Creative Compounding in English: The Semantics of Metaphorical and Metonymical Noun-Noun Combinations

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Creative Compounding in English

human cognitive processing is a forum for interdisciplinary research on the nature and organization of the cognitive systems and processes involved in speaking and understanding natural language (including sign language), and their relationship to other domains of human cognition, including general conceptual or knowledge systems and processes (the language and thought issue), and other perceptual or behavioral systems such as vision and nonverbal behavior (e.g. gesture). ‘Cognition’ should be taken broadly, not only including the domain of rationality, but also dimensions such as emotion and the unconscious. The series is open to any type of approach to the above questions (methodologically and theoretically) and to research from any discipline, including (but not restricted to) diﬀerent branches of psychology, artiﬁcial intelligence and computer science, cognitive anthropology, linguistics, philosophy and neuroscience. It takes a special interest in research crossing the boundaries of these disciplines.

Editors Marcelo Dascal, Tel Aviv University Raymond W. Gibbs, University of California at Santa Cruz Jan Nuyts, University of Antwerp Editorial address Jan Nuyts, University of Antwerp, Dept. of Linguistics (GER), Universiteitsplein 1, B 2610 Wilrijk, Belgium. E-mail: [email protected] Editorial Advisory Board Melissa Bowerman, Nijmegen; Wallace Chafe, Santa Barbara, CA; Philip R. Cohen, Portland, OR; Antonio Damasio, Iowa City, IA; Morton Ann Gernsbacher, Madison, WI; David McNeill, Chicago, IL; Eric Pederson, Eugene, OR; François Recanati, Paris; Sally Rice, Edmonton, Alberta; Benny Shanon, Jerusalem; Lokendra Shastri, Berkeley, CA; Dan Slobin, Berkeley, CA; Paul Thagard, Waterloo, Ontario Volume 19 Creative Compounding in English: The Semantics of Metaphorical and Metonymical Noun-Noun Combinations by Réka Benczes

Creative Compounding in English The Semantics of Metaphorical and Metonymical Noun-Noun Combinations

Réka Benczes Eötvös Loránd University

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam/Philadelphia

8

TM

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

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Réka Benczes Creative compounding in English : The semantics of metaphorical and metonymical noun-noun combinations / Réka Benczes. p. cm. (Human Cognitive Processing, issn 1387–6724 ; v. 19) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. 1. English language--Compound words. 2. English language--Noun phrase. 3. English language--Semantics. 4. Metaphor. PE1205.B38 2006 428.1--dc22 isbn 90 272 2373 4 (Hb; alk. paper)

2006043043

© 2006 – 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

To István

Contents Acknowledgements List of figures List of tables Notation Abbreviations chapter 1 Introduction and some basic concepts 1.1. Scope of this study 3 1.1.1 The theoretical framework 4 1.1.2 The cognitive processes underlying the formation of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds 4 1.1.3 The products of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounding: creative compounds 5 1.2. What is a compound? 7 1.3. Endocentric and exocentric compounds 8 1.4. Nonce words and neologisms 9 1.5. The data 11 1.6. Structure of the book 12

xi xiii xv xv xvi

1

part 1 Theory and past approaches chapter 2 Descriptivists, transformationalists and alternative theories 15 2.1. Descriptivist approaches 16 2.1.1 The basics: Bloomfield’s categories of endocentric and exocentric compounds 16 2.1.2 Jespersen’s semantics-based classification of compounds 17 2.1.3 Marchand’s categories of exocentric compounds 18 2.1.4 The emergence of metaphorical compounds in Adams’s typology 19 2.2. Analyses within the transformationalist/generativist framework 20 2.2.1 A critique of the transformationalist approach: the metaphorical and idiomatic compounds of Afrikaans 22 2.2.2 Levi’s generativist account 26 2.2.3 Selkirk’s word structure rules 28

viii Creative compounding in English

2.3. Alternative approaches 30 2.3.1 Downing’s account of English compounding: the role of pragmatics 31 2.3.2 Warren’s investigations of the semantics of English compounding patterns 32 2.3.3 Adams revisited 37 2.4. Summary 38 chapter 3 Cognitive linguistics: Principles and methodology 41 3.1. Establishing a new linguistic philosophy 41 3.2. The Langackerian system of grammar 45 3.3. Conceptual metaphor 47 3.4. Conceptual metonymy 50 3.5. Blending 53 3.6. Methodology 58 3.6.1 Ryder’s schema theory-based approach 59 3.6.2 Blending put to the test: the analyses of Coulson and Fauconnier and Turner 61 3.6.3 Sweetser’s integrated approach to adjective–noun combinations 64 3.7. Summary 67 chapter 4 Compositionality and transparency 4.1. Contested concepts 69 4.1.1 The cognitive linguistic perspective 72 4.2. Idiomaticity 77 4.3. Storage versus computation? 82 4.4. Summary 84 part 2 Analysing creative compounds chapter 5 Metaphor-based compounds 5.1. Metaphor-based modifier 91 5.1.1 Heartland 91 5.1.2 Armchair 91 5.1.3 people are animals 93 5.2. Metaphor-based profile determinant 96 5.2.1 Single-scope networks 96

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87 89

Contents

5.3. Double metaphorical processing: metaphor-based modifier and profile determinant 102 5.3.1 Chicken hawk 102 5.3.2 Flame sandwich 103 5.4. Summary 105 chapter 6 Metaphor-based semantic relation between the constituents of the compound 6.1. Image metaphors 108 6.1.1 The case of the true “exocentrics”: beanpole and muffin top 111 6.1.2 Image-schema metaphors 115 6.2. Monsters and zombies 117 6.3. Personification: bandit sign 118 6.4. Single-scope blends 119 6.4.1 Sandwich generation 119 6.4.2 Seabiscuit candidate 121 6.4.3 Birdcage and cereal box 123 6.4.4 Nanny state and nanny car 127 6.4.5 Jackpot justice 130 6.4.6 Chainsaw consultant 130 6.4.7 Bait car 135 6.5. Double-scope blends 137 6.5.1 Trophy child 137 6.5.2 Toy food 138 6.6. Summary 140 chapter 7 Metonymy-based compounds 7.1. Metonymy-based modifier 141 7.1.1 Office-park dad 142 7.1.2 Analysability 143 7.1.2.1 The “workers” 144 7.1.2.2 Bear jam 147 7.1.2.3 Knee-mail 148 7.1.3 Alliteration 149 7.1.4 A note on Warren’s analyses 151 7.2. Metonymy-based profile determinant 153 7.2.1 Handwriting 154 7.2.2 Gaslight 155

107

141

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Creative compounding in English

