the concept of otherness that often exists in intercultural comparisons also assumes that there is a unified, agreed-upon definition in one culture that can be compared to a unified definition in another culture. Just as it has been (often falsely) argued that there are some dominant organizational patterns that exist consistently across the rhetoric of a given culture, it has also been assumed that there is a clear-cut and universally agreed-upon definition of plagiarism. For example, the universality of such a definition is the basis for the use of the stealing metaphor, since it implies that there is general agreement on what constitutes intellectual property and what the inappropriate use of that property is, just as there is with real property.



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However, as we can see in this quotation from Mark Twain over one hundred years ago, there has never really been a single definition or one that has been generally agreed upon that covers all forms of writing. Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque what that “plagiarism” farce. As if there was much of anything in human utterance, oral or written except plagiarism. The kernel, the soul – let us go further and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances – is plagiarism. For substantially all ideas are second-hand, consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources, and daily used by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of a superstition that he originated them.  (cited in Vaidhyanathan 2001: 64)

If we look today at the various ways in which plagiarism is defined, we can see that the problem may be more complicated now. Well-publicized cases of both professors and students copying all or parts of a text, paraphrasing inappropriately, and omitting quotation marks have often been reported (Bartlett & Smallwood 2004). Students are often expected to obey and understand even more ambiguous types of plagiarism. For example, one source we use in our composition courses is a tutorial on plagiarism developed by Colby, Bates, and Bowdoin colleges (https://ats. bates.edu/cbb/quiz/index.html), three highly respected liberal arts colleges. On the Web site, plagiarism is defined as the following:

– – – – – – – – –

Handing in the same or similar paper to different classes Taking someone else’s ideas Failing to correctly attribute sources Taking summaries of a text from a website Copying pieces of a text Copying a few words or even one Changing research results Taking an idea from a classmate Taking common knowledge from a textbook

While there may be agreement about some of these definitions, they are not all seen as universal, particularly across all genres of writing where some genres have different rules (as the quote by Twain indicates) than others. Therefore, there may be differences as to what “appropriate borrowing” of text in a literary genre may be versus what is “appropriate borrowing” in an academic journal. How many words constitute plagiarism or the correct attribute of texts or ideas varies greatly. Others, such as handing in the same paper, raise issues about whether “self-plagiarism” can be really plagiarism since there is no possibility of stealing. Having someone else edit a paper or ghostwriting may be perfectly acceptable in some

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situations but not in others. Is bad paraphrasing that may result in plagiarism a moral issue or a developmental writing one? Does intentionality or “ignorance of the law,” which may not be significant in a moral context, matter in a rhetorical context? It is clear that there are some definitions of plagiarism that are shared across cultures and some differences that may cause problems for students crossing from one culture to another. However, great care needs to be taken in specifying these and drawing conclusions about cultural differences.

Current and future developments Combining this synchronic dimension that examines the multiple definitions of plagiarism with a diachronic perspective understanding the historical context of rhetoric can aid intercultural rhetoric research in overcoming the consequences of the history/culture dichotomy in that research. The result has been a much more dynamic view of cultural interaction and a more complex view of the nature of this interaction. The development of intellectual property law and corresponding attitudes toward plagiarism is a good illustration of both the potential and problematic nature of this dynamic interaction. In China, the concept of intellectual property continuously changed in response to different political climates. During the Cultural Revolution in China, when the idea of private property was challenged from all sides, intellectual property was treated no differently. However, later, when a greater emphasis was placed on economic development, views towards intellectual property also changed (Alford 1995). In all these cases, the motivation for this issue was the same: the desire to control the dissemination of information (Alford 1995). During the Cultural Revolution, intellectual property was controlled for political reasons and in the West for economic ones. As the economic conditions changed in China, attitudes toward intellectual property changed as well. However, at the same time, attempts to impose Western concepts of intellectual property likewise met strong resistance because they did not reflect the political and economic conditions in China (Alford 1995). On the other hand, when the Chinese wanted to enter the World Trade Organization (WTO), they became more willing to have Western standards of intellectual property imposed on them. An interesting example about how changes in attitudes towards intellectual property can reflect changes in attitudes towards plagiarism is a recent incident in China regarding two scientists who were caught in these cross-currents of change. As reported by Li and Xiong (1996), two Chinese researchers were caught plagiarizing the literature review of an English-language academic paper. Unlike American academics who, when caught plagiarizing, always seem to blame it on mixing



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up their notes or forgetting their sources, the Chinese scientists’ response was that although there was a large amount of similarity in the wording, this was not a case of plagiarism “because we have all the original data” (pp. 337–338). These researchers may have been caught up in a changing atmosphere towards plagiarism in China at that time. What they had done, while not clearly condoned, was at least a consequence of the lack of clear guidelines regarding plagiarism. For many researchers who grew up during the Cultural Revolution, there was little opportunity for publishing in China. While this lack of opportunity did not mean there was an absence of rules regarding plagiarism, it did mean that the rules developed in a radically different historical context. As Chinese academics had a greater opportunity to have their research accepted in the West, they seemed to want to adapt standards that mirrored what existed in the West, a clear example of what Lave and Wenger (1991) argued about the center drawing the periphery into a community of practice. We can see the same process occurring in the changes the Chinese government made towards Western intellectual property in response to being accepted in the WTO, even though the acceptance of Western attitudes could inflict some economic hardship on their citizens. There are also changes in how plagiarism and intellectual property are viewed in the West. We have briefly outlined Howard’s (1999) arguments that changes in attitudes towards issues such as collaboration and intertextuality in composition theory necessitate changes in attitudes towards plagiarism. We have seen an even greater ferment in the discussion of intellectual property, particularly as the Internet has developed as a repository of so much intellectual property. I argued that because of changes in how intellectual property is viewed on the Internet (such as the Open Source Movement and, more recently, the Creative Commons movement [Lessig 2001], which both emphasize more the collective and collaborative nature of intellectual property and less the aspect of personal ownership [Barlow 1993]), there may also be additional forces for changes in how plagiarism is viewed (Bloch 2001). More specifically, I wondered how a generation brought up on Napster and the peer-to-peer exchange of intellectual property would accept a concept such as plagiarism that was based on a set of assumptions they did not seem to share. More interestingly for the study of intercultural communication, many of the principles of these movements looked more like what I had found in traditional Chinese rhetoric, where the rules for citing texts were sometimes closer to what is found in literature than in academic texts. While this view now seems at best premature, since there are actually greater constraints now than a few years ago (Lessig 2001), this debate over intellectual property on the Internet illustrates how intercultural rhetoric research must take into account future developments in both cultures.

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Conclusion Intercultural rhetoric research continues to fascinate us because it allows us to synthesize ideas from such a wide variety of sources into the critical issue of the nature of the relationship between a writer’s first- and second-language rhetoric and their written texts. I have tried to show here how this relationship can be used to develop a rich and complex view of how plagiarism can be used. The result is an ambiguity that shows us that in the study of comparative cultures, nothing is what it appears to be and everything is in flux. Intercultural rhetoric research has also important pedagogical implications for understanding both the social and cognitive perspectives that students bring to the classroom, as well as a basis for creating a pedagogy, in this case, for teaching about plagiarism. While the approach discussed in this chapter does not answer all of the criticisms that have been leveled against this type of research, it demonstrates a methodology for thinking about plagiarism that is neither as essentialist nor as reductionist as some of the previous approaches have been. This approach can also lead to a pedagogy that immerses the students into these ambiguities and resulting conflicts. By linking the development of plagiarism to the development of intellectual property law, we can explore not only how plagiarism reflects larger cultural conflicts existing in the society, but also how social, historical, and economic forces shape that conflict. It cannot be denied that crucial differences can exist between different rhetorical systems, which can impact the ability of some L2 students to function in a context that may have different norms, values, and rules. How, in fact, can any cultural or rhetorical system share all the same definitions when there is so little agreement about each aspect of the definition? These definitions often reflect the local needs of the composition class, academic community, or society in general. Differences between cultures, therefore, cannot be considered as deficits. The fact that one culture may not label the same set of actions as plagiarism does not mean that the culture has no concept of plagiarism. Similarly, the challenges to intercultural rhetoric research by Leki (1997) and others to compare rhetorics across cultures in a social, historical, and economic context can provide researchers with a more robust understanding of how cultures interact with each other and evolve. In the case of plagiarism, an understanding of the relationship between intellectual property and plagiarism can help guard intercultural rhetoric research against the moralism often associated with discussions of plagiarism. By breaking away from such moralism, we can focus better on developing a pedagogy that can help students understand the complex issues and strategies to deal with them. Kachru’s (1997) warning about teaching intercultural rhetoric as if there were some idealized forms of rhetoric, or in this case, consistent and absolute defini-



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tions of plagiarism, needs to be heeded particularly when applying cross cultural research in the classroom. As she argues, the positive aspect of intercultural rhetoric is in its use to sensitize students and teachers to possible differences in the rules regarding plagiarism rather than to simply attempt to change their behaviors to conform to dominant norms for writing, which themselves are often confusing and contradictory. The traditional “deficit” approach to teaching about plagiarism has assumed that students either know little about it or have a completely different understanding of what it means and therefore must be presented the “facts” about plagiarism as if they were absolute and uncontroversial. Because of the moralism and often severe penalties applied in the cases of plagiarism, teaching about plagiarism has become an area where no deviant ideas that a student may bring to the classroom can be admitted into the discussion. However, what Kubota and Lehner (2004) call a critical contrastive rhetoric can guide teachers towards helping students gain critical awareness of both why the rules for plagiarism exist and how to deal with them. This position does not mean that we abandon the issues regarding the attribution of sources that the study of plagiarism entails. Kubota and Lehner (2004) seem to ignore, however, that there are rhetorical purposes for every citation made in a paper (Latour 1988). As Latour argues, citing the literature of the field is a means of both gaining support for one’s own claims and to show problems with existing claims, particularly those that are contradictory. To simply challenge the rules of plagiarism as a political act does not help students understand the often competing demands they face in their writing. We can see the same problem arising from the more moralistic approach. In an EFL context, Sapp (2002) reports on a Chinese student who felt it was hypocritical for Americans to impose their values on Chinese students. The student raises a fundamental question about viewing plagiarism simply as a moral issue. An alternate approach to discussing plagiarism should focus on creating an understanding of the highly contested nature of plagiarism discussed here. What should be challenged are often monolithic and moralistic views of plagiarism that are often determined solely by institutional power centers and sometimes selectively applied to further this institutional control. Canagarajah (2002) has challenged research in intercultural rhetoric research to help students negotiate the imbalance of power that traditional pedagogic approaches entail, although what “negotiate” means in teaching about plagiarism across a wide variety of writing contexts is unclear, given the severity of the punishments. Zamel (1997) proposes a model of what she calls “transculturation,” which “assumes and celebrates the selective, generative, and inventive nature of linguistic and cultural adaptation and thus reflects precisely how languages and cultures develop and change” (p. 350). Can we apply this model to the teaching of plagiarism? Are the institutional con-

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straints so limiting and the punishments for transgression so severe that we are forced into a position of “converting the natives?” (Shaughnessy, cited in Zamel 1997: 349). The answers to these questions are extremely complicated and fraught with potential pitfalls. Nevertheless, the research in intercultural rhetoric points to the need for spending a great deal more class time discussing the complexities of plagiarism in order for students to understand the reasons and the rules for using citations if they are able to negotiate the complexity and variability of academia. In her discussion of contrastive rhetoric Casanave (2004) suggests an “investigative pedagogical approach” (p. 52) in regard to differences between L1 and L2 practices. My approach has been to create a composition course where students read accounts of instances of plagiarism and then discuss alternative definitions of plagiarism and how cases of alleged plagiarism should be treated (see Appendix). Students write a series of papers summarizing, synthesizing, and arguing about issues such as what plagiarism is and how it should be treated. Blogging is used as a means of having students publish their opinions about the issues they are discussing (http://106fall2006.blogspot.com). Even exams and grammar discussions center on issues relating to plagiarism. I have found that, over the course, students can develop much more complex and subtle understandings of the issues surrounding plagiarism. The goal of this course, however, goes beyond a discussion of plagiarism. By examining its synchronic and diachronic dimensions, we can see emerge both a justification for the importance of the study of intercultural communication for the teaching of L2 composition and a warning about the generalizations that can be made from one culture to another. Alton Becker (personal communication), who has written extensively about comparative rhetoric (1988, 1991, 1995), once told me that when you tell someone his/her rhetoric is different, he/she will assume you mean it is inferior. It is hoped that the approach outlined here can create rich enough descriptions of the rhetoric on both sides to counter that assumption. In the end, intercultural rhetoric is about the intertextuality that constructs all discourse. As Becker (1995) puts it so elegantly, “when we speak or write we evoke – overtly or by suggestion – prior language, prior text” (p. 384). Research into intercultural rhetoric must account for all the resulting interactions that can affect our students’ representations of their writing.

References Alford, W. P. (1995). To steal a book is an elegant offense: Intellectual property law in Chinese civilization. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Atkinson, D. (2002). Comments on Ryuko Kubota’s “Discursive Construction of the Images of U.S. Classrooms”. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 79–84.



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Bander, R. G. (1978). American English rhetoric: A two-track writing program for intermediate and advanced students of English as a second language (2nd ed.). New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Barlow, J. P. (1993). The economy of ideas: Selling wine without bottles on the global net. Retrieved August 15, 2004, from http://homes.eff.org/~barlow/EconomyOfIdeas.html Barthes, R. (1972). Mythologies (A. Lavers, Trans.). New York: Hill and Wang. Bartlett, T., & Smallwood, S. (2004). Professor Copycat. Chronicle of Higher Education, 51(17), A8-A12. Becker, A. L. (1988). Attunement: An essay on philology and logophilia. In P. V. Kroskrity (Ed.), On the ethnography of communication: The legacy of Sapir: Essays in honor of Harry Hoijer, 1984 (pp. 109–146). Los Angeles: UCLA Dept. of Anthropology. Becker, A. L. (1991). A short essay on languaging. In F. Steier (Ed.), Research and reflexivity (pp. 226–234). London: Sage. Becker, A. L. (1995). Beyond translation: Essays toward a modern philology. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Berlin, J. A. (1984). Writing instruction in nineteenth-century American colleges. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Bloch, J. (2001). Plagiarism and the ESL student: From printed to electronic texts. In D. Belcher & A. Hirvela (Eds.), Linking literacies: Perspectives on L2 reading-writing connections (pp. 209–228). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bloch, J. (2004). Second language cyber rhetoric: A study of Chinese L2 writers in an online Usenet group. Language, Learning & Technology, 8, 66–82. Bloch, J., & Chi, L. (1995). A comparison of the use of citations in Chinese and English academic discourse. In D. Belcher & G. Braine (Eds.), Academic writing in a second language: Essays on research and pedagogy (pp. 231–274). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Buranen, L. (1999). “But I wasn’t cheating”: Plagiarism and cross-cultural mythology. In L. Buranen & A. M. Roy (Eds.), Perspectives on plagiarism and intellectual property in a postmodern world (pp. 63–74). Albany: State University of New York Press. Canagarajah, A. S. (2002). Critical academic writing and multilingual students. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Casanave, C. P. (2004). Controversies in second language writing: Dilemmas and decisions in research and instruction. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Connor, U. (2003). Changing currents in contrastive rhetoric: Implications for teaching and research. In B. Kroll (Ed.), Exploring the dynamics of second language writing (pp. 218–241). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Deckert, G. D. (1993). Perspectives on plagiarism from ESL students in Hong Kong. Journal of Second Language Writing, 2, 131–148. Flower, L., & Hayes, J. R. (1980). The cognition of discovery: Defining a rhetorical problem. College Composition and Communication, 31, 21–32. Fox, H. (1994). Listening to the world: Cultural issues in academic writing. Urbana, IL: NCTE. Freeman, D. (1983). Margaret Mead and Samoa: The making and unmaking of an anthropological myth. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Garrett, M. M. (1991). The Asian challenge. In S. K. Foss, K. A. Foss & R. Trapp (Eds.), Contemporary perspectives on rhetoric (2nd ed., pp. 295–314). Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press. Garrett, M. M. (1993a). Wit, power, and oppositional groups: A case study of “pure talk”. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 79, 303–318.

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Garrett, M. M. (1993b). Classical Chinese conceptions of argumentation and persuasion. Argumentation and Advocacy, 29, 105–115. Grabe, W., & Kaplan, R. B. (1989). Writing in a second language: Contrastive rhetoric. In D. Johnson & D. Roen (Eds.), Richness in writing: Empowering ESL students (pp. 263–283). New York: Longman. Heath, S. B. (1983). Ways with words: Language, life, and works in communities and classrooms. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hinds, J. (1983). Contrastive rhetoric: Japanese and English. Text, 3, 183–195. Howard, R. M. (1999). Standing in the shadow of giants: Plagiarists, authors, collaborators. Stamford, CT: Ablex. Hull, G., & Rose, M. (1989). Rethinking remediation: Toward a social-cognitive understanding of problematic reading and writing Written Communication, 6, 139–154. Hyland, K. (2000). Disciplinary discourses: Social interaction in academic genres. Harlow, UK: Longman. Jaszi, P. (1994). On the author effect: Contemporary copyright and collective creativity. In M. Woodmansee & P. Jaszi (Eds.), The construction of authorship: Textual appropriation in law and literature (pp. 29–56). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Kachru, Y. (1997). Cultural meaning and contrastive rhetoric in English education. World Englishes, 16, 337–350. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning: A Journal of Applied Linguistics, 16, 1–20. Kubota, R. (1998). An investigation of L1-L2 transfer in writing among Japanese university students: Implications for contrastive rhetoric. Journal of Second language Writing, 7, 69– 100. Kubota, R. (2002). The author responds: (un)raveling racism in a nice field like TESOL. TESOL Quarterly, 36, 84–92. Kubota, R. (2004). The politics of cultural difference in second language education. Critical Inquiry in Language Studies, 1, 21–39. Kubota, R., & Lehner, A. (2004). Toward critical contrastive rhetoric. Journal of Second Language Writing, 13, 7–27. Kuhn, T. S. (1970). The structure of scientific revolutions (2nd ed.). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kuhn, T. S. (1977). The essential tension: Selected studies in scientific tradition and change. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Latour, B. (1987). Science in action: How to follow scientists and engineers through society. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lave, J., & Wenger, E. (1991). Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Leki, I. (1997). Cross-Talk: ESL issues and contrastive rhetoric. In C. Severino, J. C. Guerra & J. E. Butler (Eds.), Writing in multicultural settings (pp. 234–244). New York: Modern Language Association of America. Lessig, L. (2001). The future of ideas: The fate of the commons in a connected world. New York: Random House. Li, X., & Xiong, L. (1996). Chinese researchers debate rash of plagiarism cases. Science, 274, 337–338.



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Lunsford, A. A., & Ede, L. (1994). Collaborative authorship and the teaching of writing. In M. Woodmansee & P. Jaszi (Eds.), The construction of authorship: Textual appropriation in law and literature (pp. 417–438). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Matalene, C. (1985). Contrastive rhetoric: An American writing teacher in China. College English, 47, 789–808. Matsuda, P. K. (1997). Contrastive rhetoric in context: A dynamic model of L2 writing. Journal of Second Language Writing, 6, 45–60. Mohan, B. A., & Lo, W. A.-Y. (1985). Academic writing and Chinese students: Transfer and developmental factor. TESOL Quarterly, 19, 515–534. Ong, W. J. (1982). Orality and literacy: The technologizing of the word. London: Methuen. Pecorari, D. (2003). Good and original: Plagiarism and patchwriting in academic second-language writing. Journal of Second Language Writing, 12(4), 317–345. Pennycook, A. (1996). Borrowing others’ words: Text, ownership, memory, and plagiarism. TESOL Quarterly, 30, 201–230. Raimes, A. (1989). [Review of the book Writing across languages and cultures: Issues in contrastive rhetoric]. College Composition and Communication, 40, 491–492. Rose, M. (1993). Authors and owners: The invention of copyright. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Russell, D. R. (1991). Writing in the academic disciplines, 1870–1990: A curricular history. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Sapp, D. A. (2002). Towards an international and intercultural understanding of plagiarism and academic dishonesty in composition: Reflections from the People’s Republic of China. Issues in Writing, 13, 58–79. Scollon, R. (1995). Plagiarism and ideology: Identity in intercultural discourse. Language in Society, 24, 1–28. Stanley, K. (2002). Perspectives on plagiarism in the ESL/EFL classroom. TESL-EJ, 6(3). Retrieved August 15, 2004, from http://www-writing.berkeley.edu/tesl-ej/ej23/f1.html Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Vaidhyanathan, S. (2001). Copyrights and copywrongs: The rise of intellectual property and how it threatens creativity. New York: New York University Press. Wang, B. (2004). A survey of research in Asian rhetoric. Rhetoric Review, 23, 171–181. Young, R. (1976). Invention: A topographical survey. In G. Tate (Ed.), Teaching composition: 10 bibliographical essays (pp. 1–43). Fort Worth: Texas Christian University Press. Zamel, V. (1997). Toward a model of transculturation. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 341–352.

Appendix Course description, Ed T&L 106 Goals

This is a course about learning how to write academic papers and learning about plagiarism. The goals of this course are to introduce students to many of the aspects of academic writing

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they will need in their other university courses. Specifically, we will look at various rhetorical strategies that are necessary for success in academic writing, such as – Summarizing – Synthesizing – Comparing – Arguing The main focus of the course is on the issues surrounding plagiarism, which are important for all students to understand. Plagiarism is one of the most important and controversial issues in the university today, and we have found that many students do not understand it. Everything you read and write about in this class will be on plagiarism. We hope you will be able to look at plagiarism from a variety of perspectives and be able to decide what plagiarism is and what it is not.

Readings

Are your kids cheating? Neil Heaton. The Cleveland Plain Dealer. April 27, 2003 Rose, M. 1989. Lives on the Boundary, Finding Forrestor (Gus van Zant)

Blogs

Blogs are online journals. Each week you will be required to post three blogs and read some of the blogs written by your classmates. You will be expected to use your own blogs as well as the blogs of your classmates in your papers.

Assignments

Your grade will be based on the following factors: – Unit 1 – Summaries (10%) – Unit 2 – Blogs (20%) – Unit 3 – Synthesis/Argumentative Essay (30%) – Midterm Exam (10%) – Final Exam (20%) – Course work including attendance, homework, class participation. (10%)

Plagiarism

Plagiarism is considered a very important issue at the university. You will spend a great deal of time this quarter discussing what it means. Failure to abide by the rules governing plagiarism could result in your being brought up in front of the academic misconduct committee. Plagiarism has rules like in a game or sporting event. Some are serious; some are less serious. The most serious are: – Using students’ papers from past classes – Asking someone outside the class to help you write the paper.

section iv

Future directions

A conversation on contrastive rhetoric Dwight Atkinson and Paul Kei Matsuda talk about issues, conceptualizations, and the future  of contrastive rhetoric Paul Kei Matsuda and Dwight Atkinson Arizona State University / Purdue University

This conversation took place on the evening of September 25, 2004, in an old house on an island in Maine. Because contrastive rhetoric (CR) may be at a crucial point in its history – and one which invites fundamental rethinking – we decided to match this exploratory moment with an equally exploratory genre: the academic conversation. Our intent was not to come to univocal agreement or to state a general theory; instead, we sought to develop our thoughts and feelings about CR through friendly but serious dialogue. It should be clear that both of us have complex feelings about CR. We thought that this was an opportune place from which to begin to examine its future possibilities and implications.

Introduction This conversation took place on the evening of September 25, 2004, before a warm fire in an old house on Deer Isle, Maine, USA. Because contrastive rhetoric (CR) may be at a crucial point in its history – one which requires substantial rethinking of nearly everything associated with it – we decided to match this exploratory moment with an equally exploratory genre: the academic conversation. Such conversations are commonly published in a variety of fields, e.g., postcolonial theory, feminism, and critical multiculturalism, but appear rarely, if at all, in applied linguistics and second language writing. Our intent in having this conversation was not to come to a univocal agreement or to state a general theory, as might be done in a more formal academic paper (e.g., Matsuda 1997). Instead, we wanted to develop our thoughts and feelings about CR through friendly but serious dialogue. We hope it will be clear that both of us have complex – even mixed – feelings about CR in its present and especially historical manifestations. We felt that this

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was an excellent starting point from which to being to examine its future possibilities. We hope that this conversation will be read in a similarly open-ended spirit, and above all that it will spur further serious but cooperative interaction on this important topic. It is only by working together that we can discover the possibilities of CR for the 21st century, and take it wherever it may need to go.

First experiences with CR Dwight Atkinson (DA): I was thinking about my own early experience and first introduction to CR, which I can talk about later, but I wanted to know about yours, and how you got involved in the area, and what your original interest was. Paul Matsuda (PM): My relationship with the concept of CR goes back to my high school days. I was reading different popular handbooks and books about English, language differences, culture, etc., and the notion of how different people from different linguistic and cultural backgrounds might organize their thoughts differently came up a lot of times in a simplified and overly-exaggerated way – sort of a simplified version of Kaplan (1966). It made sense to me at that time. I knew that there were similarities as well, but still, this notion itself was helpful in remembering that it’s not just that people are people wherever you go – there are differences. You can find tangible evidence of those differences in the way people write. I encountered this notion again when I became interested in writing issues. I was still not studying writing per se; I was more interested in the learning of English in general. DA: You were an undergraduate? PM: I was an undergraduate. The coordinator of the ESL program at my undergraduate institution introduced me to contrastive rhetoric. She told me that there is an article by Robert B. Kaplan that talks about this, and that’s where the diagrams come from. So I went to the writing center where I was a tutor, and one of my advisors there had access to a copy of the article. What was interesting to me was that, as she handed that article to me, she said, “Be careful: this notion has been critiqued.” I had no idea what it was about, and I said “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful.” So I knew I needed to be careful with this notion, but I didn’t know what it was all about. So that was my formal encounter with Kaplan’s article. I read it, and it was kind of complicated, but it sort of made intuitive sense. But that was the extent of my relationship with that idea at that time. And then, when I started my master’s, in the first year I took a seminar on the theory and history of rhetoric and composition. There, for my seminar paper, I was trying to find any topics that



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would interest me, and I wasn’t particularly interested in ESL writing at that time as my focus of study. I went to the library, and I started copying any article that had something to do with writing. I encountered some references to L2 writing, particularly Kaplan (1966). So I thought there’s something there. Then I started reading and talking to people about it. During that semester I was also involved in an e-mail list – TESL-L – and people were having heated discussions about it. It was mostly an emotional or complete rejection of the notion – that was one kind of reaction that I saw. The other kind of reaction was, “But still, CR has some merit to it.” One of the things that bothered me about this debate was that some people would just say, “This is null and void. We can’t even talk about it because it ain’t so.” And I thought, “That’s uncritical.” I tried to explain, “Look, here is an instance. In my own writing, here’s how it happens, and in the writing center, a student wrote this prose, and it resembles the ki-shooten-ketsu pattern that John Hinds (1983) talked about.” And people said, “You’re imposing your researcher’s agenda on the text, rather than looking at the text.” So I became really frustrated, but I also began to understand that something had to be done about this dichotomy. I probably went in the other extreme because I wanted to persuade people that it’s not like it doesn’t exist, but it’s more complicated than people make it sound. But I was giving examples of how people encounter the notion of ki-shoo-ten-ketsu. It was taught at my elementary school, at least. I don’t know if it was in the Monbusho (the Ministry of Education) curriculum at that time, but my teachers talked about it, and my parents talked about it. When I wrote a speech for my mother, she said, “This doesn’t have ki-shoo-ten-ketsu. Can you add something more to it so it has that sense?” Of course, she’s not using the term in a rigid, traditional ki-shoo-ten-ketsu way, which is a form of poetry, but what she was asking for was a dramatic narrative structure that intrigues people and develops things in a new and interesting way. So, I was citing these examples, and then one day I got an e-mail message from John Hinds, who said, “Look, you’re doing a disservice by making it sound more pervasive than it is.” And I thought, “That’s right.” And he said, “Can we have a conversation about this?” And I responded, “I think you’re probably right.” I sent him a couple of questions, but he never responded. So that was my early experience with it. And I got more and more frustrated, and I wanted to know more about it. I thought that one of the most important things to do is to contextualize this debate. Contrastive rhetoric – how it came about and why. What kind of theoretical sources underlie this notion? I wrote my MA thesis on . . . basically, it turned out to be an intellectual history of Bob Kaplan, but my point was that it began as a practical solution to pedagogical issues that Bob Kaplan perceived. He borrowed from different theoretical sources to develop his idea and support his idea. He encouraged people to engage in re-

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search in this area, so that we will find out more about how it actually works, but he wasn’t just saying, “Here’s my theory, and that’s it.” DA: Right. PM: But then the research started to take off in the ‘80s after people talked about pedagogical implications for ten years without really thinking about how it plays out. And then, once it got established as a research topic, people somehow forgot about how this concept came out of the teaching context, and started exploring this topic as a research interest. So there were new questions being asked, new problems being posed. There was a disjunction between teaching and research in this area. There may not be a real relationship between the two, but that question hasn’t come up. So at the end of my thesis I suggested that it’s good to find out what writers actually do, and if there are differences, that we also need to construct a pedagogical theory that puts this into perspective and makes it tangible – one idea that can inform teaching, while at the same time not oversimplifying these contrasts as many proponents of CR or naïve interpretations of Bob Kaplan’s article have done. But I didn’t have that theory or solution at that point. And then, when I started my Ph.D., I took Tony Silva’s second language writing course, and my project there was actually to develop that theory. That became my 1997 article (Matsuda 1997). That’s the story of how I came to this topic. What was yours like? DA: I went off to Japan in 1981 and ended up teaching English, and probably a few years later – ’83 or ’84 – I was teaching writing at a language school, which had a full-time, comprehensive English program – a senmongakko (professional training institute) – type program. And I was having a bit of trouble teaching my students. I thought I knew how to write in English, and I couldn’t understand why they didn’t get it. I’m not quite sure how, but I had Kaplan’s 1966 article around at that time, and reading it was like a light bulb going off in my head. And I said, “Oh! This is it!” It just was one of those rare experiences where you suddenly think, “I have the answer.” And I continued teaching, and I took some courses. I got a Masters degree in education and wrote a couple papers on CR, and then went off to the University of Southern California where Kaplan was teaching to study. (Not only with him, but he was going to be my main advisor). When I got there, I was warned in no uncertain terms that this was a problematic concept. This was around the mid ’80s. PM: Who warned you? DA: I don’t know exactly. I think I got some of it from other faculty members, and I think I got some of it through the grapevine: “This is a concept that’s got prob-



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lems. Be very careful.” One of the issues in my program – which was a linguistics program – was that this is “soft” stuff. This is not “hard” stuff. And that could have even been the same as saying, “This is not sentence-level language. This is something – ” PM: – like discourse. DA: Right. Therefore, this is not linguistics. But I went on, and Bob didn’t push it on me. I started studying something different. I wrote a dissertation on the history of scientific research writing in English and never really did any CR work, although I read around in the area and talked to people about it. And I knew CR researchers who were doing work with Bob and had been his students – like Shirley Ostler and Bill Grabe. I always stayed away from the topic, because at that point, it wasn’t my interest, and it seemed a little questionable to me. So that was my first introduction to it.

The relationship between research and pedagogy in CR DA: You mentioned that CR started as a pedagogical concept, and then at some point, the pedagogical focus dropped out, and the research focus developed. When I read Kaplan’s article, I feel like the pedagogical is foremost in his mind, but there’s a tension in that paper. One of the things he says is that we don’t really know how to teach until we understand what different patterns and different languages are, and that we really know nothing in this area. This is after he’s given us the squiggles diagrams. He says we don’t know what to teach, really – this is just a hypothesis. PM: Only, he didn’t use the term “hypothesis.” DA: Right. I guess my question is: Do you see teaching and research as necessarily having to fit together? In my way of thinking, maybe they don’t need to fit together at all, and maybe it’s an unrealistic requirement to ask them to. I’m wondering what you think. PM: I agree. There are certain aspects of research in CR that might have some pedagogical implications, but I think one of the mistakes is that people try to do both at the same time, but they weren’t thinking seriously about... They were thinking about pedagogical implications so that they could sell the idea. This is a crude way of putting it, but they weren’t interested in it enough to think seriously about, so how does it really fit, and how does it really work? And to what extent is the scientific research aspect of CR really relevant to teaching, and vice versa?

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I think failing to, first of all, explicitly make the distinction and to fully explore both aspects of CR as it has come to be conceived, and the relationship between the two – failing to understand the relationship between the two was a serious omission in the history of CR. DA: I don’t think that’s Bob’s issue, though. PM: It’s the way people have taken up the idea. I think he was careful, and he was probably one of the few people who were actually thinking about how those things might work together. People give too much credit to Bob Kaplan when they criticize him. That’s partly because of the impact his article has had on people who are interested in CR, as well as second language writing and language in general. DA: One thing I’m surprised by is that here we are 38 years after he wrote his article, and people are still critiquing Kaplan’s article as this stereotype of CR, whereas it was a manifesto or a first conceptualization but no more. I’m not dismissing its importance, but you certainly can’t either blame him or credit him for everything that’s happened in CR since. In addition, I don’t feel that a lot of things that people blame him for are even well-represented in the article. It’s a bit of a straw man here 38 years later, and even if it’s a straw man kind of target, I think often the critics don’t hit it: they miss it anyway. PM: Ilona Leki talks about it a little bit in her 1991 article on CR (Leki 1991), but one of the problems is those diagrams – those doodles – had such a strong impact that people took those diagrams as the whole argument and didn’t really look further. In many cases it almost seems as if the critics of CR, especially people who focus on Kaplan or the problematic aspects of CR, haven’t really read or understood the whole article. If you look at Bob Kaplan’s article, there are a lot of things that almost seem to anticipate the kind of critiques that have been raised. DA: I agree. PM: Also, the people who are interested in attacking the notion of CR don’t necessarily understand that people are taking this notion into different directions and that people have different definitions of the notion – different explanations of the notion – and some of them are not necessarily as problematic as the critics would like to make it sound like. DA: Right. In some sense, Kaplan’s article may be a fatter target than others, but it’s a general strategy in all research writing to take some part of someone else’s argument, decontextualize it, and then use it to advance your own.