7.3. Double metonymical processing: metonymy-based modifier and profile determinant 155 7.3.1 Gadget-related illnesses 156 7.4. The compound as a whole is metonymical 157 7.4.1 Humpback and hunchback 158 7.4.2 Bearskin 158 7.4.3 Glue sniffing 159 7.5. Metonymy-based relation between the two constituents of the compound 160 7.5.1 whole–part 160 7.5.2 part–whole 161 7.5.3 part–part 161 7.6. Summary 162 chapter 8 Metaphor- and metonymy-based compounds 163 8.1. Metaphor-based semantic relationship between the constituents of the compound and metonymy-based modifier 165 8.1.1 Sign metonymies: form for concept 166 8.1.2 Concept metonymies 167 8.1.2.1 member of a category for the category 167 8.1.2.2 defining property for category 169 8.1.2.3 producer for product 170 8.2. Metaphor-based semantic relationship between the constituents of the compound and metonymy-based profile determinant 171 8.2.1 Bell-bottoms: An image metaphor 173 8.3. Metonymy-based modifier and metaphor based profile determinant 173 8.3.1 Firedog: Constraining in action 175 8.3.2 Lunch lid: A double-scope blend 177 8.4. Metaphor-based modifier and metonymy-based profile determinant 179 8.5. Summary 180 chapter 9 A brief overview and the wider perspective 9.1. The results: systematic creativity 184 9.2. Alternative construal and motivation 185 9.3. The wider perspective 187 Appendix References General index Metaphor and metonymy index

183

191 196 203 206

Acknowledgements Completing a long-term project such as this one offers the pleasure of acknowledging the generous help and support of all those who have participated in the process of its preparation. First and foremost I wish to thank Zoltán Kövecses and Linda Thornburg, my linguistics professors at the American Studies Department of Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, for acquainting me with cognitive linguistics and thereby offering a more plausible account of language in an otherwise generative-oriented environment. It was Zoltán Kövecses who encouraged me to continue my studies at the English Linguistics doctoral programme of the university and start my individual research on compounds under his supervision. I am greatly indebted to him for providing me with an incredible amount of expertise, advice and support throughout the years. I am also grateful to a number of people who gave me feedback on various parts of this book, and its predecessor, my PhD thesis. My thanks goes to the participants of the Empirical Methods in Cognitive Linguistics Workshop, held at Cornell University, May 2003, especially Seana Coulson, Raymond W. Gibbs and Eve Sweetser. I am indebted to my audience at the Imagery in Language Conference, held at Łodź University, September 2003, especially Ronald W. Langacker. Thanks to a European Science Foundation grant, I was able to present my doctoral research at the “Mind, Language and Metaphor: From Computers to Neuropsychology” EURESCO conference, April 2004. The conference provided me with plenty of useful ideas on how to refine my hypotheses. I have also received invaluable suggestions and support from a number of people along the years, including Antonio Barcelona, Lóránt Bencze, Enikő Bollobás, Mario Brdar, Szilvia Csábi, Dirk Geeraerts, Tibor Frank, Bruce Fraser, András Kertész, Lajos Marosán, Wolfgang Meid, Ádám Nádasdy, Mark Newson, Klaus-Uwe Panther, Péter Pelyvás, Günter Radden, Francisco Ruiz de Mendoza, Linda Thornburg, Rita Szabó-Brdar, Gábor Tolcsvai Nagy, Mark Turner, Tamás Váradi, László Varga, Viktor Volom, Beatrice Warren and the faculty and fellow students of the English Linguistics PhD programme at Eötvös Loránd University. I am immensely thankful to Jan Nuyts, the Editor of the “Human Cognitive Processing” series of John Benjamins, for supporting the publication of this book, and my three anonymous reviewers, whose highly constructive criticisms have prompted me to reconsider a number of the issues and expand their relevance to areas I had not contemplated previously. I would also like to thank Kees Vaes for guiding me through the publication process so expertly.

xii Creative compounding in English

This project would never have been either undertaken, or completed, without the full support of my family. It was my parents, Ágnes and László Hajdú, who taught me the love of language, for which I will always be grateful to them. Last but not least my thanks goes to my husband, István Benczes, for all the inspiration he has given me, right from the very beginning.

List of figures 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 3.7 3.8 3.9 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5

6.6 6.7 6.8 6.9 6.10

The relation between a more abstractly characterised unit (schema) and more fully specified units [a] and [b] The constructional schema of noun–noun compounds (a); and the constructional schema of jar lid (b) The process of selecting a reference point within a domain (or ICM) to provide access to a target Simplex blend Single-scope blend The strength of a schema for combining units x and y is related to the number and entrenchment of its instances The blend analysis of land yacht The blend analysis of red ball The blend analysis of intellectual sleeping pills The blend analysis of jailbird The blend analysis of belly button The blend analysis of meadow mayonnaise Model of a creative compound with a metaphor-based modifier and profile determinant The blend analysis of flame sandwich Mappings between the source and target domains of submarine sandwich and big-box store Mappings between the source and target domains of beanpole family Representation of the image-based conceptualisation of bar-code hairstyle Constructional schemas of steamboat and doghouse The typical constructional schema of metaphor-based noun–noun compounds (a); and the atypical constructional schema of metaphorbased noun–noun compounds with an unexpressed profile determinant (b) Mappings between the source and target domains of beanpole Mappings between the source and target domains of muffin top Representation of the out image schema Representation of the shuttle motion image schema The blend analysis of sandwich generation

46 47 51 55 56 61 63 65 66 97 98 99 102 104 109 110 110 111

112 113 114 116 117 120

xiv Creative compounding in English

6.11 6.12 6.13 6.14 6.15 6.16 6.17 6.18 6.19 6.20 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 8.1 8.2 8.3

8.4 8.5 8.6 9.1

The blend analysis of Seabiscuit candidate The blend analysis of birdcage The blend analysis of cereal box The blend analysis of nanny state The blend analysis of nanny car The blend network of jackpot justice The blend analysis of chainsaw consultant The blend analysis of bait car The blend analysis of trophy child The blend network of toy food Model of a creative compound with a metonymy-based modifying constituent The blend analysis of office-park dad The blend analysis of scarlet-collar woman The blend analysis of Lexus lane Model of a creative compound with a metonymy-based profile determinant Model of a creative compound with a metonymy-based modifier and profile determinant Model of a creative compound where the meaning as a whole is metonymical part–part conceptualisation of lamppost Model of a creative compound with a metaphor-based relationship between the two constituents and a metonymy-based modifier Mappings between the source and target domains of picasso porn Model of a creative compound with a metaphor-based relationship between the two constituents and a metonymy-based profile determinant Mappings between the source and target domains of bell-bottoms The blend analysis of firedog The blend analysis of lunch lid The elaboration–extension relationship of creative noun–noun compounds

122 124 126 128 129 131 132 136 138 139 141 142 146 150 154 156 157 161 165 170

172 173 176 178 189

List of tables 2.1 3.1 3.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1

A comparison of Warren’s (1978) and Downing’s (1977) semantic relations between the two components of a noun–noun compound Mappings between the source and target domains of the love is a journey conceptual metaphor Coulson’s analysis of the pet fish blend Mappings between the source and target domains of the presidential election is a horse race conceptual metaphor Mappings between the source and target domains of chainsaw consultant Mappings between the source and target domains of bait car Warren’s (1978) “incomplete compounds” and their corresponding ICMs

Notation italics ‘. . .’ “. . .” Capitalisation small caps <. . .>

example definition 1. English equivalent 2. underlying relative clause (or sentence) 1. ICM (Body ICM, Constitution ICM, etc.) 2. participant in an ICM (Agent, Instrument, etc.) 1. conceptual metaphor 2. conceptual metonymy 3. domain (in a blend network) 4. image schema 5. semantic pole of a symbolic unit element (in a conceptual metaphor or blend network)

33 48 62 121 133 135 152

Abbreviations CCED Collins Cobuild English Dictionary for Advanced Learners DOS Dictionary of Symbols Idealised Cognitive Domain ICM Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English LDOCE OED The Oxford English Dictionary Országh Országh–Magay: Angol–Magyar Nagyszótár [English–Hungarian Dictionary] Penguin Dictionary of English Idioms PDEI wordspy http://www.wordspy.com wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org

chapter 1

Introduction and some basic concepts In an interview with Bill Wyman, the former bass guitarist of Rolling Stones, the conversation turned to his favourite pastime, metal detecting, and the journalist asked Wyman what his old bandmates thought about his passion for “land fishing”. Although Wyman simply replied that the others did not attach too much importance to his hobby, what is linguistically significant about land fishing is that it represents one of the most creative processes of the English language: the ability to create and understand compound expressions that have been formed by utilising the endless possibilities of metaphor and metonymy. As it is evident to both Wyman and the interviewer, and the larger readership of the article, land fishing has got nothing to do with catching fish; it refers rather to the activity of seeking out treasure hidden in the ground with the means of a metal detector. Why can we use land fishing in order to speak about metal detecting? Why can we be sure (as in the case of the interviewer), that when confronted with such an expression — in an appropriate context — the referent of the expression will be immediately understood even if it happens to be a construction which the reader of the article had not been previously familiar with? The answer lies in conceptual metaphor and metonymy, notions that entered semantic discussion and analysis with the advent of cognitive linguistics. As it has been demonstrated by cognitive linguists and psychologists, it is with the help of metaphor and metonymy that we are able to understand and talk about basic emotions such as love, anger or fear, or more abstract concepts such as friendship, business or society. The all-pervasiveness of metaphor (and metonymy) also shows up in the semantics of a noun–noun compound such as land fishing for instance, where the activity of fishing metaphorically stands for the activity of metal detecting: the person doing the fishing is metaphorically understood as the person looking for treasure, the fishing rod metaphorically stands for the metal detector, and the happy moment of finally catching a fish is interpreted as finding treasure hidden in the ground. The fact that we are able to access this metaphor so effectively when coming across the term land fishing can be accounted for by a number of reasons. First, we are required to perform such “metaphorical operations” quite often when coming across metaphor-based constructions, and therefore we are responsive to contextual cues that induce us to search for a metaphorical interpretation of a given . Source: The Times, Supplement The Knowledge, p. 46, 26 March 2005.

Creative compounding in English

lexical item. Second, our familiarity with English noun–noun compounding tells us that such combinations show a degree of compositionality; that is, the overall meaning of the compound is motivated by the meaning of the constituents. Therefore, the two constituent nouns of land fishing provide us with considerable linguistic support by evoking separate concepts, one for land-related activities and pursuits (as evoked by land), and one for fishing (as evoked by fishing), which prompt us to look for associations between these separate concepts so as to arrive at a possible interpretation that fits the immediate context of the expression, a process that is called conceptual integration or blending. Third, the unconscious and ubiquitous use of metaphor (and metonymy) in everyday language and thought means that we are able to employ a vast repository of metaphorical and metonymical associations quickly and efficiently when encountering noun–noun compounds such as land fishing. Noun–noun compounds have been at the forefront of linguistic analysis for a number of well-founded reasons. Not only do they form the largest group of compounds in English (Algeo 1991), but children learn to produce this type of compound the earliest, from around the age of two (Clark 1981). However, what is most remarkable about these compounds is the diversity of semantic relationships that can exist between the two components on the one hand, and between the individual elements and the compound as a whole on the other. Nevertheless, however diverse the semantics of noun–noun combinations may be, many linguists have attempted to systematise the constraints that apply in their creation and interpretation. The most traditional and pervasive semantic classification of compounds used in linguistic literature is based upon the work of Leonard Bloomfield (1933), who suggested that compounds fall into two main groups. In endocentric constructions, the compound is the hyponym of the head element: apple tree is a kind of tree. In the case of exocentric or “headless” constructions, however, the compound is not a hyponym of the head element, and in the majority of cases there is some sort of met. I have found plenty of webpages on the Internet related to fishing where the expression land fishing refers to fishing performed from land, not from water (from a fishing boat for instance). . A fifty-year-long research into the emergence of new words in the United States (Algeo 1991) has managed to shed some light on contemporary word formation patterns. According to the data, compounding is the most productive word formation process: 68% of the new expressions were grouped into the combining category. More interestingly, 90% of the compounds were nouns. John Algeo explains this bias towards nominal compounds on two accounts: first, there are “more new things to name” (p. 7) than events or qualities — it is very rare that we have to name a new action, but we do come across new objects all the time. Second, one of the features of English is the preference to put semantic information into a noun. As there is no grammatical objection to having a noun in a modifier position before another noun, there is no particular need for distinct adjectives.

Chapter 1. Introduction and some basic concepts

aphor or metonymy at work in the meaning of the compound. This is where land fishing comes into the picture again: in the interview with Bill Wyman the compound does not denote a type of fishing but refers to a completely different activity that has nothing to do with either water or fish. Linguistic literature has a strong tendency to mention exocentric combinations only peripherally (if they are mentioned at all), and views these constructions as exceptional cases that do not follow normal and productive compound-forming patterns. There does not seem to be a general consensus even within cognitive linguistics regarding the analysis of noun–noun compounds. Mary Ellen Ryder (1994), for instance, analyses endocentric compounds within the framework of schema theory and profile determinacy (and neglects exocentric compounds completely). René Dirven and Marjorie Verspoor (1998), however, discard the traditional dichotomy of endo- and exocentric compounds, and argue instead for a cline of transparency on which compounds can be placed on the basis of the transparency of their meaning. However, they treat metaphorical and metonymical compounds as “darkened” constructions, hence semantically opaque. Much improvement has been made with the advent of blending theory, which has put forward innovative and exciting proposals on the analysis of metaphorical and metonymical compounds. Constructions that have baffled semanticists previously have finally become analysable.

1.1. Scope of this study It can be generally claimed that while numerous efforts have been made to systematically analyse endocentric compounds in various theoretical frameworks — descriptive, transformational, generative and cognitive linguistics-based among others — metaphorical and/or metonymical constructions have been very much neglected. No attempt has been made yet to systematise the semantics of such noun–noun combinations, because they have been considered as unanalysable, non-transparent phenomena, which are not formed on the basis of productive patterns. Accordingly, this book sets out to uncover the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical noun–noun combinations and aims to answer two main questions: First, in what sort of theoretical framework can the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical noun–noun combinations be systematically analysed? Second, what regularities can be uncovered behind the cognitive processes that yield . Although it is necessary at this point to introduce the terms “endocentric compounds” and “exocentric compounds”, a more detailed introduction of these terms will follow in section 1.3 (while the notion of “compound” is investigated in section 1.2). . Chapter 3.5 looks at blending theory in detail and provides numerous examples.