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Renaming and reconceptualizing CR DA: What do you think of the idea that Ulla Connor (e.g., 2004) is proposing that we pretty substantially reconceptualize the field, and that one way of marking that reconceptualization is by taking a new name? I think there are a lot of problems – everyone would agree – with the concept of CR. Not only the concept, but the actual term “contrastive,” with its old, 1960s structuralist and behaviorist implications. So her idea is that we should call it something like “intercultural rhetoric,” and think of looking at different cultural rhetorics in a broader framework. How do you feel about that? PM: I have always thought that there are two problems with CR, and one is “contrastive,” and the other is “rhetoric.” So changing the name is a good idea because it moves the – I don’t want to use the term “field” because I don’t really think that there is a field of CR that we can speak of. There’s a constellation of studies and articles that address issues related to the concept of CR. But there’s not really a sustained intellectual formation. So merely changing the term would not do the job, but having these terms actually is binding in many people’s minds, in terms of what kind of methodological framework is appropriate. And also, the term “rhetoric” in CR – and also in applied linguistics, in general – because of Bob Kaplan’s early definition, which comes actually from a popular definition of rhetoric in composition studies at that time, which focuses on the construction and arrangement coming from Christensen’s (1965) generative rhetoric of the paragraph. The definition limits what the potential or existing field of CR can actually accomplish, and it has limited the ways in which people have studied it. That has contributed to the uncritical reproduction of Kaplan (1966) in many studies of CR. Reconceptualizing CR is a good idea, but I think we need to do serious theoretical work in this area, rather than just plunging in and finding data. If you don’t have good constructs to work with, that are either defensible or can be a springboard for a series of studies, we would continue to miss the point and repeat the same problems. So coming up with a new concept, and also changing the term, is something I’d like to encourage. But having said that, I am not sure if I like the term “intercultural rhetoric” because intercultural rhetoric in its own way limits the scope of what these studies can look at. The “inter” part of intercultural implies that its focus is either the interaction of two different rhetorical traditions – whatever you mean by rhetoric – or something like an interlanguage, which is not what traditional CR studies have looked at. So it could be misleading in that way. I think looking at the interaction in context is an important aspect of what this potential field might do, but at the same time, I think it needs to be broader to look at what rhetorical practices exist in English and in other languages. I don’t mean to say

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that English should be a reference point, but identifying and describing different language uses at the discourse level, and then using that understanding to come up with how they might be complicated when they come in contact or how they might influence each other – that’s something that traditional rhetorical studies haven’t done well, although people in rhetoric in general are beginning to look at more global and interdisciplinary issues in other languages. One of the issues that come up with this line of argument is, “What’s the difference between CR and comparative rhetoric proposed by George Kennedy (1998)?” DA: Which, as I remember, looks at rhetorics across the world and tries to derive some general principles? PM: Eventually. But I think at this point, comparative rhetoric is also a descriptive project of first identifying what rhetorical practices exist outside of the mainstream Western rhetoric, and then seeing if the same construct can be identified in different historical and geographical contexts, and how they may play out differently in larger sociocultural/educational contexts. And my answer is that, it doesn’t have to be different. In my view, the notion of comparative rhetoric is also limited in its own way. So far, because of its humanities orientation, it doesn’t always involve the examination of textual features. I think both of them need to be done. What I think is needed is a framework that captures both the kind of stuff that comparative rhetoric tries to do and what CR – some versions of CR – has been trying to do. So a larger framework, a bigger agenda with a smaller, more concrete plan for actually generating that knowledge is something we need to shoot for. I think I’ve only talked about the “inter” part. “Cultural” is also problematic because it implies – or pretty explicitly states – that culture is the key construct in looking at differences in rhetorical practices. And that is misguided because, first of all, the notion of culture itself remains contested and needs to be clarified. And I know you are working on that project right now. You’ve done some of that in your TESOL Quarterly article (Atkinson 1999), which is a defensible framework to begin this kind of investigation. But I think people need to have a more complicated and more complex and better understanding of the implications of different definitions of culture. Another problem with the focus on culture is that nobody has been able to identify culture definitively as a key variable in those differences. The language explanation is problematic, but the cultural explanation also doesn’t do a good job. I think many people in CR agree that language/culture/educational contexts and individual differences, the socio-historic moment, economic conditions, and many other things – such as conventions of the publishers and scholarly societies – play roles in shaping any given written text.



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DA: But in various versions of the term, all of the things you just listed could come under a description of culture. PM: Right. But are there parts of language and culture that don’t necessarily overlap? Those kinds of questions can be raised. DA: They’re very complex. The language-culture connection is an extremely complex notion. PM: Right. It’s easy to say they’re inextricably tied, and they are in some ways, but when you analyze them, you sometimes have to isolate them temporarily so that we can come to a certain understanding of language that can be further complicated by looking at it in conjunction with culture and other aspects of constructs we might have. So those are my problems with “intercultural rhetoric.” And, finally, “rhetoric” needs to be better defined. DA: I think the term intercultural rhetoric is being proposed rather tentatively and exploratorily. I don’t think Ulla Connor is trying to ram it down our throats and make it the new orthodoxy. PM: I agree. DA: I think she’s trying to use it in a heuristic, exploratory way and say, “Let’s see where this can take us.” The term “imtercultural rhetoric” itself is not going to take us very far, but where can having a slightly more open terminology – what kind of indications might that give us for different approaches? So I would say, if I were to argue on behalf of it, that the term intercultural suggests that no rhetorical tradition is pure or purely indigenous – I’m trying to avoid using the word culture for the moment. Therefore everything exists in an in-between space. That’s the “inter.” Between cultures. To take a common example – this is one other people have written about and have done a much better job of than I can do – we take Japanese language and rhetoric, and we have a 150-year history of serious interaction – “inter,” “between-action” – between various Western languages and rhetorics and Japanese. Sure, we have something called Japanese, and people sometimes, at their own risk, talk about Japanese culture, but it’s very much an inter-culture. It’s a set of traditions that’s interacted very extensively and deeply with other cultural rhetorics (or whatever we want to call them – languages, rhetorical traditions). And I don’t think Japanese is in any sense the exception here. I think all social and cultural practices are deeply infused and penetrated by other cultural practices. One of the main students of Franz Boas, Robert Lowie, defined culture as “that planless hodgepodge, that thing of shreds and patches” (Lowie

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1920: 440). I don’t know if intercultural is the right term, but I personally want some kind of a concept that stresses the relationships – the “inters,” the connections – rather than the things that have been stressed. I’m not saying that means you can’t talk about cultural differences or rhetorical differences. I totally agree with you that culture has not been adequately conceptualized in CR (see Atkinson 2004), in applied linguistics, maybe we can even say the social sciences or the humanities. So even though I’m not saying we need to avoid difference at all, I think difference in and of itself is a limited way of looking at anything. I personally want some kind of a concept – or a name for the subject area – that leads us in a direction of thinking about the many complex forms of relationship, including relationships of difference. PM: I agree that the notion of intercultural rhetoric moves us out of the space that CR has traditionally occupied, and there is a value in that kind of rhetorical move. But at the same time, without a really serious theoretical move to conceptualize what construct we are trying to address, I think the field can easily repeat its history of being conceptualized variously and critiqued for certain problematic conceptions of these notions. The heterogeneity of different cultural practices is an important one, but if that’s something this term intercultural is trying to encode, then I think that needs to be clarified and agreed upon by a group of people who would identify themselves as intercultural rhetoric researchers. That’s one of the difficulties in starting any new line of research that relies on the term rather than the construct. DA: I don’t see the term as replacing other kinds of work that needs to be done, but I do see a term as having a guiding – PM: – heuristic value. DA: Yes, I think that’s the long and the short of it.

Contrastive rhetoric as a field? DA: You’d said a moment ago that you felt CR really can’t be called a field, and I agree with you, but I was wondering if you could explain more about what you mean when you say that. PM: I think that for something to be a field, it needs to meet certain conditions, and one of them is that it has to have an agreed upon agenda for people who engage in the activities – sort of a telos or raison d’être of the field – and at this point, people are poking at Kaplan (1966) from different directions but not fully



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immersing themselves in any kind of set research agenda. And that’s why it’s easy to critique CR: Everything is organized loosely around Kaplan (1966), rather than having a well articulated and agreed upon set of agendas. Articulating them may make it more tangible for people to attack, but also it makes it somewhat more productive. If people were to critique that notion, there’s a way of saying, “Here are some of the problems that the field has, and these are things we need to change.” But without that tangible body of an agreed upon set of goals, I don’t think that kind of productive and constructive criticism can be raised. So that’s one of the problems. I don’t think that agenda-setting has been done sufficiently. People like Ulla have been trying to articulate some of the areas that need to be studied or methodological issues, etc. (e.g., Connor 1996). But I don’t think people have really followed these guidelines or framework, or if people have tried to follow these guidelines or frameworks, they haven’t really done a good job. Another thing is methodological issues. There can be a variety of methodological approaches, but for a specific kind of data-gathering and analysis, I think it would be useful to have a consistent methodological approach – or approaches – that people can take so that the data we gather can be more or less comparable across different studies. I can go on and on about the different requirements of a field that we don’t have. DA: It seems to me that your description of a field is an ideal one. I don’t think, for example, that in second language writing, which I guess we would agree is a field, or applied linguistics, which we would agree is a field, everybody is following a common agenda. I think there are radical differences in agendas, and I think, actually, that for me is one of the charms and importances of the field. It’s easy for me to look at something like microbiology from an outsider’s point of view and say, “Here are these clearly delineated traditions working toward some common agenda.” But in the fields in which I’m an insider, I think that portrayal is problematic. I see all of the differences, the discontinuities, the disagreements – no real common agendas. People are too various and too idiosyncratic and too selfinvolved to get behind one or a few agendas. In second language acquisition, for example, Kevin Gregg, Mike Long and their group (e.g., Gregg 1993; Gregg et al. 1997) have been calling for a set agenda for years, and I think at this point they’ve been, in some cases, made to look a little ridiculous for doing that, as if they’re control freaks trying to control a field. So the other thing I would want to think about is, is it realistic to set an agenda in a field where we know very little? Thomas Kuhn (1970) talks about a natural history phase that a science goes through before it arrives at a point where it can – Kuhn’s paradigm concept has been problematic of course – but a pre-rationalized area of science where you collect as much data as you can and see what shakes out.

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PM: That’s where CR has been. DA: Yes, for a comparatively short amount of time, if you compare it to these sciences Kuhn talks about – in the case of physics, 100 years. We’ve had less than fifty years. PM: And what’s the next step? DA: I don’t know. Perhaps the next step is to reconceptualize it again. “Field” is not the right term for me. The reason I don’t think it’s a field is because I don’t see people who are devoted to it or invested in it in the sense I call myself an applied linguist, or I call myself a second language writing researcher. I don’t see people going around – with the notable exception of Ulla Connor – saying, “I’m a constrastive rhetorician,” or acting that out in any kind of a way where they have a research program – at least people who publish frequently and are active researchers in their field. I don’t know anyone besides Ulla Connor – and maybe some people in Europe whose work I really don’t know well, but I might guess is CR focused – who actually claim to be contrastive rhetoricians. PM: I agree, and that’s one of the requirements I was going to talk about: to have people who identify themselves as experts on that topic. There are a couple of others. For those people to actually have a field, they need to have a journal or a book series or a conference or any other means of scholarly communication, so there can be a sustained conversation among people who are more or less familiar with and committed to knowledge-making in that particular domain of intellectual activities. And that’s something CR doesn’t really have. We have people who come and go. A lot of people take up CR as their thesis or dissertation topic, and in many cases, people do so because, unfortunately, this is one of the easier things for them to do. If you wanted to study, for example, texts written by two groups of students or two groups of professionals or published studies of writing that have more or less similar characteristics or contextual factors or genre features and to talk about how they might be similar to or different from each other, it’s not difficult to conceptualize at that level and to conduct a study. Gathering data is simpler than doing serious archival research or historical studies or interview-based data research or observational/ethnographic research or quantitative research. And if people happen to know two languages, they have resources that they can use. This doesn’t apply to everyone, but there are too many people like this. DA: A lot of people who have done CR research don’t really know one of those languages very well.



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PM: Sometimes that’s the case. I get lots of e-mail messages from graduate students who ask me about CR research and say, “I’m interested in comparing or contrasting English and my native language, or expository prose in these two languages. Can you help me?” That’s the most open-ended and unhelpful question. Other people say, “Can you give me some sources? Has anybody done something like this? Is it valuable?” Usually I try to answer by saying, “Why would you want to look at that?” You can’t really determine if something is valuable or not unless you situate that in an intellectual context. What has been done? And what questions need to be addressed? A lot of people don’t think about that. They start from, “Here is the kind of data I can collect and analyze, and here is a convenient framework – CR – that says they might be similar or different, and I compared two texts, and they were different.” So what? And the “so what” part gets people in trouble because they suggest that there’s something about Japanese that makes it so. Some people make that claim without having adequate data. You really need to account for many other factors, including the individual factors, the context of writing tasks, prompts, assessment, audience, and those things. But few people really think about those things when they begin their studies. That’s another problem. And when I talk about common agenda, I’m talking about at that level of conceptualization – we need to have a certain sense of shared research problems. What is it that we are trying to solve? What is it that we need to know about? The implications come after that. People might have different approaches, different perspectives, or different explanations, and that’s fine with me. And that’s actually healthy. But we don’t have a shared problem. The only thing that we have is Kaplan (1966) and perhaps Connor (1996). DA: I understand what you’re saying, but CR does set a clear research agenda in a simple way: Let’s look at as many different languages in comparison to English, Kaplan says – others don’t (John Hinds tries to get away from that, to some degree, at least theoretically) – and let’s find out where they differ, rhetorically speaking, and on that basis let’s build a pedagogy. That’s the way I understand Kaplan, and that’s a fairly bald, uncomplex, maybe unproblematized empirical approach because it doesn’t state much of a theory – a meta-theory – about CR. PM: It sets an agenda in a sense that it encourages people to understand something, but it’s not the kind of agenda I’m talking about, the ultimate goal or telos of the field, because collect and understand for what? DA: So you can teach it better. PM: Ok. How does collecting and understanding different rhetorical features lead to better teaching? There is that intermediate conceptual gap between these two

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activities, and that’s what I was talking about when I said there has been a disparity between research goals and teaching goals. That research goal has not been fully and thoroughly articulated. There are scattered practices of people finding out different pieces of information with no shared understanding of how those things might contribute to knowing whatever. DA: So we need an overall theory – I guess this is what you’ve started to develop in your own work (Matsuda 1997). We need an overall theory that articulates the chain of influence, for lack of a better term. In other words, how do we get from culture A to text A? What are the various influences? It’s almost a logic of causality. How do a confluence of factors come together? But in a sense, wouldn’t that vary from place to place and situation to situation? Can we have an overall theory? I guess we can have a theory that brings certain kinds of possibilities to the floor. I think I’m a postmodernist in the sense that I have a fear of grand theory. I do think that if you take context very seriously, it inoculates you against grand theory, unless you take a very determinate view of context, what Alastair Pennycook (1994) calls “decontextualized contexts.” In a sense, you have to give context itself a determining role. Can you have a theory of context? I guess you can: That’s what Hymes (1974) has, but it’s too structural – too static. PM: The term that I like to use to talk about what is involved in constructing that kind of theory is the parameter or parameters that give us a set of criteria that needs to be articulated and identified. So how those things play out in different contexts might vary, but is the age of a writer a factor in CR? That has not been looked at, first because it appears not to be an important factor. You can’t conceive of how age might affect CR issues, although it might have some effects. Cognitive development might be a factor in CR. But since people haven’t really looked at younger children, that has not become a serious factor. Right? DA: That would be a very interesting study: a developmental rhetorical study.

Future directions for CR DA: So, the question I have, then, is – well, I may know the answer to this question, you may have answered it already – where would you like to see the field of CR going? I guess you talked about agendas, and you’ve talked to some degree about having a set of common concepts, orienting concepts that would – PM: – or common problems.