Creative compounding in English

metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds; and the products of these processes, that is, the compounds themselves?

1.1.1 The theoretical framework As it will be shown in Chapter 2, previous analyses of noun–noun combinations, including descriptivist, transformationalist and generativist accounts, have been unable to systematically map the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds, for the simple reason that such phenomena were considered as exceptional, idiosyncratic cases that did not follow normal, productive rules. However, much improvement has been made by cognitive linguistics, which has finally come up with solutions as to the analysis of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds, although it needs to be stressed that there is no uniform view in cognitive linguistic literature on the treatment of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds: the various methods that have been proposed cover only a couple of isolated examples and are unable to account for the rich variety of cases. As the discussion of the examples will show, the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds can be accounted for within a cognitive linguistic framework, by the combined application of metaphor, metonymy, blending, profile determinacy and schema theory.

1.1.2 The cognitive processes underlying the formation of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds As the present study will show, there is indeed systematicity among metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds, and this systematicity can be based upon which part of the compound is activated by conceptual metaphor and/or metonymy: the modifier; the profile determinant; the relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant; or the compound as a whole. All of these patterns can be justified by linguistic data. As the analyses will show, the metaphors and metonymies that participate in the meaning of noun–noun compounds are mostly established ones that emerge in all sorts of linguistic (and non-linguistic) phenomena, i.e. they are not restricted to noun–noun combinations exclusively. In addition, the semantic relations between the constituents of the compounds are the same as those that exist between the constituents of endocentric compounds (e.g. part–whole as in fingertip; cause–effect as in hay fever, location–located such as pocketbook, etc.). If the . Therefore, “cognitive processes” refer to the way metaphor and metonymy influence compound formation. This terminology is not be confused with the general human ability of producing and comprehending compounds; a topic that will be discussed in detail in Chapter 9.

Chapter 1. Introduction and some basic concepts

metaphors and metonymies that are used in the construction of such compounds are everyday phenomena, and the constituents of the compounds themselves are selected so as to follow normal, everyday patterns of English compounding, then we are left with the idea that metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds are not exceptional: they are also based upon productive patterns. From the theoretical claim that metaphor- and/or metonymy-based compounds can be systematically analysed on the basis of which part of the compound is activated by conceptual metaphor and/or metonymy, it follows that semantic transparency is not considered as a property of the entire multimorphemic expression, but is regarded rather as the property of individual constituents. This latter assumption, which will be pursued throughout the book, is backed up by psycholinguistic evidence. In a series of experiments, Gary Libben et al. (2003) have shown that both constituents of a noun–noun compound show priming effects, regardless of the degree of transparency involved, or the status of the constituent in question, i.e. whether it functions as a modifier or as the head of the construction. Libben et al. have presented four types of English compounds to native speakers: those with transparent constituents, such as bedroom; those with a non-transparent modifier element but transparent head, such as godchild; those with a transparent modifier element but non-transparent head, such as jailbird; and those where both constituents are non-transparent, such as fleabag. According to their data, both constituents showed priming effects, and priming was observable in all four types of compounds. Such a result advocates a “deconstructed approach to semantic transparency” (p. 62), an approach that will be applied within this book as well.

1.1.3 The products of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounding: creative compounds Since the expression “metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds” to describe constructions such as land fishing or hunchback respectively (the latter being an offensive word for someone whose back has a large raised part because their spine curves in an unusual way) is quite lengthy in itself, and it is a tendency in linguistics monographs to coin new terminologies, I have also decided to come up with a new — and much shorter — term to refer to such constructions. Yet length . Productivity refers to the possibility for language users to create a new word. . A transparent constituent’s semantic characteristics correspond to the semantic characteristics of its free-standing lexical variant. . Compounds with semantically non-transparent constituents that participated in the experiment were mainly metaphorical or metonymical (see Libben et al.’s full list of the compounds, 2003: 54). Jailbird, for instance, will be analysed in detail in the present book, under section 5.1.2.

Creative compounding in English

and tradition are just the two minor reasons for me doing so; more importantly I would like to propose that the main difference between an endocentric compound10 — such as apple tree — on the one hand and a metaphorical and/or metonymical compound — such as land fishing or hunchback — on the other hand is not transparency of meaning, as so many linguists have maintained, but creativity: the latter two are examples of a nominal construction type that has been coined by a more imaginative, associative, and on the whole, more creative word formation process. Therefore I wish to introduce the term creative compound for metaphorical and/or metonymical noun–noun combinations.11 However, I am not claiming here that the degree of the constituents’ transparency is irrelevant to the understanding of compounds in general; in fact, just the opposite holds, namely that the semantic complexity of a compound does affect processing times. According to the results obtained from the psycholinguistic experiments carried out by Libben et al. (2003), the processing of a compound with a non-transparent head, such as such jailbird or fleabag, took longer than the processing of those compound expressions where the modifier was non-transparent (and the head transparent), as in godchild for instance. What these results imply for the present study is that the understanding of creative compounds is very probably one of degree, depending on which constituent is affected by metaphor and metonymy. 10. I wish to point out, however, that metaphor and metonymy is not exclusive to exocentric compounds; they can turn up in endocentric compounds as well. Such examples will abound in the subsequent chapters (see for instance the analyses of armchair or blue-collar worker among others). 11. Dmitrij Dobrovol’skij and Elisabeth Piirainen (2005: 35–8), in their extensive study on figurative language, also touch upon so-called “figurative compounds” in their analysis. The authors make a distinction between literal, non-literal (and non-figurative), and figurative use of language. In their view, figurative expressions are metaphor- and metonymy-based lexical units (single words, compounds, idioms, etc.) that have “clearly perceivable image components” (p. 14) and “point to a denotatum not directly but via other concepts while there is another, simpler and more direct way to point to this denotatum” (p. 19). Therefore catlick (‘a perfunctory washing’), in the authors’ understanding, is a figurative compound, as the expression is motivated at the level of “rich image” (p. 36), by our general knowledge about cats: they are considered to be afraid of water and wash themselves perfunctorily by licking their fur. This is a salient feature of cats, which then can be mapped onto human body care. In addition, the concept of ‘perfunctory washing’ could be described by other (non-figurative) linguistic units as well, thus the compound catlick fulfils the other criterion of figurativeness as well (i.e. that of additional naming). Thus, while “figurative compounds” and “creative compounds” both refer to metaphor- and metonymy-based units, the former is limited to cases where the compound is an instance of additional naming, while “creative compound” subsumes any metaphor- and/or metonymy-based expression, on the basis of the claim expressed under section 1.1.2; namely that metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds are not exceptional (or additional devices in naming) but are also based upon regular, productive patterns.

Chapter 1. Introduction and some basic concepts

The term “creative compound” implies that the understanding of linguistic creativity that is adopted in this book is quite different to the Chomskyan approach, namely that people have the ability to form an infinite number of sentences out of a limited set of rules.12 However, can such an ability really be considered as creative? As Sydney M. Lamb (1998) rightly claims, all that is happening when we form a sentence is that we take a sequence of categories and for each category we select one of its members. In Lamb’s view, this ability of ours is not creativity, or only a very lowlevel form of it: Real creativity is when we invent new lexemes for new or old concepts; when we build a new concept, especially one that integrates ideas in our conceptual systems that have not been previously connected; when we devise new metaphors in our attempts to understand some combination of complex experiences; [. . .] when we invent a new way of saying something that does not fit the standard syntax. (Lamb 1998: 205)

This interpretation of creativity will be advocated in the present book as well. Noun–noun compounds that utilise metaphor and metonymy make use of the creative associations that exist between concepts; associations based on similarity, analogy or contiguity. It is these associations that I wish to emphasise with the term “creative compound”.

1.2. What is a compound? In an answer to the question, a very loose definition would be to say that a compound is a combination of two words to form a new word. However, as Ingo Plag (2003) points out, two implications follow from such a definition: (1) a compound is made up two (and not more) elements; and (2) the constituting elements of a compound are words. Yet English is quite abundant with words that are classified as compounds and yet fail to fulfil the criteria above: what about communication technology equipment, which is made up of not two, but three words, or university teaching award committee member, which numbers in fact five constituent words?13 The issue becomes even more complicated when one considers compounds such as overthe-fence gossip, where the first constituent is not a word but a phrase.14 Therefore, 12. According to Noam Chomsky (1980: 222), grammar (syntax) — which characterises the properties of sentences — is an area of our linguistic knowledge that can be well studied and described. However, “the creative use of language is a mystery that eludes our intellectual grasp”. 13. It is a property of English compounds that words can be attached to an already existing expression to form a new compound — a property that is called recursivity. Recursivity entails that even longer compounds can be analysed as essentially binary structures (i.e. where each node branches into a left and right-hand constituent). 14. Note that phrases in the right-hand position are not possible (*gossip over-the-fence), or are

Creative compounding in English

the definition above needs to be slightly modified: a compound is a word that is made up of two or more elements, the first of which is either a word or a phrase, the second of which is a word.15 In a compound that is made up of two words, such as tree house,16 the second word of the construction is called the “head” of the construction. Syntactically, the head is the dominant constituent of the construction, which means that the inflectional properties of the compound are inherited from the head element. Semantically, the head of a compound specifies the class of entities to which the compound belongs (Katamba 1993). Therefore, tree house will function as a noun because the head is also a noun and the compound as a whole will refer to some sort of house because the head noun refers to a house. The first word of the compound, tree, is called the “modifier” element of the construction because it modifies the referent of the head noun in some way: tree house is a house that has been built on a tree.

1.3. Endocentric and exocentric compounds Endo- and exocentricity are concepts associated with both syntactic and semantic headedness. It is a general assumption that the majority of English compounds follow the Right-Hand Head Rule (Williams 1981) — which defines the head of a morphologically complex construction as the right-hand member — and accordingly are endocentric from a syntactic point of view. Semantic endocentricity means that English composite constructions are hyponyms of the second, right-hand eleminterpreted not as compounds but — together with the left-hand element — as phrases: gossip over the fence. 15. Note that in English, primary stress usually falls on the first element of the compound, while in a phrase the primary stress is on the second element: compare the compound ‘blackbird (a type of bird species, with the primary stress on black) and the phrase black ‘bird (a bird that is black in colour, with the primary stress on bird). See also the study by Ingo Plag et al. (1988), who investigated the prosodic pattern distinguishing English compound and non-compound noun phrases and how information structure and position affect the production and perception of the two forms. Their results show that the prominence pattern of a compound can be best described as a sequence of an accentuated constituent followed by an unaccentuated one, while a phrase can be described as a sequence of two accented constituents. The major determinant of the variations along a hypothetical continuum of fully accentuated/deaccentuated elements is the communicative value of an item, in relation to the general discourse and immediate context: speakers deaccentuated those expressions that did not carry new information and whose referent was accessible from the context. 16. Orthography is by no means an indication whether a combination of two or more words is a compound or a phrase. Compare, for example, the titles of two well-known books on morphology: Mark Aronoff ’s (1976) Word Formation in Generative Grammar and Bauer’s (1983) Wordformation in English.

Chapter 1. Introduction and some basic concepts

ent. There are, of course, plenty of exceptions which fail to abide by these suppositions. Compounds whose right-sided element does not specify the class of entities to which the word belongs are called exocentric compounds, such as redskin, which does not denote a type of skin but a person with a skin of a reddish colour.17 As Laurie Bauer and Antoinette Renouf (2001) point out, exocentric or leftheaded compounds are regarded as exceptional cases in the sense that there are not too many of them — and this is where many English textbooks go wrong. Their corpus-based study (coming from the British newspaper Independent over a period of ten years) has shown that English neologisms thrive with cases which were taken as borderline formations. They provide a number of examples to illustrate how compound formations which were deemed exceptional in traditional literature are in fact relatively abundant in word formation processes. Many compound neologisms in the data were left-headed, as in the case of compound premodifiers whose second element was -only, as in dry-clean-only [labels] or singles-only [karaoke]. The point is that there are plenty of “unexpected trends” (Bauer and Renouf 2001: 120) in English word formation, and a proper analysis or description of the English language needs to fit these exceptional types in and provide an explanation for them. Bauer and Renouf ’s observation is highly relevant for the present study as well, since they question one of the most basic questions in word formation: if a pattern is atypical, does it also mean that it is exceptional? Their paper suggests that the answer to this question is negative.

1.4. Nonce words and neologisms When can we say that a word “exists” in a language? From its first coinage or when it becomes an established word used and understood by the majority of a language community? The answers to these questions are by no means clear-cut. Laurie Bauer (2001), for instance, establishes three categories of words that are very helpful in resolving these issues: • existing word: from the moment a word is coined; • item-familiar word: a word may be familiar to individual speakers, without having become a part of the norm of the language; and • established word: once a word is item-familiar to a large enough sub-set of the speech community to make it worth listing in reference works. Choosing the last category, that is, the class of established words to determine 17. Left-headed compounds such as notary public are also exceptions to the Right-Hand Head Rule.

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whether a coinage should be considered as an “existing” word of a language, has a large pitfall: not all of the words of a language are listed in reference works.18 One is left with the classes of item-familiar and new words, but the former exhibits a somewhat similar problem as the class of established words: just because a newly coined word is not as familiar as cat or mat for instance, it does not directly follow that the word in question should not be considered as an existing word of a given language. What follows from all this is that a word should be taken as an existing word of a language from the moment it is coined, whether or not it will become established later on. It is this liberal approach that is applied in this book. Some of the compounds under analysis will fall into the established category, such as handwriting or belly button, both of which can be found even in medium-sized English dictionaries. However, a number of the compounds will belong to the class of item-familiars, that is, words that will be familiar to some English speakers and unfamiliar to others.19 Needless to say, some of the compounds under analysis will be mostly unfamiliar to English speakers, for the simple reason that they fall into the category of existing words, that is, new coinages whose future status is yet to be resolved. Will they be just simply nonce formations, that is, spontaneous creations by a speaker, coined for the occasion, or will they turn out as neologisms, that is, words that become a part of the norm of a language?20 Whichever route the word will take, it will be nevertheless considered as a linguistic phenomenon that is worthy of a scrupulous semantic analysis in order to shed light on the creative — and productive — mechanisms underlying creative compounding in English.