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DA: Or common problems. So maybe more concretely, where would you like the field to go? PM: I have two extreme versions. One is to be all-inclusive and construct a field that investigates rhetorical practices, including textual features (but not limited to that), different traditions, different historical moments, and also how they interact with each other, and how they might change over time as they encounter different rhetorical practices or demographic shifts, linguistic shifts, etc., and not necessarily tied directly or strictly to the analysis of texts. I think the “field” of CR has been defined too narrowly in terms of the textual features, although I do fully believe that textual features do constitute an important aspect of CR and in any study of written discourse, or in any study of discourse, period. I think that has become too much of a central focus while neglecting many other important issues that can contribute to our understanding of the textual outcomes of these assumptions and negotiations, cultural practices, etc. That would encompass – and I don’t know how people in comparative rhetoric or rhetoric per se would feel about this – but that would encompass the creation or conceptualization of a field that encompasses everything from CR to cross-cultural rhetoric to comparative rhetoric, rhetoric per se, rhetorical education, rhetorical history. It’s an interdisciplinary undertaking with an ambitious agenda, but I think that’s something we need to be open to if we were to continue this conversation in a more productive way. Another direction is to – DA: This is the radical – PM: Yes, this is the other, radical version . . . to resituate whatever it is that CR has been looking at, and abandon the term and to reintegrate some of its concerns into different fields. It could be interlanguage pragmatics, it could be second language writing, it could be discourse analysis or discourse studies, as some might prefer to call it. And also TESOL, which frequently overlaps with applied linguistics and composition studies, and communication education, but has its own research concerns, pedagogical concerns, etc. DA: Well, as you’re answering, I’m thinking about my own – how I would answer this question. And I think – I don’t really know. I should begin by saying my investment in CR is sort of a complex one. It’s not a very deep one, in the sense that I have stayed away from this field with, in a sense, all my might for many years. The only reason I’ve sort of gotten into it in the last few years a little bit is through conversations with Ulla Connor about the area and ways of reconceptualizing it. So I see my own role as that of a critic and an idea man, an idea person, rather than someone who identifies himself – I would never call myself a contrastive

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rhetorician, and we already said maybe nobody would, except for Ulla. So I’m not sure I’m the right person to predict or to prepare a wish list for the field for the next five or ten years. What I’m trying to say is, I’m answering this from rather much of an outsider perspective. I guess first of all I would say I agree with your second option. When I say agree, I mean your second option makes sense to me. I can see CR dissolving itself into – and integrating, reintegrating itself into – a number of different disciplines. That makes perfect sense to me. Without a great loss of life, because as we’ve said, there are very few people who are actually heavily, deeply invested in this field. Even Ulla Connor could do quite well as a discourse analyst without the concept of CR. I’m sure it would be a loss for her, because she is invested, but it’s not going to end her career by any means. But my own hope would be that – if this is an area worth continuing – that people would take it seriously, that the reconceptualization that’s going on, which tries to diversify CR into a number of different areas that you mentioned – theoretical areas, historical areas, comparative areas, and I mentioned a blurring of the boundaries of either/or rhetorical difference  – all of that would go forward and lead to an expanded, enriched area of study, which maybe five years down the road we can take stock of and say, “Well, maybe we’re not a science, maybe we’re not a field, but we now know a lot more in a lot more different directions that we knew five years ago because we have expanded the scope – the ambit – of the field. We’re not now looking for either/or – only either/or – rhetorical distinctions across languages; we’re looking at the life and breadth of rhetoric in more than simply arrangement and text structural features, in using a lot of different methodologies, in looking at things in ways that yield rich, rich descriptions.” Then let’s take stock. Let’s see where we are. Rather than, I would say right now, believing that the things that have been done in this area are really indicative of a diverse and concentrated effort. I don’t think any field or any area is going to be founded on people doing something part-time. So maybe I’m being a bit ironic. I’m not sure I want to be one of the people – or maybe I can’t be – but people who do want to carry this project forward need to jump in and do it on all cylinders, be fully invested in looking at things in an active and relatively unconstrained way. Now that’s a very abstract answer, but I would like to see the field go in a broader direction and maybe in a few years come together, and maybe filter some and cut down some, and maybe see if there isn’t a common ground on which to base further work. I absolutely believe that a lot of conceptual work, which has never been done in this area because it’s based on a naive realist epistemology, needs to be done, a lot of – as you’ve suggested – a lot of theoretical thinking needs to go into this area, and then people need to figure out what they’re really doing. To me, that’s not the same as saying we need to set a common agenda now, or have a common telos to the field, but it does mean that people



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need to be talking to each other, and all the cards need to be on the table. It can’t be, “Let’s just limit our conversation to this.” I think we need to let it all hang out. PM: Is there a possibility that CR has exhausted its research agenda and, therefore, there can be no further research questions? DA: Well, to me, in a sense, that’s what this whole movement to reconceptualize is about. It’s not only what it’s about. Part of what it’s about is the fact that CR has been so heavily criticized. This is something we didn’t talk about actually, the criticism. You’ve talked a little bit about it, but then it’s been so heavily criticized that you can’t stay in the same place. You have to move. To me, the reason why we need to reconceptualize is more like it sort of seems to have run its course. In the current paradigm, or the current approach, I think, what’s left to do? So maybe you’re right. Whereas if you reconceptualized it to take in more different kinds of phenomena and different types of relationships and complexified it, sure there’s more to do. And the world is a changing place, so why shouldn’t we change our ways of studying it? PM: And even if the world is not changing so fast, the ways in which we look at the world are quickly changing. DA: I certainly think CR could use a good dose of constructive critique. Epistemological questioning: How did they arrive at their theory of how to know, and what constitutes knowledge for that field? I think when we get right down to it, we find a thoroughly realist epistemology – that’s one option for any kind of epistemology, but it certainly isn’t the only option. I’m probably not very bothered by realist epistemologies in some areas. I mean, if it has to do with the airplanes taking off and landing on the field, and me inside them being safe, I’m quite happy with a realist epistemology. I think that’s important, for that aspect of life to be stable – I don’t want airplane mechanics working on principles of relativism and free interpretation. I want them to be doing their work in a fairly constrained, systematic, real, rational way. But in many areas of social life, I just don’t think realist epistemologies do justice to the complexity of the situation. CR is one of them. Looking at anything in one way on the basis of absolute difference, one approach and perspective, gives you very limited results, and I’m just hoping that things will move in a more – I’m repeating myself, but – a broader, more interesting, diverse direction. PM: From a practical standpoint of logistics – how a study can account for different variables in any given study – I’m wondering to what extent we can expect people to account for these different variables, and there are an unlimited number of variables that can be examined. There are certain research design issues that limit what you can actually describe. And I’m thinking specifically about the

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questions that a lot of graduate students ask when they begin to conceptualize CR research. What are some of the things that need to be looked at, and what are some of the things that are good to look at eventually, but not necessarily in one study? To formulate a question out of this is, what are some of the basic requirements of CR study if we were to make recommendations? DA: For future studies? PM: Future studies. DA: I would say multiple methodologies, multiple methods. Certainly anything that can be done to complexify – this is my own preference. I’m very much a supporter of complex methodologies because I happen to think that reality, whatever that means, and to the degree that we can get at it, is a highly complex phenomenon, and, therefore, the methodology we need to look at it needs to be complex as well. You can’t study something complex with simple tools, or from one angle. To some degree, the tools have to be adapted to the nature of the object of study. PM: This is kind of becoming circular, but what is the nature of the things we are trying to look at? DA: Well, I know what it’s been historically. PM: What do you think it should be? What could it be? DA: I would like it to be – I’m not sure. I guess my earlier answer to the question was a copout in a way because it sort of said let’s see what we can find. Let’s have five or ten years of “Let a thousand flowers bloom,” and then see what we have. I think this is what we need first: a proliferation of serious knowledge and serious insight. PM: About? DA: Areas related to an expanded notion of CR. Do you want me to try to name what some of those would be? PM: Sure. That would be useful. DA: Histories of – probably the same list you would give actually – histories of rhetorical practices; variable uses of identifiable rhetorical practices; rhetorical practices as they function in context; situated qualitative studies – which we have very few of, I think, regarding, to use the old term, CR in action, or intercultural rhetoric in action; studies of rhetoric as hybrid; and this is a Kaplan term – “reticulated structures” (Kaplan 1987) – reticulated in this sense meaning folded back on itself, so not simple surfaces, but actually the foldings and intertwinings and braiding and threading together of very complex social fabrics.



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PM: And that’s what Ryuko Kubota (1997) was trying to critique, or she seemed to claim that CR doesn’t have that or recognize that. That’s just an observation. DA: I sort of agree with her up to a point. I’m giving my wish list, right? PM: But that idea is out there, but it hasn’t been acted on or really incorporated into existing studies. DA: Well it’s because we’re not talking about normal science; we’re talking about a paradigm shift. PM: Abnormal science? DA: Whatever the opposite of normal science was for Kuhn (1970) – revolutionary science. We’re not talking about business as usual, we’re talking about making changes, fundamental changes in the field, in order for it to move forward, I think. That may be circular, too. But I feel CR has been in a rut, and to get something out of a rut, you sometimes have to apply a fair amount of force – force from different angles and different directions. Force not in the sense of forcing people to do things, but force in the sense of leading, providing thinking, providing possibilities and opening doors in various directions. How about you? PM: Well, I think I agree with what you were saying and to the extent that as a field, I think all of these things need to take place. To put it in more conventional terms, for example, examination of different rhetorical practices – that is simply studies of rhetoric or comparative rhetoric – studying Japanese rhetorical practices in its historical context, or Chinese, or Greek, or whatever. And alternative discourses that look at how people do things differently. That is, traditional applied linguistics and discourse analysis research has focused so much on the normative aspects of second language use that it has neglected – that’s a strong term, but I think it’s appropriate – how people actually – competent and effective users of a language – deviated from these practices. To what extent, under what circumstances, and what are some of the governing principles behind these deviations that makes it possible or acceptable? And alternative discourses need to be studied, and part of that, and somewhat related to that, is the study of discourses in contact. What are some of the ramifications of people bringing in different rhetorical traditions? DA: I agree. PM: And how does that influence their own rhetorical practices when they go back to their other languages or other contexts, as well as how people in that

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target rhetorical context take that in, accept it, reject it, modify it, or appropriate it, and build that or integrate that into their own rhetorical practices. I think the influence is mutual. That’s what I was trying to articulate in my 1997 article. So that’s got to be part of it too. But that’s sort of a requirement or wish list for the field. And within individual studies, I think I also agree with you that multiple methodologies are important. But I think your anti-methodology approach (Atkinson 2005) or attitude would dictate that there’s not going to be a set of research methods that need to be incorporated into any given study, but those choices of methodological approaches – or not so much approaches, but tools to get at the questions you want to get at – need to be dictated by tangible problems that you identify in the field, as well as in the language use or uses. DA: Just to stick in something here. I certainly think the textual angle has been – I don’t know about exhausted, but I’m unhappy with the almost exclusive historical focus on texts in CR. I don’t think texts are unimportant, but I see them as a product of social activity (and, again, as a producer of social activity), but I don’t see them, in some sense, as the social activity themselves. They’re overused. You were saying – you didn’t use the term – I think you were suggesting that we need to look at non-written rhetoric, and to me we need to look at systems of rhetoric and genre systems and see how knowledge circulates between different modes and through people. PM: And within the same language, you could look at different domains of language use, and see how, for example, popular discourse acts as an influencing discourse, and vice versa. DA: That could be a form of intercultural rhetoric to me. Now, it’s not intercultural in the sense of big cultures, but it is in the sense of small cultures (Holliday 1999). How you and I talk, because we’re culturally in that sense somewhat different. PM: And I think in a way we are forming our own discourse community, sort of setting our own rules about when to disagree, how to disagree, and how to agree. And we have certain understandings and assumptions about to what extent we can challenge each other or encourage each other. That doesn’t necessarily translate into how we interact with other people. Whenever we encounter other people, we have to figure out their expectations and build a relationship with those people in order to arrive at a comparable rhetorical practice that’s appropriate. So at the local level, these negotiations constantly happen. That doesn’t necessarily carry over into people who might have a similar profile to what we have. And what you were saying about it not necessarily being intercultural rhetoric, but in a large cultural sense, that sort of reminded me about our earlier discussion of



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that term intercultural rhetoric. And I thought your description of intercultural rhetoric, or justification of intercultural rhetoric, seemed to be the justification of intercultural, and not necessarily intercultural rhetoric. And you were talking about how cultures interact, and about how not all cultures are homogenous and stable. But how that relates to the study of rhetoric and its various definitions was not very clear to me. But I think that the same discussion about the complexity of cultures applies to the complexity of rhetoric. And I wonder if we couldn’t just bypass “culture” and call it “inter-rhetoric.” DA: Oh. That’s an interesting idea – I like that! Culture is a very funny concept in CR as we know it, and it’s in the background of everything, but it is – we talked about this earlier – you made some comments on culture and CR and the lack of its definition. But that’s one of the problems of the field – that it talks about culture without ever telling us what culture is. And without ever theorizing culture, and that’s problematic to me. I’m not sure that means we necessarily have to give up the idea of culture. Maybe we just have to complexify it. PM: I’m not saying we need to give up the idea of culture, because it can – when it’s properly defined – figure in our understanding of rhetoric and language, but at the same time, it’s not all about culture. There might be biological things. I don’t know how big of a role biological factors can play, but it may be a factor. And calling it a cultural phenomenon excludes that possibility. And that was what I was trying to get at when I mentioned the problem of confining the field of study to a cultural explanation, a linguistic explanation, or to an educational explanation. DA: That’s a good point. I think I would still want culture in the tool kit – a defensibly defined notion of culture – but I don’t think I would want to keep it as a tool that’s required to be used on every occasion. Although I happen to think that culture is a very big thing, and more often than not, whatever culture is, that it’s going to work an important influence in educational situations, as well as other kinds. But I’m falling asleep so let’s start to wrap this up. This is my last beer.

References Atkinson, D. (1999). TESOL and culture. TESOL Quarterly, 33(4), 625–654. Atkinson, D. (2004). Contrasting rhetorics/contrasting cultures: Why contrastive rhetoric needs a better conceptualization of culture. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 277–289. Atkinson, D. (2005). Situated qualitative research and second language writing. In P. K. Matsuda & T. Silva (Eds.), Second language writing research: Perspectives on the process of knowledge construction (pp. 49–64). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

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Christensen, F. (1965). A generative rhetoric of the paragraph. College Composition and Communication, 14, 155–161. Connor, U. (1996). Contrastive rhetoric: Cross-cultural aspects of second-language writing. New York: Cambridge University Press. Connor, U. (2004). Intercultural rhetoric research: Beyond texts. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 291–304. Gregg, K. R. (1993). Taking explanation seriously; or, let a couple of flowers bloom. Applied Linguistics, 14, 276–294. Gregg, K. R., Long, M. H., Jordan, G., & Beretta, A. (1997). Rationality and its discontents in SLA. Applied Linguistics, 18, 539–559. Hinds, J. (1983). Contrastive studies: English and Japanese. In R. B. Kaplan (Ed.), Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 3, 78–84. Holliday, A. R (1999). Small cultures. Applied Linguistics, 20, 237–264. Hymes, D. (1974). Foundations in sociolinguistics: An ethnographic approach. Philadelphia, PA, USA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in intercultural education. Language Learning, 16(1), 1–20. Kaplan, R. B. (1987). Cultural thought patterns revisited. In U. Connor & R. B. Kaplan (Eds.), Writing across languages: Analysis of L2 text (pp. 9–21). Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Kennedy, G. A. (1998). Comparative rhetoric: An historical and cross-cultural introduction. New York: Oxford University Press. Kubota, R. (1997). A reevaluation of the uniqueness of Japanese written discourse. Written Communication, 14, 460–480. Kuhn, T. (1970). The structure of scientific revolutions (2nd ed.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Leki, I. (1991). Twenty-five years of contrastive rhetoric. TESOL Quarterly, 25(1), 123–143. Lowie, R. (1920). Primitive society. New York: Harper. Matsuda, P. K. (1997). Contrastive rhetoric in context: A dynamic model of L2 writing. Journal of Second Language Writing, 6(1), 45–60. Pennycook, A. (1994). Incommensurable discourses? Applied Linguistics, 15, 115–138.

Mapping multidimensional aspects of research Reaching to intercultural rhetoric Ulla Connor Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis

This chapter traces the history of contrastive rhetoric and offers an agenda for expansion. Postmodern mapping methods are introduced to examine the effects of three major developments in discourse on the theory and methods of contrastive rhetoric research. The first map considers writing as a socially constructed activity and suggests that the study of writing should not be limited to texts but should consider the social practices surrounding it. The second map considers “small” cultures and draws attention to the important roles of disciplinary and other such small cultures. The third map introduces the study of writing as an intercultural encounter where writers are interacting in the production and comprehension of texts. Contrastive rhetoric needs to study writing as it is taking place in today’s instant and global message making environment, in addition to studying written products cross-culturally. The chapter argues for the expansion of the contrastive rhetoric research agenda and ends by proposing a name change to “intercultural rhetoric.”

Introduction Contrastive rhetoric research began nearly 40 years ago with Robert Kaplan’s seminal article on writing by learners of English as a second language. Since Kaplan’s (1966) article, many changes have taken place in contrastive rhetoric studies, as reviewed by Kaplan (2000, 2005) and Connor (1996, 2002, 2004). Kaplan himself has continued as a writer and powerful theorist for contrastive rhetoric to this day. In 2005, he provided an insightful discussion of the development of contrastive rhetoric, issues it had addressed, and its value to the field of second language writing. He described the complexity of second language writing situations using a “model of concerns in contrastive rhetoric.” The model depicts a generator (L2 writer) – text (L2) – receiver (L1 reader) communication situation,

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in which cultural preferences or tendencies can cause interference at multiple levels. These levels include text and genre but also pragmatic considerations in any given culture about who has authority to write, who may be addressed, what may be discussed, and what form writing may take. Kaplan’s model provides an excellent depiction of the complexities of contrastive rhetoric study today. It is fair to say that two major constructs have guided contrastive rhetoric inquiries throughout the decades. The first has been its focus on multilingual writers. The second guiding construct has dealt with persuasion and the effect on the audience. Thus, international or intercultural, and rhetoric as persuasion, characterize the two major underlying constructs in contrastive rhetoric. Kaplan’s (2005) model of concerns in contrastive rhetoric presents a call for research that tackles the complexities of second language writing. Contrastive rhetoric has always been multidimensional in its research. From the very beginning, it drew on not only linguistics but also rhetoric and composition theories. Throughout the decades, the multidisciplinarity of the contrastive rhetoric approach has increased. Contrastive rhetoric draws on theories and methodologies of many closely related disciplines such as anthropology and translation studies. In this chapter, I discuss the expansion of contrastive rhetoric in light of new understandings in discourse, text analysis, cultural studies, and intercultural communication about how the contexts of writing can be studied, how new, dynamic definitions of culture need to be included, and how interactions in today’s globalized world affect contrastive rhetoric. First, however, a brief history of contrastive rhetoric is in order, interspersed with personal reflections on the development of contrastive rhetoric. The chapter will end with a position about a name change from “contrastive rhetoric” to “intercultural rhetoric.”