18. This point is supported by Bauer’s (2001) mini-investigation of the new words used in a randomly selected 5-page extract of Time magazine (issue 19 February 1996). Bauer marked all the compound words found on the five pages, then checked them against an electronically searchable version of the Oxford English Dictionary (2nd edition). Of the 148 compounds (including compounds within compounds), 67 could not be traced in the OED. Out of the 67, only 12 were regarded as item-familiar (e.g. crash site, island republic, hostage taking). 19. For instance, a native English speaker has pointed out to me that she has not come across beanpole family and sandwich generation previously. 20. Consider, for example, the amazing career of metrosexual (‘an urban male with a strong aesthetic sense who spends a great deal of time on his appearance and lifestyle’, source: wordspy): the expression first appeared in 1994, in an article in the British newspaper The Independent, and has since gained the status of a neologism — it appears as one of the entries in the collection of new words by Orin Hargraves (2004). Interestingly, it acquired international fame as well: exactly 10 years after its coinage, the Hungarian Elle magazine (April 2004) published a long article on the metroszexuális male. According to the Macmillan English Dictionary Magazine (available online, at http://www.macmillandictionary.com), metrosexual can also be credited for the coinage of a new word, contrasexual (‘a super-confident woman whose aspirations counter the conventional values for her sex’), which appeared in November 2004.

Chapter 1. Introduction and some basic concepts

1.5. The data The database contains 78 creative compounds, all of which have been analysed in detail. My primary aim when collecting the examples was to provide a heterogeneous database that includes all sorts of noun–noun compounds that occur in English. I did not wish to limit myself to one source only; therefore the combinations under scrutiny originate from a number of sources and represent various degrees of lexicalisation. Some come from monolingual dictionaries, such as the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English, the Collins Cobuild Dictionary for Advanced Learners and the Penguin Dictionary of English Idioms. I also have one example (meadow mayonnaise) that is from a bilingual, English–Hungarian dictionary (and which, for a strange reason, I have not been able to locate in any of the monolingual dictionaries). However, the problem with dictionary examples is that most of them represent various degrees of lexicalisation, thereby making a synchronic semantic analysis impossible. Therefore, most of the examples are from an Internet-based collection of neologisms, which have turned up in mostly American newspapers and magazines in the last ten years, though some of these neologisms have already achieved the status of established words by appearing in Orin Hargraves’s (2004) collection of New Words. The Wordspy webpage (http://www.wordspy.com) proved to be very useful, because it not only gave the word and its meaning, but also provided the context in which the expression had turned up originally. The examples have differing syntactic structure both in terms of constituent number (while bandit sign is made up of two constituents, beanpole family has three constituents, since the first element within the compound, beanpole, is a compound in itself) and word class. With respect to the latter, the examples fall into five structural categories: (1) common noun–common noun (61 examples, e.g. bandit sign); (2) proper noun–common noun (five examples, e.g. Lexus lane); (3) common noun–gerund (two examples, e.g. handwriting); (4) noun and noun combination– common noun (four examples, e.g. beanpole family); (5) adjective and noun combination–common noun (six examples, e.g. scarlet-collar worker).21 Compounds that have been categorised traditionally as endocentric will be analysed along with traditionally exocentric examples; and while some of the compounds have already been scrutinised in other morphological and semantic studies, many of the examples will be analysed for the first time in this book.22 21. It was difficult to decide whether the modifying constituents in the examples of the last category belonged to the class of nouns or adjectives. However, I felt that the adjective–noun combinations of these modifiers referred rather to an entity, and not a property. 22. In Wolfgang U. Dressler’s (2006) view, prototypical compounds are lexicalised, they are composed of two nominal constituents, they are productive vs. non-productive, right-headed vs. leftheaded, endocentric vs. exocentric, etc. Therefore the present study will present a selection of

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1.6. Structure of the book The book is divided into two main parts. Part One comprises the theoretical background, by first of all presenting the nature of the problem that is at hand. Accordingly, Chapter 2 gives an outline of the failed attempts of previous analyses to account for the semantics of exocentric compounds. Chapters 3 and 4 continue the theoretical discussion on a more optimistic note; first by giving a short introduction to cognitive linguistic theory and to those basic assumptions that will be made use of in the book, and second, by accounting the various ways cognitive linguists have treated the problem of so-called exocentric compounds (or metaphorical, or idiomatic compounds — just to give a couple of examples of the various names by which these constructions have been called) with more or less success. Such a theoretical discussion serves two aims: it fills a huge gap in the discussions of metaphor- and metonymy-based compounds by presenting a much-needed overview in linguistic literature; and by showing the shortcomings and dead-end streets of previous analyses it marks the possible way out in the analysis of creative compounds. Chapters 5, 6, 7 and 8 constitute the second main part of the study, that is, the theoretical framework that has been developed for the analysis of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds in Part One is finally put to the test by applying it to linguistic data. Chapter 5 looks at how conceptual metaphor can affect the meaning of the compound by acting upon the modifier or the profile determinant (or both), while Chapter 6 investigates the various types of metaphor that can be at work in the semantic relation between the two constituents of a noun–noun combination. Chapter 7 explores how metonymy can influence a compound’s meaning, while Chapter 8 is devoted to the analysis of compounds where both metaphor and metonymy are activated in order to access the meaning. Chapter 9 summarises the findings of the study and places the results into the Langackerian framework of language. The Appendix lists all the compounds that have been analysed, gives their definition, their source and the section in which they are discussed in the book. compounds that can be considered to represent various degrees of prototypicality. Only an adequately heterogeneous database can allow for generalisations to be made on the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds.

part 1

Theory and past approaches

chapter 2

Descriptivists, transformationalists and alternative theories There are many patterns of English compound formation which are not dealt with in earnest by great many handbooks on morphology, such types are those constructions which fall into the exocentric category. In the following, I will give an overview of how the semantic headedness of compounds has been analysed in the most significant textbooks and monographs of English morphology and language in general. I would like to draw attention to the diversity of compound categories in the various studies and the somewhat chaotic definitional criteria; and also to the very superficial allusions to exocentric compounds. This relative superficiality of the analyses largely follows from the headedness of English compounds: the majority follow the Right-Hand Head Rule (which defines the semantic and syntactic head of a morphologically complex construction as the right-hand member). Therefore not much emphasis has been laid on the so-called exceptions to this rule, such as exocentric constructions. However, as Laurie Bauer and Antoinette Renouf (2001) have pointed out, a proper and in-depth examination of the English language has to take into account exceptional types as well and must provide an explanation for their existence. A similar view is propagated by Steven Pinker (2000: 406–7), who maintains that the group of compounds that describe a person by what he does or what he has, as in pickpocket, redneck, scarecrow, lazy-bones, etc., are not unique to language as they represent a whole class of compounds with a similar semantic make-up. In Pinker’s view, such compounds provide evidence for the fact that “virtually everything in language falls into systematic patterns, even the seeming exceptions, if only you bother to look for them” (ibid., italics as in original). I couldn’t agree more. Following the considerations outlined above, the chapter will first discuss descriptivist approaches to noun–noun compounding, then will look at how the transformationalists and generativists managed to reconcile the problems related to English nominal compounds. Last but not least I wish to give an account of alternative theories, presented by linguists who did not work in any of the above linguis. See Chapter 1 for a detailed discussion of their views regarding the so-called exceptional cases of English compounds.