History of contrastive rhetoric The contrastive rhetoric field is usually thought of as the single invention of one man – Robert Kaplan. Working in an isolated situation – with a doctoral education in rhetoric and as a professor of linguistics and a director of a university ESL program – Robert Kaplan (1966) came up with the idea that the reason his ESL students’ writing looked different from native English speakers’ writings was because their cultural thought styles were different, and accordingly, these thought styles were expressed in their cultures’ rhetorical styles. To us, forty years later, this may seem obvious. Yet, when Kaplan wrote this, it was novel for three major reasons. First, few ESL instructors thought much about writing. The predominant methodology – the Audiolingual Method – concentrated on oral skills. Second, the focus of both linguistics and language teaching was



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on the “clausal” level, rather than the discourse level. Third, people did not consider that writing could be taught. You were either born with the gift or you lacked it. Programs in rhetoric and composition at U.S. colleges were just starting. In sum, Kaplan’s idea was innovative and was taken up by many other teachers and researchers. The idea of contrastive rhetoric for Kaplan had its inspirations in four areas: (1) contrastive analysis, (2) the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis and more generally the doctrine of cultural relativism, (3) rhetoric, and (4) pedagogy. 1. Contrastive analysis.  The early applied linguists and second language learning methodologists in the U.S. were structural linguists, such as Charles Fries (1945) and Robert Lado (1957). In designing a methodology for ESL, they reached for a tool that they already had – the structural analysis of grammar. They compared the grammars of the learners’ L1s and L2s to be learned – English in most cases – and then used these differences to predict the specific point of difficulty for students. This is especially important because these linguists had adopted a theory of learning – behaviorism – in which learning equaled the reinforcement of correct responses. Errors were to be avoided. The early applied linguists attempted to predict, based in the learners’ L1s, where the errors might appear in L2 and how to prevent them from happening. The main principle of contrastive analysis was that “difference equals difficulty.” In other words, where one found a difference in the grammatical structure of the languages, one could expect a learning problem. This was the basic assumption for Kaplan in contrastive rhetoric as well: If English rhetorical style differed from the rhetorical style of the learner’s native language, then there would be a potential learning problem. 2. Sapir-Whorf.  The second inspiration for Kaplan’s original idea of contrastive rhetoric was the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, although there have been some disputes in print about the strength of that influence (as reported in Casanave 2004). Benjamin Whorf (1956) had hypothesized that language was determinative of the world view – that is, the structure of a language shaped how its speakers perceived the world. This hypothesis fit U.S. anthropological theory in the first half of the 20th century – cultural anthropologists, including Edward Sapir (1921), held to the doctrine of cultural relativism. They believed that each cultural group had its own unique world view, based partly on a long-term connection to the physical environment, but mostly on the long-term connections of group members to each other. Thus, each culture was unique in itself. 3. Rhetoric.  The third concept influencing Kaplan’s idea was rhetoric, which Kaplan had specialized in as a doctoral student. Aristotle’s rhetoric included five

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elements: invention, memory, arrangement, style, and delivery. The element of arrangement or organization was the focus of Kaplan’s paper. 4. Pedagogy.  The fourth and final influence on Kaplan’s notion was language teaching pedagogy. He was concerned that although the Audiolingual Method gave no emphasis on writing, international students at U.S. universities were asked to write papers in English in their regular university classes. While these four theoretical orientations had influenced Kaplan, other components were introduced in the growth period of contrastive rhetoric in the 1980s. The work of the linguist John Hinds (1983, 1987, 1990) was a major contribution in establishing the field. Hinds was an American linguist of East Asian languages who specialized in Japanese. His early work was on grammatical elements in Japanese discourse. Stimulated by Kaplan’s call in his 1966 article for serious research into native structures, Hinds set out to study original, non-learner texts in their own language. Like Kaplan, Hinds, in addition to teaching linguistics, served as director of an ESL program in the 1980s. He provided several important studies in contrastive rhetoric, focusing on the four-part conventionalized discourse structure in Japanese called ki-sho-ten-ketsu. My own journey into contrastive rhetoric began as a 23-year-old master’s level student of English language and literature at the University of Helsinki, Finland, when I received an opportunity to write a master’s thesis on the nature of Milton’s adjectives with the guidance of a world-renowned scholar, Dr. Ants Oras. I was simultaneously completing another master’s degree in English literature at the University of Florida. As I described in my literacy autobiography (1999a), A hardworking and eager student, I found myself completely unprepared for the expectations of graduate study in English in the United States. During the four years in Finland toward my bachelor’s and master’s degrees, I had written only two term papers in English – one on Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” the other on a novel by Willa Cather. The rest of the course work had been tested through short examination questions, many of them in Finnish, the native language of the students. Not only were my writing skills in English academic contexts almost nonexistent, but my spoken language ability in English for classroom and seminar settings was lacking. A reserved, “silent Finn” (Lehtonen & Sajavaara 1985) unaccustomed to the active participation style of U.S. graduate students, I was poorly prepared to take part in the active social construction of meaning of many courses in the United States.  (p. 30)

Experiences as an international student most probably affected my research topics. In my doctoral studies in English linguistics and education at the University of Wisconsin, Madison in the late 1970s, I was drawn to write papers with a cross-



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cultural focus. For my doctoral dissertation, I used Lado’s (1957) Linguistics across Cultures to provide a design for a psycholinguistic reading study of ESL learners. My dissertation was a contrastive reading study of Spanish and Vietnamese school children learning to read in ESL. According to the hypotheses based on contrastive analysis, Vietnamese readers would have more difficulty in reading ESL than Spanish readers whose language structures more closely resembled that of English. The results of my study did not, however, support this hypothesis. Instead, factors such as parents’ level of education, the family’s socioeconomic status, and other sociological and education factors were better predictors of ESL reading performance as measured by standardized test scores. I continued my research on L2 reading while teaching at Georgetown University in the early 1980s, when I became interested in the effect of cross-cultural schemas on reading comprehension. After hearing Kaplan speak at a TESOL conference and after reading his 1966 article, my research interest switched to writing, especially textual analysis of written products (Connor 1984). In the early 1980s, Kaplan and I organized five annual colloquia at the international TESOL Conference, drawing presenters such as John Hinds; several of Kaplan’s former students, such as Bill Eggington, Shirley Ostler, and Bill Grabe; speakers from overseas such as Nils Enkvist, Lars Evensen, and others from the Nordtext Group; and Sauli Takala from Alan Purves’s IEA international study of writing achievement. Then, in 1987, Kaplan and I co-edited Writing across Languages: Analysis of L2 Text, the first-ever edited volume of empirical and text-analytic contrastive rhetoric studies, most of which had been originally reported at the annual contrastive rhetoric colloquia. Since the late 1980s and early 1990s, I have been identified as an active promoter and researcher of contrastive rhetoric. The following are some areas to which I have tried, with others, to move contrastive rhetoric in the last 15 years. First, we have made links between American traditions of written discourse analysis and rhetoric and European traditions of text and contrastive linguistics. Involvement in international text projects has helped reform the field. Where early contrastive rhetoric was based on rather loose, notional analysis of “rhetorical styles,” there is now a literature of rigorous text-analytic studies. Second, we have tried to connect contrastive rhetoric with rhetoric. Today, there are a number of rhetoricians working on issues directly or indirectly related to contrastive rhetoric. Third, we have brought major innovations in the study of language and writing – such as genre analysis and corpus linguistics – into contrastive rhetoric. Fourth, we have made much-needed connections between contrastive rhetoric and the new field of English for Specific Purposes teaching. In combination with the notion of genre, contrastive rhetoric has substantially refocused on writing for specific purposes. My own studies on grant proposals and fundraising letters are

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studies in this cross-over. Finally, we have raised consciousness on the importance of research methods in contrastive rhetoric.

Where should contrastive rhetoric go? In the introduction to the 2004 special issue on contrastive rhetoric in the Journal of English for Academic Purposes, I wrote how unfortunate it is that writers such as Pennycook (1998) and Kubota and Lehner (2004) refer to contrastive rhetoric as if it has been frozen at the stage of Kaplan’s (1966) article. Not only are Kaplan’s writings often misinterpreted, but contrastive rhetoric is also frequently characterized as static, as if no developments have taken place in theory, methods, and paradigms. Kaplan’s own writings (2000, 2005) are clear examples of how contrastive rhetoric has advanced continuously. Unfortunately, opponents of contrastive rhetoric tend to ignore these recent publications in their fixation on the 1966 article. Contrastive rhetoric has been useful and explanatory. Yet, to stay alive and continue developing, contrastive rhetoric needs to move far beyond such binary distinctions as linear versus nonlinear discourse, Japanese prose versus Finnish prose, inductive versus deductive logic, and collectivist versus individualist norms. Instead, it needs to describe the vast complexities of cultural, social, and educational factors affecting a writing situation. It must attempt to understand why and how individuals behave rather than simply study cultural artifacts and products. We need to understand the speakers, writers, and readers. We need to know what went into the processes of writing as well as the historical background and context that affected the writing and the writer. The definition of rhetoric, text organization and style, in contrastive rhetoric needs to be reviewed. Many current rhetoricians define rhetoric in an expanded manner. To illustrate, Kennedy (1998) and Sullivan and Porter (1997) see rhetoric as an act of communication, not in its classical definition of style, argument, and persuasion, but as utterances made for a purpose. George Kennedy in Comparative Rhetoric: An Historical and Cross-Cultural Introduction (1998) defines rhetoric as “a form of mental and emotional energy” (p. 3). Emotional reaction (e.g., fear, lust, hunger, curiosity) produces utterances. According to Kennedy, “rhetoric is a natural phenomenon: the potential for it exists in all life forms that can give signals, it is practiced in limited forms by nonhuman animals” (p. 4). Rhetoric has evolved throughout times, but still today, “in the most general sense, [it] may thus be identified with the energy inherent in an utterance (or an artistic representation): the mental or emotional energy that impels the speaker to expression, the energy level coded in the message, and the energy received by the recipient who then uses mental energy in decoding and perhaps acting on the message” (p. 5).



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Sullivan and Porter, in Opening Spaces: Writing Technologies and Critical Research Practices (1997), believe that rhetoric is “defined by its focus on ‘situation’ and by its concerns about how rhetorical situation guides production” (p. 25). This definition of rhetoric as communication, shaped by a situation, the impact of which can be studied on its consumer, is appropriate for current contrastive rhetoric. In order to theorize contrastive rhetoric and set agendas for research and practical applications, a postmodern mapping methodology will be explained in the next section.

Postmodern mapping helps conceptualize contrastive rhetoric The postmodern mapping methods used here come from Sullivan and Porter’s (1997) adoption of Bourdieu’s (1988) mappings of the French academic world and Soja’s (1989) postmodern mappings of the geography of Los Angeles. Mappings like these are a postmodern tactic for conducting positionings of research that are reflexive and show relationships visually and spatially. They allow for reflexivity – researcher and researchee roles – as well as encourage critical approaches to interpreting results. In postmodern mappings, frames become powerful as they represent common belief systems and should be treated critically. Sullivan’s and Porter’s example is Carol Gilligan’s (1982) critique of previously published ethical studies that neglected the gender frame (p. 79). Sullivan and Porter used maps to reflect on three research experiences involving computers and writing in the workplace. They first drew research scene maps (e.g., text, user, computer, researcher, subject of study). Later, they drew maps to depict various methodological positions in the realm of computers and writing studies, such as the theory-practice continuum and the theory-empirical continuum. These maps helped them to examine trends in the study of composition but also allowed them to map out their own positions as researchers. Thus, maps are useful in thinking about overlapping theories and methods. They do not generate all topics of research. Neither do they describe the ideal research. They are messy, not a picture of harmony. Yet, for the purpose of developing the umbrella concept for intercultural rhetoric, I used three postmodern maps that can be considered laying over each other. The three maps depict the following frameworks: the text in context theory (Fairclough 1992), the intertwining of “large” and “small” cultures in discourse (Holliday 1994, 1999; Atkinson 2004), and interaction (Sarangi 1995) and accommodation (Giles, Coupland, & Coupland 1991; Coupland & Jaworski 1997; Connor 1999b) in intercultural commu-

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nication. Finally, Giddens’ structuration theory helps us understand that genres, models, and social practices are ever-changing.

Writing as social construction of knowledge The first map considers writing as a socially constructed activity and process. The study of writing should not be limited to texts but should consider the discursive and social practices surrounding it. Fairclough’s (1992) three-dimensional conception of discourse provides the first map and is shown in Figure 1. According to Fairclough, Drawing together language analysis and social theory centres upon a combination of this more social-theoretical sense of “discourse” with the “text-andinteraction” sense in linguistically-oriented discourse analysis. This concept of discourse and discourse analysis is three-dimensional. Any discursive “event” (i.e. any instance of discourse) is seen as being simultaneously a piece of text, an instance of discursive practice, and an instance of social practice. The “text” dimension attends to language analysis of texts. The “discursive practice” dimension, like “interaction” in “text-and-interaction” view of discourse, specifies the nature of the process of text production and interpretation, for example which types of discourse (including “discourses” in the more social-theoretical sense) are drawn upon and how they are combined. The “social practice” dimension attends to issues of concern in social analysis such as the institutional and organizational circumstances of the discursive event and how that shapes the nature of the discursive practice, and the constitutive/constructive effects of discourse referred to above.  (p. 4)

This important development of discourse as socially constructed has gained acceptance in written discourse analysis, as recent publications show (Barton & Stygall 2002; Gee 2005; Hyland 2000, 2003). Furthermore, methods of text analysis have been developed to examine the social and political context surrounding texts. In Connor (2004), I discussed the need for contrastive rhetoric to go beyond texts and reviewed research methods that do so, such as interviews with writers and readers and focus groups. Another important development in discourse analysis has been the increasing focus on the multimodal aspects of texts. A growing number of researchers of texts and discourse in the last decade have pointed out that the analysis of language alone is not enough in the pursuit of understanding communications patterns and their use (Ventola, Charles, & Kaltenbacher 2004). Information in texts is presented in forms such as photographs, diagrams, graphics, icons, and so on in textbooks and other documents. The research of Kress and van Leeuwen (2001) suggests that



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Figure 1.  Fairclough’s three-dimensional conception of discourse (1992)

illustrated documents of a variety of kinds can be meaningfully analyzed in terms of several signifying systems such as given and new information on a page; typically information (e.g., a picture) on the left of the page is given or old, while the information on the right is new information. Bateman, Delin, and Henschel (2004) provide a detailed model for the preparation of a corpus-based approach to study multimodal communication. This model includes annotation for pictures, font sizes, spacing, and layout. It is important that researchers in intercultural rhetoric begin considering the multimodality of texts as they study the production and consumption of texts across languages and cultures. It is very likely that the use of visuals is culture or discipline specific. For example, Ventola (2007) shows different uses of textual space, color, and shape in communicating power relationships in oral academic presentations across cultures and disciplines.

Small and large cultures The second map comes from the work of Holliday (1994, 1999) and Atkinson (2004) on culture. In an article titled “Contrasting Rhetorics/Contrasting Cultures: Why Contrastive Rhetoric Needs a Better Conceptualization of Culture,” Atkinson (2004) theorizes about models of cultures suitable for contrastive rhetoric research. An especially valuable model is his adoption of Holliday’s (1994) diagram of the complexly interacting cultures in an educational setting, as shown in Figure 2.

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Figure 2.  Interacting cultures in an educational setting [adapted from Holliday (1999) and Atkinson (2004)]

This model is a valuable tool for intercultural rhetoric. It posits that there are various overlapping social institutions and practices in a classroom, such as national culture, professional-academic culture, student culture, etc. that need to be considered when we study and teach writing in a second language. In other words, in contrastive rhetoric research, it is not enough to isolate national and cultural features of writing. We need to understand other interacting social and educational influences that could be overlapping with national cultural norms and bear on the writing process and products. The Holliday model, as adopted by Atkinson, helps to emphasize the complexity of culture and underscores the importance of considering interlocking cultures in the writing and communication situation. Laid over the first map of the three-dimensional discourse from Fairclough, it forces us to examine the cultural assumptions of a variety of interlocking cultures that may affect text production, distribution, and consumption. Let us use this map together with the first map to review a case study of a Finnish economics graduate student writing his first term paper in English at a U.S. university’s doctoral program (Connor & Mayberry 1996). Conducted more than ten years ago, that study sought to identify contrastive rhetorical problems in the graduate student’s writing. A few textual transfer errors in written products were identified. Yet, the most interesting findings dealt with the conflicting expectations the student had about the classroom culture, especially student-professor interactions. Coming from an educational system that did not encourage university students to confer with professors about their paper topics or problems with data analysis, etc., the student failed to establish a relationship with the pro-



Mapping multidimensional aspects of research 309

fessor, and come up with a successful topic as well as seek the professor’s help in revisions. Another finding was the student’s unfamiliarity with the processes of writing. Instead of using resources available to him from professors, peers, or the writing center, the student tended to treat writing the paper as an individual activity. At the time of publication, this case study appeared to fail in its contrastive rhetorical goals. Yet, when oriented by the two overlapping maps, the 1996 study discovered useful and relevant intercultural information. The map depicts a classroom scenario and is useful for considering intercultural rhetoric in educational settings. Similar maps, which consider both national and small cultures, can be drawn for other situations such as international business communication. A business setting also has several interlocking cultures: national culture and specific cultures of the business in question. In addition, business settings often include buyer’s culture and seller’s culture and old and new acquaintance cultures. The national culture plays a role, but the small cultures also contribute to understanding of the communication.

Intercultural vs. cross-cultural communication The third map, “intercultural vs. cross-cultural communication,” is laid over the two other maps in Figure 3. For the third map, Srikant Sarangi’s research is vital. Sarangi (1995) provides a comprehensive discussion of culture and language in intercultural pragmatics research. He identifies two dominant trends in research that are concerned with the culture-specific character of language and communication: the cross-cultural and intercultural dimensions. Citing Knapp, Enninger & Knapp-Potthoff (1987), Sarangi states that “‘cross-cultural’ attends to abstract entities across cultural borders, while the ‘intercultural’ deals with the analysis of an actual encounter between two participants who represent different linguistic and cultural backgrounds” (1995:  22). Sarangi gives examples of numerous types of cross-cultural research in pragmatics: Brown and Levinson’s (1987) comparative accounts of how politeness strategies are realized differently in different languages, Tannen’s (1984) research on rhetoric patterns for structuring interpersonal conduct, and Blum-Kulka and Ohlstain’s (1984) study of speech acts in a second language by learners with different first-language backgrounds. Cross-cultural research has been valuable for the understanding of language universals as well as for the enhancement of interethnic communication. Sarangi cautions researchers, however, from over-emphasizing consistency within a cultural group. Studies carrying the label intercultural communication fall under two categories. First is research that is mainly concerned with face-to-face encounters be-

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Figure 3.  Multilayered model of contrastive rhetoric

tween individuals from different cultural backgrounds; second is research that is rooted in the tradition of interactional sociolinguistics (Gumperz 1982a, 1982b), which analyzes principles of underlying communicative style differences in interethnic communication. In the former type, culture becomes the explanation for intercultural matches as the value systems are considered fixed. In the latter type, according to Sarangi, interactants can be studied as diverging from their first language culture and language norms as they try to communicate. It is the latter type of intercultural communication that the third map displays. As I will explain in the next section, instead of being seen as having fixed cultural and linguistic backgrounds, the writers are seen as accommodating to their interactants’ language and style.

Accommodation and structuration: Factors to consider I published an ethnographic study about a Finnish fish broker, fluent in English (1999b), who adjusted his style of fax writing to the level of his interlocutors. For Estonians, from whom he bought fish, he simplified his language and used words he knew they would recognize. For Japanese, his buyers, although he used simplified English, he used many more formal politeness features which he thought the Japanese would understand. Varying sorts of accommodation strategies were used with other clients and suppliers from Norway, Germany, and the U.S. For contrastive rhetoric, it is important to note that the cultural knowledge the broker had



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was an impetus for his accommodation. He knew about the Estonian language and culture, which enabled him to accommodate. He also believed that he knew about Japanese language behaviors, which again led to perceived accommodation. The theory of accommodation began as a Speech Accommodation Theory (SAT), which explained variation among interlocutors based on “convergence” and “divergence.” According to Giles et al. 1991, convergence is a strategy whereby individuals adapt to each other’s linguistic, prosodic, and nonverbal features. Divergence refers to the accentuation of spoken and nonverbal differences among interlocutors. More recent Communication Accommodation Theory (CAT) (Coupland & Jaworski 1997; Shepard, Giles, & Le Poire 2001) is not merely concerned about accent shifts and vocal patterns in conversations. Instead, it adopts a macrolevel theory of communication process that explains language behaviors in interpersonal and intergroup interactions across situations and contexts. Despite the changes from SAT, “the primary thesis of CAT remains that individuals use language to achieve a desired social distance between self and interacting partners” (Shepard et al. 2001: 34). This is achieved primarily through convergence or divergence. Stereotypes about characteristics of out-group members guide the interlocutor and may lead to linguistic overcompensation. Other factors that guide speakers are norms about appropriate or inappropriate behavior. A new direction of CAT researchers has been its application in intercultural encounters (Gallois, Giles, Jones, Cargile, & Ota 1995) and intergenerational interactions (Fox & Giles 1993). These investigations have provided predictive models of accommodation in specific situations. Focusing on specific situations has also allowed the study to attend to the sociohistorical contexts that cause interactional patterns, such as the study of English and Welsh. Such studies have also shown the complexities of accommodation involving interpersonal and intergroup considerations. One could argue that CAT is not applicable for understanding written communication. After all, SAT and CAT were developed for the study of spoken language interactions. But a great deal of business communication today uses e-mail, which comes close to approximating spoken language features. As far as I know, my “fish” study was the first to use accommodation theory in the study of international business communication. The study validated the theory’s powerful explanatory impact. Structuration theory, a theory introduced to me by Dwight Atkinson, is the structuration theory of Giddens (1979). It helps us understand relations between preexisting cultural phenomena and actual, individual behaviors. Giddens argued that to understand social structure and individual action, we need to see them as co-constitutive and continuously interacting. Individual social activity is influ-

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enced by social structures such as laws, rules, norms, values, roles, and folk wisdom. These structures serve as resources and constraints on social behavior but do not determine it. Human beings do not act as programmed computers. They err, ignore, resist, and subvert. Giddens added that what humans do in everyday actions feeds back into social structures, changing them maybe slowly, maybe dramatically. Thus, society and culture changes are due to individual behavior. Granted, Giddens’s theory of structuration is abstract. Yet, it is helpful to consider as intercultural rhetoric meets changing norms of genres, models, and writing behaviors across cultures. The three maps – Fairclough’s theory of discourse, changing definitions of small and large cultures, and the inclusion of intercultural studies of interaction in addition to cross-cultural studies – are meant to explain the key concepts in the expanding contrastive rhetoric. True to the two main constructs in contrastive rhetoric – intercultural (from another language and culture) and persuasion – these new models advance the study of international written persuasion and communication. These new models consider the complexities of production and consumption of writing, complexities of multiple intergroup and intragroup behaviors, and the face-to-face interaction of much of today’s writing. Finally, these models underscore the dynamic nature of genres, models, and other written structures when theories of accommodation and structuration are allowed to enter into the analyses.

From contrastive to intercultural rhetoric In 2004, I proposed a new umbrella term “intercultural rhetoric” to describe the current scope of cultural influences in writing and to connote the direction the field needs to go. I intended this umbrella term to include cross-cultural studies (comparison of the same concept in culture one and culture two) and also the interactive situations in which writers with a variety of linguistic and cultural/social backgrounds negotiate L2 writing in a great variety of situations for varied purposes. In that sense, rhetoric helps examine the accommodation readers, writers, and speakers exhibit in communication. Furthermore, the term intercultural rhetoric was expected to suggest that no rhetorical tradition is pure but that everything exists between cultures. As Dwight Atkinson mentions in the “Conversation” in this volume, Western languages and rhetorics and Japanese have had a 150-year history of interaction. According to Atkinson, Japanese is very much an inter-culture. All cultures and social practices are deeply infused and penetrated by other cultural practices. In this sense, the “inter” of intercultural stresses the connections rather than the cultural and rhetorical differences.



Mapping multidimensional aspects of research 313

Therefore, my current thinking is that it may be better to use the term “intercultural rhetoric” with the understanding that its agenda continues to expand. In other words, intercultural rhetoric studies may include both cross-cultural and intercultural studies. In addition, intercultural studies are sensitive to context and consider influences both due to inter-person and inter-culture influences. I encourage the continuation of polemics about the appropriate approaches in intercultural rhetoric at conferences and in venues such as this book.

Acknowledgments I wish to thank Dwight Atkinson for his advice and inspiration in the writing of this chapter. The comments of Julie Belz on an earlier version of this paper are also greatly appreciated.

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Connor, U. (1999b). How like you our fish? Accommodation in international business communication. In M. Hewings & C. Nickerson (Eds.), Business English: Research into practice (pp. 71–99). Harlow, UK: Longman. Connor, U. (2002). Contrastive rhetoric and academic writing: Multiple texts, multiple identities. Forum: Applied Linguistics Newsletter, 23(1), 1, 6. Connor, U. (2004). Intercultural rhetoric research: Beyond texts. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 3, 291–304. Connor, U., & Kaplan, R. B. (Eds.). (1987). Writing across languages: Analysis of L2 text. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Connor, U., & Mayberry, S. (1996). Learning discipline-specific academic writing: A case study of a Finnish graduate student in the United States. In E. Ventola & A. Mauranen (Eds.), Academic writing: Intercultural and textual issues (pp. 231–253). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Coupland, N., & Jaworski, A. (1997). Relevance, accommodation, and conversation: Modeling the social dimension of communication. Multilingua, 16, 235–258. Fairclough, N. (1992). Discourse and social change. Cambridge: Polity Press. Fox, S. A., & Giles, H. (1993). Accommodating intergenerational contact: A critique and theoretical model. Journal of Aging Studies, 7, 423–451. Fries, C. C. (1945). Teaching and learning English as a foreign language. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Gallois, C., Giles, H., Jones, E., Cargile, A. C., & Ota, H. (1995). Accommodating intercultural encounters: Elaborations and extensions. In R. L. Wiseman (Ed.), Intercultural communication theory (pp. 115–147). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Gee, J. P. (2005). An introduction to discourse analysis: Theory and method (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. Giddens, A. (1979). Central problems in social theory: Action, structure and contradiction in social analysis. Berkeley: University of California Press. Giles, H., Coupland, N., & Coupland, J. (1991). Accommodation theory: Communication, content, and consequence. In H. Giles, N. Coupland & J. Coupland (Eds.), Contexts of accommodation: Developments in applied sociolinguistics (pp. 1–68). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Gilligan, C. (1982). In a different voice: Psychological theory and women’s development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gumperz, J. J. (1982a). Discourse strategies. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Gumperz, J. J. (1982b). Language and social identity. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hinds, J. (1983). Contrastive rhetoric: Japanese and English. Text, 3, 183–195. Hinds, J. (1987). Reader versus writer responsibility: A new typology. In U. Connor & R. B. Kaplan (Eds.), Writing across languages: Analysis of L2 text (pp. 141–152). Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Hinds, J. (1990). Inductive, deductive, quasi-inductive: Expository writing in Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Thai. In U. Connor & A. M. Johns (Eds.), Coherence in writing: Research and pedagogical perspectives (pp. 87–110). Alexandria, VA: TESOL. Holliday, A. (1994). Appropriate methodology and social context. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Holliday, A. (1999). Small cultures. Applied Linguistics, 20, 237–264.



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Hyland, K. (2000). Disciplinary discourses: Social interactions in academic writing. Harlow, UK: Longman. Hyland, K. (2003). Genre-based pedagogies: A social response to process. Journal of Second Language Writing, 12, 17–29. Kaplan, R. B. (1966). Cultural thought patterns in inter-cultural education. Language Learning: A Journal of Applied Linguistics, 16, 1–20. Kaplan, R. B. (1987). Cultural thought patterns revisited. In U. Connor & R. B. Kaplan (Eds.), Writing across languages: Analysis of L2 text (pp. 9–21). Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Kaplan, R. B. (2000). Contrastive rhetoric and discourse studies: Who writes what to whom? When? In what circumstances? In S. Sarangi & M. Coulthard (Eds.), Discourse and social life (pp. 82–101). Harlow, UK: Longman. Kaplan, R. B. (2005). Contrastive rhetoric. In E. Hinkel (Ed.), Handbook of research in second language teaching and learning (pp. 375–392). Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Kennedy, G. A. (1998). Comparative rhetoric: An historical and cross-cultural introduction. New York: Oxford University Press. Knapp, K., Enninger, W., & Knapp-Potthoff, A. (1987). Analyzing intercultural communication. Berlin, Germany: Mouton de Gruyter. Kress, G. R., & Van Leeuwen, T. (2001). Multimodal discourse: The modes and media of contemporary communication. London: Arnold. Kubota, R., & Lehner, A. (2004). Toward critical contrastive rhetoric. Journal of Second Language Writing, 13, 7–27. Lado, R. (1957). Linguistics across cultures: Applied linguistics for language teachers. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Lehtonen, J., & Sajavaara, K. (1985). The silent Finn. In D. Tannen & M. Saville-Troike (Eds.), Perspectives on silence. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Pennycook, A. (1998). English and the discourses of colonialism. London: Routledge. Sapir, E. (1921). Language: An introduction to the study of speech. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company. Sarangi, S. (1995). Culture. In J. Verschueren, J. Ostman & J. Blommaert (Eds.), Handbook of pragmatics (pp. 1–30). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Shepard, C. A., Giles, H., & Le Poire, B. A. (2001). Communication accommodation theory. In W. P. Robinson & H. Giles (Eds.), The new handbook of language and social psychology (pp. 33–56). Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons. Soja, E. W. (1989). Postmodern geographies: The reassertion of space in critical social theory. London: Verso. Sullivan, P., & Porter, J. E. (1997). Opening spaces: Writing technologies and critical research practices. Greenwich, CT: Ablex. Tannen, D. (1984). Conversational style: Analyzing talk among friends. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Ventola, E., Charles, C., & Kaltenbacher, M. (Eds.). (2004). Perspectives on multimodality. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Ventola, E. (2007). The crucial linguistic and multisemiotic aspects of conference presentations. Paper presented at the The 3rd Biennal Conference on Intercultural Rhetoric and Discourse: Multiple Literacies Across Cultures. Whorf, B. L. (1956). Language, thought, and reality: Selected writings. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Notes on contributors

Rebeca Acevedo is an Associate Professor of Spanish Linguistics at Loyola Marymount University. She specializes in Historical Linguistics and Spanish as a Heritage language. Her major works include El español mexicano durante la Colonia: El paradigma verbal en el altiplano central (University of Guadalajara, Press. 2000) and A manera de ensayo, (Houghton and Mifflin 1998) as well as a number of recent articles in the area of Spanish in the U.S. Annelie Ädel is a lecturer at Mid-Sweden University, Sweden. Her research interests include text and corpus linguistics, discourse analysis, contrastive linguistics and translation studies. After having received her Ph.D. in English Linguistics from Göteborg University, Sweden, in 2003, she held a two-year position as a visiting scholar at Boston University. She has presented her work at various conferences in both Europe and the U.S., resulting in a number of chapters published in recent collections. Her monograph entitled Metadiscourse in L1 and L2 English was published in 2006. Dwight Atkinson teaches at Purdue University. His research interests include the theoretical notion of culture in TESOL, sociocognitive approaches to SLA, and the learning of English in postcolonial settings. He is currently finishing a book-length manuscript tentatively titled Culture Theory for TESOL and Applied Linguistics: Modernism, Postmodernism, and beyond. Joel Bloch teaches ESL composition at The Ohio State University. He has a Ph.D. in Rhetoric from Carnegie Mellon University and has published on Chinese rhetoric, contrastive rhetoric, plagiarism, and various uses of technology. He teaches a course on plagiarism and is researching the uses of technology in L2 composition classrooms. Born and raised in Finland, Ulla Connor received her BA and MA in English language from the University of Helsinki, her second MA, in English literature at the University of Florida, and her third MA in comparative literature, from the University of Wisconsin, where she also received her Ph.D. in education and English linguistics. She has taught ESL/EFL and applied linguistics for the past thirty years in the U.S., Finland, Sweden, Japan, Venezuela, and Slovakia, and has lectured at universities around the world. Her research has been on L2 reading and writing, with special emphasis on cross-cultural aspects and contrastive rhetoric. Her current interests are EAP (English for Academic Purposes) and ESP, especially the language of business, nonprofit organizations, and health. She has edited and authored a number of books, including Contrastive Rhetoric: Crosscultural Aspects of Second Language Writing (1996). She is the author of more than 100 articles and book chapters.