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tic paradigms (and not within the cognitive linguistic framework either, for that matter — which is a topic of the following chapter).

2.1. Descriptivist approaches 2.1.1 The basics: Bloomfield’s categories of endocentric and exocentric compounds Leonard Bloomfield (1933) suggests two main approaches for the classification of compounds: the analysis of the relation of the members to each other and the analysis of the relation of the compound as a whole to its members. The former line of analysis follows syntactic considerations, where Bloomfield distinguishes between syntactic and asyntactic compounds. In the case of syntactic expressions the members stand to each other in the same grammatical relation as words in a phrase. Thus, for example, the members of blackbird have the same grammatical relationship of adjective and noun as the phrase black bird. In the case of asyntactic constructions, the members exhibit a relationship which is unparalleled in the syntax of the language: door-knob is asyntactic because there is no English phrase such as *door knob. Unfortunately, Bloomfield does not elaborate upon the difference between syntactic compounds and phrases — why should we have syntactic compounds if the same grammatical relations are expressed in a phrase and vice versa? The explanation leads to semantic implications which follow from the relation of the members to the compound as a whole — a line of enquiry which Bloomfield clearly separates from syntactic criteria. This neglect of semantic considerations might stem from the fact that Bloomfield did not regard meaning as a possible criterion for distinguishing between compounds and phrases: “many a phrase is as specialized in meaning as any compound” (p. 227). The other line of analysis — examining the relation of the compound as a whole to its members — raises the issue of endo- and exocentricity, terms that were first applied by Bloomfield to both syntactic and semantic criteria. In the former case, a compound can be classified (syntactically) as endocentric if the compound has the same grammatical function as the head member: in blackbird the compound has the function of a noun, just like its head member, bird. However, turnkey is exocentric because the head member is a verb while the compound belongs to the category of nouns. . Deciding on whether a compound is syntactically endocentric or exocentric can become problematic in those cases where the head member of the expression might have undergone

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

However, there are compounds that belong to the same grammatical category as the head member, yet are labelled exocentric by Bloomfield. Expressions such as blue-stocking or red-head have a noun in the head position and also function as nominals, but the referent of the compound does not belong to the “same species as the head member” (p. 236). These are semantically exocentric because there is no hyponymical relationship between the head and the compound. In Bloomfield’s interpretation, the semantic pattern of exocentric compounds is the following: “object possessing such-and-such an object (second member) of such-and-such quality (first member)” (p. 236, italics as in original). Needless to say, this pattern includes only metonymy-based expressions. Nevertheless, even this definition has its borderline cases: as Bloomfield points out, blue-bottle can be viewed as exocentric if the ‘bottle’ is part of the insect, but the expression becomes exocentric if the insect is viewed ‘like a bottle’.

2.1.2 Jespersen’s semantics-based classification of compounds Otto Jespersen (1954) raises the question of why we have compounds at all, instead of the free syntactic combination of the same elements. The answer, according to Jespersen, lies in the conciseness of compounds. However, the construction does not say anything about the way in which the relationship between the two members of a compound should be interpreted, that has to be inferred from the context. This means that theoretically there is a relatively large number of possible interpretations for a given compound, but lexicalised constructions have become the name for one specific thing, thereby giving up their potential meanings. Although the semantic classification of compounds is no easy task, Jespersen is nevertheless of the opinion that neither stress (as argued for by Bloomfield 1933), nor orthography can be set as formal criteria and thus “we must fall back on semantics” (p. 137). Jespersen has six main divisions concerning noun compounds: (1) AB means B modified by A [in this group there are numerous subgroups as well, such as the following: the first element of the compound indicates the subject of the action (sunrise); the first element indicates the place in which the second is or takes place (headache); the first element indicates the time when the second element takes place (nightmare); the first element indicates what the second is meant for (beehive); the first element denotes an instrument by which the second element is zero-derivation: chimney-sweep and bootblack are both regarded by Bloomfield as endocentric because sweep and black in his opinion are agent-nouns created by shifting from the verbal and adjectival base respectively. Laurie Bauer (1983) points out that the reason why the compound pattern of noun + verb does not appear to be productive (apart from well-established examples such as nosebleed and sunshine) is because the second element is usually interpreted as being a noun — as in birth control and nosedive (or chimney-sweep for that matter).

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brought about (handwriting); the first element denotes something contained in the second element (featherbed); the first element denotes the material out of which the second is made (gold ring)]; (2) AB means A modified by B (tiptoe); (3) copulative compounds (nation state); (4) appositional compounds (maid servant); and (5) bahuvrihi compounds (red-coat); and (6) the two elements are joined by a preposition (son-in-law). While Jespersen’s typology of compounds is more of a diachronic than a synchronic account, he acknowledges the existence of semantic patterns amongst the members of compound constructions — although he does warn the reader that “the analysis of the possible sense-relations can never be exhaustive” (p. 138). Jespersen mentions bahuvrihi compounds (such as red-coat and blockhead) as instances of “the stylistic trick called pars pro toto” (p. 149, italics as in original), however, he limits the scope of the definition of bahuvrihi compounds to those which denote living beings (where the second member of the construction generally refers to the name of some part of the body or dress).

2.1.3 Marchand’s categories of exocentric compounds Hans Marchand (1960) devotes a substantial part of his monograph to the examination of the compounding process in his study on English word formation. He analyses the compound as a morphological unit with two parts, the determinant and the determinatum. In English, the former generally precedes the latter. However, Marchand calls attention to compounds such as pickpocket, blackout and overall where the determinatum is missing. In such cases the determinatum is “implicitly understood but not formally expressed” (p. 11). Marchand calls these combinations compounds with a zero determinatum or refers to them simply as exocentric compounds where the determinatum “lies outside the combination” (ibid.). Marchand does not brush aside the question of exocentric compounds with a couple of general remarks but in fact classifies its types in a whole chapter (pp. 37– 45). His classification is somewhat confusing, however, as there is no main linguistic consideration — semantic, syntactic or morphological — on which his classification is based but is rather a subjective pick of certain types of compounds, analysed from primarily a diachronic point of view. . For a severe criticism on Jespersen’s classification, see Anna Granville Hatcher (1960) who claims that the inadequacy of Jespersen’s categories stems from the fact that Jespersen was not particularly interested in the problem in the first case and that his classification is actually a simplified system of a typology that appeared a century previously. . Keith Allan (1986) in fact rightly criticises Marchand for describing many different derivations for compounds — both endocentric and exocentric — without providing an explanation why the different types exist. Yet Marchand did not set out to account for the semantics of com-