318 Notes on contributors

Haiying Feng is a Ph.D. student in the Department of English and Communication at the City University of Hong Kong. She holds a Master of Arts in language education from the University of British Columbia and has had about six years of college English teaching experience. Born and raised in the People’s Republic of China, Xiaoming Li is now an associate professor of English at Long Island University, Brooklyn Campus, where she teaches ESL writing, Rhetoric and Composition Theories, and Asian and Asian American Literature. Her major publication, “Good Writing” in Cross-Cultural Context, is based on her doctoral dissertation and published by SUNY Press. She co-edited a special issue for Journal of Asian Pacific Communication on “Multiple Perspectives on L1 and L2 Academic Literacy in Asia Pacific and Diaspora Contexts” (2005). Virginia LoCastro is an associate professor of linguistics at the University of Florida and director of the Academic Spoken English and Academic Written English Programs. She has published widely on pragmatics, second language acquisition, and cross cultural topics both in the United States and abroad. Currently her research interests concern pragmatic competence and identity construction of International Teaching Assistants in the U.S. academic community. Maria Loukianenko Wolfe is a doctoral student in rhetoric and professional communication at Iowa State University. She has taught in Russia and the U.S. Her main research interests include intercultural and professional rhetoric and communication. Paul Kei Matsuda is an associate professor of English at Arizona State University, where he teaches various writing courses as well as graduate courses in composition, rhetoric and applied linguistics. Founding chair of the Symposium on Second Language Writing and CCCC Committee on Second Language Writing, he has edited several books, including Landmark Essays on ESL Writing (Erlbaum 2001), On Second Language Writing (Erlbaum 2001), Second Language Writing Research (Erlbaum 2005), and Second-Language Writing in the Composition Classroom (Bedford/NCTE 2006). Kara McBride is an assistant professor of Spanish at Saint Louis University. She is interested in what insights psycholinguistics can give to teaching and assessment practices and how that might be applied to educational software design. Ana I. Moreno is a Tenured Senior Lecturer at the University of León (Spain). She has lectured in ESP, Contemporary Models of Description of English and Research Procedures in English-Spanish Contrastive Rhetoric. Her main research interests are EAP, discourse analysis and intercultural rhetoric. She has published in English for Specific Purposes, Text, JEAP, and Multilingual Matters. Chin-Sook Pak is an associate professor of Spanish at Ball State University. She has published a number of articles in the area of cross-cultural discourse analysis of newspaper genres and community-based learning. Her recent work includes Sobrevivir, a series of educational soap operas for the community. She is the recipient of the Outstanding Teaching Award (Ball State University) and the Brian Douglas Hiltunen Faculty Award for Outstanding Contribution to the Scholarship of Engagement (Indiana Campus Compact). Lorena Suárez holds a Ph.D. from the University of León (Spain). Her fields of study are contrastive rhetoric and discourse analysis.



Notes on contributors 319

Wei Wang is a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Sydney. His research interests include intercultural rhetoric, systemic functional linguistics, discourse analysis and ESL teaching and learning. He also teaches second language acquisition and discourse analysis at the University of Sydney. Xiaoye You is an assistant professor of English at The Pennsylvania State University, where he teaches courses in rhetoric, writing, and the teaching of writing. He is interested in comparative rhetoric and issues of English writing instruction in international contexts. His work has appeared in College Composition and Communication, Kairos, Journal of Second Language Writing, Rhetoric Review, Rhetoric Society Quarterly, and Studies on Asia. Currently he is working on a book manuscript tentatively titled Writing in the “Devil’s” Tongue: English Composition in Chinese Colleges, 1862–2005.

Index

A Academic article  222, 230 book reviews  148–151, 153, 163, 164 community  64, 268 contexts  195, 302 conversation  277 cultures  308 demands  200 discipline  149, 151, 156 discourse  16, 21, 22 domains  183 ecosystem  73 essays  59, 129, 210 genres Chinese  65, 81, 82 English  71 journal book review  6, 147, 148, 150, 151, 165 journals  79, 80, 150–152, 165, 199, 265 literacy  201 misconduct  274 paper  169, 266, 273, 277 presentations  307 research article  3, 36, 124 seminar  76 text types  49 texts  135, 211, 212, 267 topics  230 writing  7, 46, 83, 170, 196, 197, 200–205, 207–210, 215, 260, 273, 274 written English  14 American academics  266 audience  102 authors  96–98, 100–101

business  87 business people  99 Chinese-American  12 colleagues  98 editorials  137 English-American  47, 50, 55, 205, 260 high school teacher  242 letters  94, 96, 98–101, 107–108, 113, 117, 119 newspaper  129, 138 partners  102 speakers  5 students  88, 102 texts  53, 198 traditions  303 writers  45, 55, 56, 59, 60, 97, 98 Applied linguistics  12, 19, 21, 201, 203, 214, 258, 277, 283, 286, 287, 291, 295 Appraisal  157, 171, 173–176, 179, 182 Argumentative writing  5, 49, 51, 54, 56, 58, 59, 61 Attribution  124, 135–137, 140, 269 Audience  3, 11, 31, 53, 56, 88, 95, 102, 140, 173, 197, 245, 249, 289, 300 Australian  6, 169, 171, 177, 183 B British  5, 30, 47, 50, 53, 55–57, 60 Business communication   87–89, 93, 94, 101, 102, 309, 311 Business discourse  92, 102

Business letters  87, 89, 90, 94, 95, 99, 102, 123 Business writing  88, 89 C Chilean  219, 225, 226, 228, 231, 232, 234 Chinese  5, 6, 7, 12, 14–18, 50, 63ff., 90, 169, 170, 175–179, 182–185, 241ff., 257, 260, 261, 263, 266–269, 295 Chinese rhetorical traditions   263 Christensen, Francis  258 Classroom  2, 4, 6, 12, 18, 89, 163, 195, 196, 202, 208, 210, 211, 213, 246, 261, 262, 268, 269, 302, 308, 309 Collaboration  3, 101, 262, 267 Collective identity  11 Comprehension  136, 213, 222, 225, 299, 303 Confucianism  17, 243, 253, 259, 261 Context  8, 14, 17ff., 18, 22, 29,  38, 53, 64, 101, 123, 126,  140, 166, 196, 199, 204, 253, 268, 280, 283, 300, 304, 313 academic  195, 302 alternative  262 business  102 Chinese  63, 65 cross-cultural  13, 257 cultural  89, 169, 185, 196, 201, 204, 224, 264 educational  200, 201, 214, 243, 284 EFL  1, 6, 195, 197, 215, 235, 269

322 Index

ESL  1, 123, 215 high  222 historical  7, 262, 266, 267, 295 hypertext  222 local  5, 63, 82, 201 Mexican  201, 214 moral  266 native  94 other  34, 295 political  251, 261, 306 professional  215, 221 qualitative  196 relevant  5, 25, 29, 32, 34, 37 rhetoric  257, 262, 266 social  3, 171, 172, 173 sociocultural  64, 169–172, 174, 176, 179, 182, 195, 198, 205, 206, 215 sociohistorical  184, 253, 311 sociorhetorical  101 specific  6 teaching  280 various  262 writing  3, 269 Contextual factors  5, 25, 29, 32–34, 37, 81, 151, 288 Conventions  45, 56–61, 93–97, 100, 102, 103, 198, 205, 206, 234, 284 Contrastive genre study  169ff. Corpora  4, 5, 25ff., 45, 47, 49–57, 60, 61, 147, 149–153, 156–164, 175, 220 Corpus linguistics  3, 32, 37, 303 Creative commons  267 Cross-linguistic  147ff. Cross-cultural studies  5, 12, 13, 25ff., 126, 150, 242, 244, 312 Culture  1, 2, 5, 6, 11–18, 20, 21, 25–27, 31, 33, 34, 36–39, 47, 64, 90–93, 97, 102, 123, 127, 140, 149, 150, 158, 159, 163, 164, 200–202, 220–222, 235, 258–264, 266, 268, 270, 278, 284–286, 297, 300, 301, 307–313 Cultural conventions  5, 18, 55, 57, 58, 60

Cultural differences  2, 5, 7, 13, 15, 26, 38, 82, 90, 198, 220, 259, 263, 264, 266, 286 Cultural dimensions  5, 87, 89–91, 94, 96, 103 D Descriptive moves  6, 163 Discourse acts  48, 296 actions  47 alternative  295 analysis  4, 19, 22, 124, 171, 185, 195, 196–198, 202, 203, 291, 295, 303, 306 -based interviews  68 community  148, 198, 296 configuration  25 contrastive  81 crafted  125 critical  197 dominant  4, 6, 11, 20, 22 editorial  127 equivalent  27 features  27, 124, 139, 140 function(s)  48, 49, 54, 55, 202 functional  195 intercultural  88 linguistic  196 meta- (see Metadiscourse) participants  51, 55, 59 patterns  123, 124, 139 qualitative  198 rhetorical  27 situation  60 specific  96 spoken  46 stimulated  91 structure  26, 38, 39, 81,  302 studies  123, 291 target  198 written  38, 95, 291, 303, 306 Disciplinary  3, 7, 13, 18, 19, 36, 65, 79, 148, 149, 158, 214, 221, 222, 299 Dominant discourses  4, 6

E Economic conditions  5, 63, 82, 266, 284 Education  6, 7, 20, 31, 64, 77, 79, 201, 206–209, 214, 225–227, 243, 245, 246, 253, 254, 261, 279, 280, 291, 300, 302, 303 English for Academic Purposes (EAP)  1, 12, 304 English as a Foreign Language (EFL)  1, 3, 6, 195, 197, 200, 206, 215, 219, 225, 234, 235, 241, 243, 254, 258, 261, 269 English as a Second Language (ESL)  1–3, 6, 11, 13–17, 19, 21, 22, 89, 123, 206, 215, 231, 233, 234, 241, 243, 254, 258, 261, 278, 279, 299–303 English for Specific Purposes (ESP)  89, 171, 303 Essay writing  50, 200, 241, 254 Ethnography  18 Exemplars  5, 29 F Facts  138, 177–179, 182, 250, 269 Functional discourse analysis   202, 203 G Genre  3, 5, 6, 21, 22, 29, 32, 34, 36, 37, 39, 57, 63, 64, 66, 75, 82, 90, 95, 97, 101, 102, 123–127, 129, 139, 140, 147–151, 154, 155, 157, 162–164, 167, 170–176, 182, 184, 209, 221, 222, 234, 235, 250, 265, 277, 288, 296, 300, 303 Genre analysis  4, 5, 12, 32, 81, 89, 171, 172, 260, 303 Genre comparability  5, 54, 57, 60 Genre studies  22, 170, 171, 182 Generic participants  6, 182 Grant proposals  5, 63ff., 303



H Historical studies  7, 288 Hofstede, G. H.  91–93, 96, 98 I Identity  15, 16, 20, 28, 92, 93, 100, 169, 171, 173, 176, 178, 184, 215 Ideology  7, 169, 177–179, 181, 241–243, 245, 254, 258 Intellectual property  257, 262–268 Intercultural  5, 7, 8, 17, 20, 87, 88, 103, 197, 259, 260, 264, 267, 270, 283, 285, 286, 296, 297, 300, 305, 309–313 Intercultural rhetoric  4–8, 11–13, 18, 21, 22, 170, 196, 198, 257, 260–270, 283, 285, 286, 294, 296, 297, 300, 305, 307–309, 312, 313 Internet  6, 16, 31, 80, 219, 222–230, 232–235, 262, 267 Interpersonal  8, 27, 47, 73, 173, 174, 309, 311 Intertextuality  35, 36, 38, 260, 262, 267, 270 Information literacy  219, 220, 234 K Kaplan, Robert  1, 3, 12, 13, 18–20, 25, 149, 196, 258, 259, 278–280, 282, 283, 286, 287, 289, 294, 299–303 Keywords  220, 234, 235 L Latino  64, 125, 128 Learner strategies  5, 57, 59, 60 Linguistics  3, 12, 13, 18–22,  171–174, 201, 258, 281, 300,  302, 303 applied  12, 19, 201, 203, 214, 258, 277, 283, 286, 287, 291, 295 corpus  3, 32, 37, 303 functional  171–174 patterns  4, 169

Index 323

Literacy  13, 21, 82, 165, 196– 202, 206–210, 212, 215, 219, 220, 234, 259, 260, 302 Literacy training  201, 202, 206 M Marxism  248, 250, 253, 254 Memorization  262 Metadiscourse  5, 45ff., 69 Mexican  6, 127–129, 131, 137, 139, 196, 197, 199–209, 212, 214 Models  4, 5, 60, 89, 172, 196, 208, 260, 306, 307, 311, 312 N Native speakers  5, 12, 19, 27, 49–51, 53–56, 125, 129, 130, 134, 199 Networking  5, 70, 76, 81 Newspaper commentaries  6, 170, 172, 175, 176, 184 Newspaper editorials  5, 124, 125, 129, 132, 135, 137–139 Newspaper opinion discourses   169, 170 O Observation  100, 175, 183, 184, 196, 201, 208, 254 Open Source Movement  267 Opinion  6, 14, 48, 125–128, 130, 137, 138, 169, 170, 179, 211, 244, 250 Organization  7, 27, 66, 89, 90, 95, 98, 100, 148, 150, 152, 156, 159, 160, 208, 210, 213, 214, 221, 222, 234, 242, 243, 248, 254, 258, 260, 266, 302, 304 P Paradigm  18, 215, 242, 258– 260, 264, 287, 293, 295 Paragraph  27, 71, 98, 99, 124, 128–130, 134, 135, 154, 157, 178, 199, 204, 205, 211, 283 Pedagogy  7, 20, 226, 263, 281, 289, 301, 302 Perspective  1, 2, 14, 17, 22, 23, 29, 31, 32, 36, 47, 49, 55, 59,

171, 172, 174, 197, 201, 203, 215, 242, 248, 251, 263, 264, 266, 280, 292, 293 Plagiarism  7, 81, 210, 212, 214, 257ff. Pluricentrality  6, 140 Postmodern mapping  7, 305 Power  5, 14, 15, 37, 91–93, 96, 97, 100, 107–109, 159, 166, 241, 252, 254, 261, 262, 269, 307 Problem-drive approach  195 Production  34, 48, 58, 59, 63, 116, 195, 196, 198, 242, 305–308, 312 Proficiency  102, 140, 229, 232, 244 Punctuation markers  6, 205, 206 Purpose  13, 30–32, 35, 36, 63, 65, 66, 69, 71, 90, 92–95, 97–102, 126, 127, 131, 140, 143, 148, 149, 151, 152, 173, 200, 202, 207, 215, 233, 245, 247, 304, 305 Q Qualitative research  38, 89, 100, 158, 163, 297 Quantitative research  288 R Reading acts  219 Reflexivity  45–47, 54, 58, 241, 305 Register awareness  5, 57, 58, 60 Research article  3, 34–37 Research report  3, 77 Research traditions  5, 81 Revision  3, 196 Rhetorical moves  5, 37, 81, 159, 244, 245 Rhetorical patterns  1, 27, 38, 88, 91, 102, 134, 152, 170, 259 Rhetorical strategies  36, 102, 274 Rhetorical structure  6,  148–150, 152, 157, 162, 163, 171, 173, 176, 177

324 Index

Romanticism  151, 157, 158, 262 Russian  5, 50, 88–90, 94–102 S Schema theory  6, 119 Second language writing  2, 3, 196, 203, 221, 242, 258, 277, 280, 282, 287, 288, 291, 299, 300 Sentence  19, 20, 27, 53, 71, 73, 81, 98, 100, 124, 128–131, 134, 135, 139, 140, 177, 180, 181, 203–205, 244, 248, 281 Situated genres  5, 29, 32 Small cultures  7, 18, 31, 33, 201, 221, 235, 296, 305, 309 Social construction  3, 302, 306 Social practices  7, 306, 312 Sociocultural  182, 196, 198, 201 Sociocultural context  171, 172, 174, 198, 205, 206, 215, 284 Sociopolitical structure  5, 82, 140, 182

Spanish  5, 6, 28, 31, 32, 34, 35, 39, 50, 123ff., 147ff., 196–200, 202–207, 209–212, 223–232, 303 Specific participants  6, 178 Style  53, 55, 58, 61, 90, 95, 124, 126, 128, 131–133, 139, 199, 200, 206, 208, 210, 226, 234, 242, 244, 249, 260, 301, 302, 304, 310 Swedish  50, 51, 53, 54, 56, 58, 59, 61, 127 T Teacher  6, 196, 200, 203, 204, 212–214, 248 Textbook  6, 20, 196, 208, 209, 212, 248, 251, 265 Textual organization  7, 152, 222, 243, 254 Theme  7, 169, 183, 209,  242–244, 247–254 Titles  73, 97, 124, 132, 133, 253

Topics  7, 15, 36, 78, 125, 165, 166, 172, 184, 221, 228, 230, 234, 243, 246, 249, 251, 253, 278, 302, 305, 308 Types of writing  3, 244, 247, 254 U Uncertainty avoidance  5, 91–93, 98, 99, 110–115, 117, 118 V Value system  247, 250, 252, 254 W Web page use  219ff. Web sites  6, 219ff. Writer identity  171, 173, 176, 178, 184 Writing instruction  14, 201, 202, 205, 206, 208–214, 241–244, 247–249, 251, 253, 254

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series A complete list of titles in this series can be found on the publishers’ website, www.benjamins.com 174 Heyd, Theresa: Email Hoaxes. Form, function, genre ecology. Expected March 2008 173 Zanotto, Mara Sofia, Lynne Cameron and Marilda C. Cavalcanti (eds.): Confronting Metaphor in Use. An applied linguistic approach. Expected March 2008 172 Benz, Anton and Peter Kühnlein (eds.): Constraints in Discourse. Expected March 2008 171 Félix-Brasdefer, J. César: Politeness in Mexico and the United States. A contrastive study of the realization and perception of refusals. xiv, 190 pp. + index. Expected January 2008 170 Oakley, Todd and Anders Hougaard (eds.): Mental Spaces in Discourse and Interaction. vi, 256 pp. + index. Expected February 2008 169 Connor, Ulla, Ed Nagelhout and William V. Rozycki (eds.): Contrastive Rhetoric. Reaching to intercultural rhetoric. 2008. viii, 324 pp. 168 Proost, Kristel: Conceptual Structure in Lexical Items. The lexicalisation of communication concepts in English, German and Dutch. 2007. xii, 304 pp. 167 Bousfield, Derek: Impoliteness in Interaction. xiii, 281 pp. Expected January 2008 166 Nakane, Ikuko: Silence in Intercultural Communication. Perceptions and performance. 2007. xii, 240 pp. 165 Bublitz, Wolfram and Axel Hübler (eds.): Metapragmatics in Use. vi, 290 pp. + index. Expected December 2007 164 Englebretson, Robert (ed.): Stancetaking in Discourse. Subjectivity, evaluation, interaction. 2007. viii, 323 pp. 163 Lytra, Vally: Play Frames and Social Identities. Contact encounters in a Greek primary school. 2007. xii, 300 pp. 162 Fetzer, Anita (ed.): Context and Appropriateness. Micro meets macro. 2007. vi, 265 pp. 161 Celle, Agnès and Ruth Huart (eds.): Connectives as Discourse Landmarks. 2007. viii, 212 pp. 160 Fetzer, Anita and Gerda Eva Lauerbach (eds.): Political Discourse in the Media. Cross-cultural perspectives. 2007. viii, 379 pp. 159 Maynard, Senko K.: Linguistic Creativity in Japanese Discourse. Exploring the multiplicity of self, perspective, and voice. 2007. xvi, 356 pp. 158 Walker, Terry: Thou and You in Early Modern English Dialogues. Trials, Depositions, and Drama Comedy. 2007. xx, 339 pp. 157 Crawford Camiciottoli, Belinda: The Language of Business Studies Lectures. A corpus-assisted analysis. 2007. xvi, 236 pp. 156 Vega Moreno, Rosa E.: Creativity and Convention. The pragmatics of everyday figurative speech. 2007. xii, 249 pp. 155 Hedberg, Nancy and Ron Zacharski (eds.): The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface. Essays in honor of Jeanette K. Gundel. 2007. viii, 345 pp. 154 Hübler, Axel: The Nonverbal Shift in Early Modern English Conversation. 2007. x, 281 pp. 153 Arnovick, Leslie K.: Written Reliquaries. The resonance of orality in medieval English texts. 2006. xii, 292 pp. 152 Warren, Martin: Features of Naturalness in Conversation. 2006. x, 272 pp. 151 Suzuki, Satoko (ed.): Emotive Communication in Japanese. 2006. x, 234 pp. 150 Busse, Beatrix: Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare. 2006. xviii, 525 pp. 149 Locher, Miriam A.: Advice Online. Advice-giving in an American Internet health column. 2006. xvi, 277 pp. 148 Fløttum, Kjersti, Trine Dahl and Torodd Kinn: Academic Voices. Across languages and disciplines. 2006. x, 309 pp. 147 Hinrichs, Lars: Codeswitching on the Web. English and Jamaican Creole in e-mail communication. 2006. x, 302 pp. 146 Tanskanen, Sanna-Kaisa: Collaborating towards Coherence. Lexical cohesion in English discourse. 2006. ix, 192 pp. 145 Kurhila, Salla: Second Language Interaction. 2006. vii, 257 pp. 144 Bührig, Kristin and Jan D. ten Thije (eds.): Beyond Misunderstanding. Linguistic analyses of intercultural communication. 2006. vi, 339 pp.

143 Baker, Carolyn, Michael Emmison and Alan Firth (eds.): Calling for Help. Language and social interaction in telephone helplines. 2005. xviii, 352 pp. 142 Sidnell, Jack: Talk and Practical Epistemology. The social life of knowledge in a Caribbean community. 2005. xvi, 255 pp. 141 Zhu, Yunxia: Written Communication across Cultures. A sociocognitive perspective on business genres. 2005. xviii, 216 pp. 140 Butler, Christopher S., María de los Ángeles Gómez-González and Susana M. Doval-Suárez (eds.): The Dynamics of Language Use. Functional and contrastive perspectives. 2005. xvi, 413 pp. 139 Lakoff, Robin T. and Sachiko Ide (eds.): Broadening the Horizon of Linguistic Politeness. 2005. xii, 342 pp. 138 Müller, Simone: Discourse Markers in Native and Non-native English Discourse. 2005. xviii, 290 pp. 137 Morita, Emi: Negotiation of Contingent Talk. The Japanese interactional particles ne and sa. 2005. xvi, 240 pp. 136 Sassen, Claudia: Linguistic Dimensions of Crisis Talk. Formalising structures in a controlled language. 2005. ix, 230 pp. 135 Archer, Dawn: Questions and Answers in the English Courtroom (1640–1760). A sociopragmatic analysis. 2005. xiv, 374 pp. 134 Skaffari, Janne, Matti Peikola, Ruth Carroll, Risto Hiltunen and Brita Wårvik (eds.): Opening Windows on Texts and Discourses of the Past. 2005. x, 418 pp. 133 Marnette, Sophie: Speech and Thought Presentation in French. Concepts and strategies. 2005. xiv, 379 pp. 132 Onodera, Noriko O.: Japanese Discourse Markers. Synchronic and diachronic discourse analysis. 2004. xiv, 253 pp. 131 Janoschka, Anja: Web Advertising. New forms of communication on the Internet. 2004. xiv, 230 pp. 130 Halmari, Helena and Tuija Virtanen (eds.): Persuasion Across Genres. A linguistic approach. 2005. x, 257 pp. 129 Taboada, María Teresa: Building Coherence and Cohesion. Task-oriented dialogue in English and Spanish. 2004. xvii, 264 pp. 128 Cordella, Marisa: The Dynamic Consultation. A discourse analytical study of doctor–patient communication. 2004. xvi, 254 pp. 127 Brisard, Frank, Michael Meeuwis and Bart Vandenabeele (eds.): Seduction, Community, Speech. A Festschrift for Herman Parret. 2004. vi, 202 pp. 126 Wu, Yi’an: Spatial Demonstratives in English and Chinese. Text and Cognition. 2004. xviii, 236 pp. 125 Lerner, Gene H. (ed.): Conversation Analysis. Studies from the first generation. 2004. x, 302 pp. 124 Vine, Bernadette: Getting Things Done at Work. The discourse of power in workplace interaction. 2004. x, 278 pp. 123 Márquez Reiter, Rosina and María Elena Placencia (eds.): Current Trends in the Pragmatics of Spanish. 2004. xvi, 383 pp. 122 González, Montserrat: Pragmatic Markers in Oral Narrative. The case of English and Catalan. 2004. xvi, 410 pp. 121 Fetzer, Anita: Recontextualizing Context. Grammaticality meets appropriateness. 2004. x, 272 pp. 120 Aijmer, Karin and Anna-Brita Stenström (eds.): Discourse Patterns in Spoken and Written Corpora. 2004. viii, 279 pp. 119 Hiltunen, Risto and Janne Skaffari (eds.): Discourse Perspectives on English. Medieval to modern. 2003. viii, 243 pp. 118 Cheng, Winnie: Intercultural Conversation. 2003. xii, 279 pp. 117 Wu, Ruey-Jiuan Regina: Stance in Talk. A conversation analysis of Mandarin final particles. 2004. xvi, 260 pp. 116 Grant, Colin B. (ed.): Rethinking Communicative Interaction. New interdisciplinary horizons. 2003. viii, 330 pp. 115 Kärkkäinen, Elise: Epistemic Stance in English Conversation. A description of its interactional functions, with a focus on I think. 2003. xii, 213 pp. 114 Kühnlein, Peter, Hannes Rieser and Henk Zeevat (eds.): Perspectives on Dialogue in the New Millennium. 2003. xii, 400 pp.

113 Panther, Klaus-Uwe and Linda L. Thornburg (eds.): Metonymy and Pragmatic Inferencing. 2003. xii, 285 pp. 112 Lenz, Friedrich (ed.): Deictic Conceptualisation of Space, Time and Person. 2003. xiv, 279 pp. 111 Ensink, Titus and Christoph Sauer (eds.): Framing and Perspectivising in Discourse. 2003. viii, 227 pp. 110 Androutsopoulos, Jannis K. and Alexandra Georgakopoulou (eds.): Discourse Constructions of Youth Identities. 2003. viii, 343 pp. 109 Mayes, Patricia: Language, Social Structure, and Culture. A genre analysis of cooking classes in Japan and America. 2003. xiv, 228 pp. 108 Barron, Anne: Acquisition in Interlanguage Pragmatics. Learning how to do things with words in a study abroad context. 2003. xviii, 403 pp. 107 Taavitsainen, Irma and Andreas H. Jucker (eds.): Diachronic Perspectives on Address Term Systems. 2003. viii, 446 pp. 106 Busse, Ulrich: Linguistic Variation in the Shakespeare Corpus. Morpho-syntactic variability of second person pronouns. 2002. xiv, 344 pp. 105 Blackwell, Sarah: Implicatures in Discourse. The case of Spanish NP anaphora. 2003. xvi, 303 pp. 104 Beeching, Kate: Gender, Politeness and Pragmatic Particles in French. 2002. x, 251 pp. 103 Fetzer, Anita and Christiane Meierkord (eds.): Rethinking Sequentiality. Linguistics meets conversational interaction. 2002. vi, 300 pp. 102 Leafgren, John: Degrees of Explicitness. Information structure and the packaging of Bulgarian subjects and objects. 2002. xii, 252 pp. 101 Luke, K. K. and Theodossia-Soula Pavlidou (eds.): Telephone Calls. Unity and diversity in conversational structure across languages and cultures. 2002. x, 295 pp. 100 Jaszczolt, Katarzyna M. and Ken Turner (eds.): Meaning Through Language Contrast. Volume 2. 2003. viii, 496 pp. 99 Jaszczolt, Katarzyna M. and Ken Turner (eds.): Meaning Through Language Contrast. Volume 1. 2003. xii, 388 pp. 98 Duszak, Anna (ed.): Us and Others. Social identities across languages, discourses and cultures. 2002. viii, 522 pp. 97 Maynard, Senko K.: Linguistic Emotivity. Centrality of place, the topic-comment dynamic, and an ideology of pathos in Japanese discourse. 2002. xiv, 481 pp. 96 Haverkate, Henk: The Syntax, Semantics and Pragmatics of Spanish Mood. 2002. vi, 241 pp. 95 Fitzmaurice, Susan M.: The Familiar Letter in Early Modern English. A pragmatic approach. 2002. viii, 263 pp. 94 McIlvenny, Paul (ed.): Talking Gender and Sexuality. 2002. x, 332 pp. 93 Baron, Bettina and Helga Kotthoff (eds.): Gender in Interaction. Perspectives on femininity and masculinity in ethnography and discourse. 2002. xxiv, 357 pp. 92 Gardner, Rod: When Listeners Talk. Response tokens and listener stance. 2001. xxii, 281 pp. 91 Gross, Joan: Speaking in Other Voices. An ethnography of Walloon puppet theaters. 2001. xxviii, 341 pp. 90 Kenesei, István and Robert M. Harnish (eds.): Perspectives on Semantics, Pragmatics, and Discourse. A Festschrift for Ferenc Kiefer. 2001. xxii, 352 pp. 89 Itakura, Hiroko: Conversational Dominance and Gender. A study of Japanese speakers in first and second language contexts. 2001. xviii, 231 pp. 88 Bayraktaroğlu, Arın and Maria Sifianou (eds.): Linguistic Politeness Across Boundaries. The case of Greek and Turkish. 2001. xiv, 439 pp. 87 Mushin, Ilana: Evidentiality and Epistemological Stance. Narrative Retelling. 2001. xviii, 244 pp. 86 Ifantidou, Elly: Evidentials and Relevance. 2001. xii, 225 pp. 85 Collins, Daniel E.: Reanimated Voices. Speech reporting in a historical-pragmatic perspective. 2001. xx, 384 pp. 84 Andersen, Gisle: Pragmatic Markers and Sociolinguistic Variation. A relevance-theoretic approach to the language of adolescents. 2001. ix, 352 pp. 83 Márquez Reiter, Rosina: Linguistic Politeness in Britain and Uruguay. A contrastive study of requests and apologies. 2000. xviii, 225 pp. 82 Khalil, Esam N.: Grounding in English and Arabic News Discourse. 2000. x, 274 pp. 81 Di Luzio, Aldo, Susanne Günthner and Franca Orletti (eds.): Culture in Communication. Analyses of intercultural situations. 2001. xvi, 341 pp.

80 Ungerer, Friedrich (ed.): English Media Texts – Past and Present. Language and textual structure. 2000. xiv, 286 pp. 79 Andersen, Gisle and Thorstein Fretheim (eds.): Pragmatic Markers and Propositional Attitude. 2000. viii, 273 pp. 78 Sell, Roger D.: Literature as Communication. The foundations of mediating criticism. 2000. xiv, 348 pp. 77 Vanderveken, Daniel and Susumu Kubo (eds.): Essays in Speech Act Theory. 2002. vi, 328 pp. 76 Matsui, Tomoko: Bridging and Relevance. 2000. xii, 251 pp. 75 Pilkington, Adrian: Poetic Effects. A relevance theory perspective. 2000. xiv, 214 pp. 74 Trosborg, Anna (ed.): Analysing Professional Genres. 2000. xvi, 256 pp. 73 Hester, Stephen K. and David Francis (eds.): Local Educational Order. Ethnomethodological studies of knowledge in action. 2000. viii, 326 pp. 72 Marmaridou, Sophia S.A.: Pragmatic Meaning and Cognition. 2000. xii, 322 pp. 71 Gómez-González, María de los Ángeles: The Theme–Topic Interface. Evidence from English. 2001. xxiv, 438 pp. 70 Sorjonen, Marja-Leena: Responding in Conversation. A study of response particles in Finnish. 2001. x, 330 pp. 69 Noh, Eun-Ju: Metarepresentation. A relevance-theory approach. 2000. xii, 242 pp. 68 Arnovick, Leslie K.: Diachronic Pragmatics. Seven case studies in English illocutionary development. 2000. xii, 196 pp. 67 Taavitsainen, Irma, Gunnel Melchers and Päivi Pahta (eds.): Writing in Nonstandard English. 2000. viii, 404 pp. 66 Jucker, Andreas H., Gerd Fritz and Franz Lebsanft (eds.): Historical Dialogue Analysis. 1999. viii, 478 pp. 65 Cooren, François: The Organizing Property of Communication. 2000. xvi, 272 pp. 64 Svennevig, Jan: Getting Acquainted in Conversation. A study of initial interactions. 2000. x, 384 pp. 63 Bublitz, Wolfram, Uta Lenk and Eija Ventola (eds.): Coherence in Spoken and Written Discourse. How to create it and how to describe it. Selected papers from the International Workshop on Coherence, Augsburg, 24-27 April 1997. 1999. xiv, 300 pp. 62 Tzanne, Angeliki: Talking at Cross-Purposes. The dynamics of miscommunication. 2000. xiv, 263 pp. 61 Mills, Margaret H. (ed.): Slavic Gender Linguistics. 1999. xviii, 251 pp. 60 Jacobs, Geert: Preformulating the News. An analysis of the metapragmatics of press releases. 1999. xviii, 428 pp. 59 Kamio, Akio and Ken-ichi Takami (eds.): Function and Structure. In honor of Susumu Kuno. 1999. x, 398 pp. 58 Rouchota, Villy and Andreas H. Jucker (eds.): Current Issues in Relevance Theory. 1998. xii, 368 pp. 57 Jucker, Andreas H. and Yael Ziv (eds.): Discourse Markers. Descriptions and theory. 1998. x, 363 pp. 56 Tanaka, Hiroko: Turn-Taking in Japanese Conversation. A Study in Grammar and Interaction. 2000. xiv, 242 pp. 55 Allwood, Jens and Peter Gärdenfors (eds.): Cognitive Semantics. Meaning and cognition. 1999. x, 201 pp. 54 Hyland, Ken: Hedging in Scientific Research Articles. 1998. x, 308 pp. 53 Mosegaard Hansen, Maj-Britt: The Function of Discourse Particles. A study with special reference to spoken standard French. 1998. xii, 418 pp. 52 Gillis, Steven and Annick De Houwer (eds.): The Acquisition of Dutch. With a Preface by Catherine E. Snow. 1998. xvi, 444 pp. 51 Boulima, Jamila: Negotiated Interaction in Target Language Classroom Discourse. 1999. xiv, 338 pp. 50 Grenoble, Lenore A.: Deixis and Information Packaging in Russian Discourse. 1998. xviii, 338 pp. 49 Kurzon, Dennis: Discourse of Silence. 1998. vi, 162 pp. 48 Kamio, Akio: Territory of Information. 1997. xiv, 227 pp. 47 Chesterman, Andrew: Contrastive Functional Analysis. 1998. viii, 230 pp. 46 Georgakopoulou, Alexandra: Narrative Performances. A study of Modern Greek storytelling. 1997. xvii, 282 pp. 45 Paltridge, Brian: Genre, Frames and Writing in Research Settings. 1997. x, 192 pp.