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

Marchand lists five major types of exocentric compounds. The first of these is the “pickpocket type”, where the compound expression denotes the agent who (or which) performs the action indicated by the predicate–object relationship of the expression itself, such as cut-throat or scarecrow. The second type of exocentric compounds in Marchand’s classification are the “runabout types” which are very similar to the former class in the respect that both kinds denote an agent performing an action expressed by the compound. However, in the runabout cases, the second constituent is an adverbial complement, most often a particle. Further examples include standby and runaway. The third class includes the “blackout type” which, according to Marchand, is a cross between the two former subcategories: while this class is semantically similar to pickpocket, morphologically it resembles the runabout type of compounds. However, as the semantic distinction between the pickpocket and runabout cases is minimal — as Marchand himself admits (see n. 7) — I do not consider it necessary to establish the blackout-types as a separate group from the runabout ones. Further examples in this class are mix-up and make-up. The fourth subcategory of exocentric compounds are the infamous bahuvrihi constructions, such as hunchback, paleface, scatterbrain. Marchand defines these as expressions which denote somebody (or something) who can be characterised by the feature expressed by the compound. Thus, bahuvrihi compounds have some kind of an identifying function. Marchand provides the following explanation for the origins of bahuvrihi compounds: they were used very early in Indo-European languages, primarily for namegiving, but most of them functioned only as adjectives. This adjectival function came from their appositional use before personal names, for example “rhododaktylos eos” for Rosefinger Eos. Marchand’s last type are the compounds exemplified by dugout and left-over, but he does not give a typological explanation for this class.

2.1.4 The emergence of metaphorical compounds in Adams’s typology Valerie Adams (1973), in her discussion of nominal compounds, classifies these constructions into nine categories, which bear close resemblance to the compound classes of Jespersen (1954). Her categories are the following: subject–verb (bee pound formation, his primary aim was to offer a typological classification of the various types of compounds that do exist in present-day English (as the title also suggests). . The chaos which exists among the classification of exocentric compounds is well demonstrated by the fact that Andrew Carstairs-McCarthy (1992) labels pickpocket as a prime example of a bahuvrihi type (which class is a subcategory of exocentric compounds in Marchand). . Marchand does acknowledge the fact that the runabout subclass of exocentric compounds is essentially a variant of the pickpocket-type compounds.

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sting), verb–object (drug addict), appositional (the compound is a combination of A and B: nation state), associative (the compound can be paraphrased as ‘B is part of A’: lambswool), instrumental (one of the constituents denoted the instrument or cause involved in an action: sleeping pill), locative (one of the constituents describes the place/time/situation of the other: living room), resemblance (the first element denotes something to which the referent of the second is compared: piggy bank), composition/form/contents (one of the elements specifies the other in the terms of some concrete feature: fur coat), adjective–noun (best man). One of the problems with her classification — which she acknowledges (p. 62) — is that it is a combination of syntax and semantics, thus allowing many loopholes to enter the system: an adjective–noun combination such as frozen food could just as well be placed into the composition/form/contents class. The question can in fact be raised whether Adams’s classification is any good at all, if it allows constructions to be placed in several groups. However, it should be noted that under the various categories Adams attempts to give an exhaustive description of the possible subclasses, and what is more, she in fact makes note of “exocentric” constructions as well in some of the classes (although these compounds represent various syntactic subclasses and no special reference is made to their semantic peculiarity). This is a happy improvement compared to Jespersen (1954) for example, who considered bahuvrihi compounds a class separate in themselves, irrespective of their syntactic makeup. Thus, Adams mentions spoilsport and scarecrow among others as a subgroup in her verb–object category, as derivational compounds with zero affix. In the resemblance category, a subclass of “metaphorical” compounds appears, this includes constructions such as blockhead and butterfingers (though once again these are given as derivational compounds with zero affixation). In the adjective–noun category, bighead and hunchback also turn up (once again as derivational compounds with zero affix). It is a shame that Adams did not discuss the semantics of the various “exocentric” subclasses mentioned above, but this criticism can be generally applied to her classification. This ignorance of the semantics of the compounds might be explained by Adams’s remark (p. 62) that individuals interpret particular compounds in different ways (thus it is difficult to give a proper description of meaning), or by her belief that the interpretation of every single compound requires encyclopaedic knowledge as well (p. 63).

2.2. Analyses within the transformationalist/generativist framework The transformationalist/generativist framework ignored morphology for quite a long time. According to Mark Aronoff (1976: 4), this neglect stemmed from the fact

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

that “post-Syntactic Structures linguistics saw phonology and syntax everywhere, with the result that morphology was lost somewhere in between”. (In his influential monograph on word formation, Aronoff does not discuss compounds because he considers these as composite signs, while his focus is on the minimal sign.) Later on, most of the transformational accounts of compounding argued that complex constructions were formed by generating a verb in the deep structure that had been deleted on the way to the surface. One of the most well known advocates of this view is Robert B. Lees (1968). However, one of the main problems with this approach, as discussed in Laurie Bauer (1979), is that it leads to a surface structure that can be interpreted in as many ways as there are transitive verbs in a language. This criticism has been met by other scholars (such as Motsch 1970 and Kürschner 1974, in Bauer 1979) by suggesting that it is not a fully specified verb that is deleted, but an abstract entity that represents a neutralisation of a number of verbs — a perspective which will be taken by Judith N. Levi (1978, see below) as well. Jan G. Kooij (1968) also criticises the position represented by Lees (1968) on a number of points. Most significantly, he points out that the syntactic approach applied by Lees leads to the assignment of excess structure to compounds, but at the same time too little is explained of their meaning. Kooij presents a number of compounds that are treated by Lees as endocentric or non-idiomatic: blackmail, ladies’ man or wise guy. However, the meaning of these compounds cannot be explained by the derivation of the meanings from full sentence structures, such as ‘a mail that is black’, ‘the ladies have a man’ or ‘the guy is wise’ respectively. Kooij’s opinion, which I also share, is the following: “either the underlying structures are restricted to some basic types, a procedure which does not explain enough, or the underlying structure is specified so as to be semantically adequate, but this would lead to providing each individual compound with a different underlying sentence structure” — a process which would definitely diminish the value of the description of the grammar (pp. 257–8). A further problem with the transformationalist account is the range of possible compounds resulting from the transformation of the underlying sentences. Lees (1966) derives population growth from ‘the population grows’. However, as Marchand (1965, in Lees 1966) points out, growing population could also have been easily derived from the sentence above. Lees does not give a sufficient answer to this criticism, although he does state elsewhere that the transformational rules which turn the sentences into compounds are independently motivated, different sequences of individual rules. (Though what is the nature of these rules is left unaccounted . Lees (1968: 125) lists eight types of grammatical relations for the constituents of a nominal compound, which are the derived forms of ‘kernel sentences’. E.g.: girlfriend has a subject–predicate relationship among its elements and is derived from the sentence “The friend is a girl”.

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for.) When Marchand (1965) points out that Lees’s analysis cannot describe the semantic relations holding between the members of the compound, Lees calls the reader’s attention to the fact that “no one had ever supposed seriously that a semantic analysis is directly given by a syntactic description, whether transformational or not” (p. 2). This attitude is partly explainable with the modular view of language, according to which syntactic rules cannot account for the semantics of linguistic phenomena, be they compounds, phrases or sentences. In the syntax-oriented framework of the transformationalist/generativist analyses the semantics of compounds is either put aside with the suggestion that separate rules of interpretation are able to explain the idiosyncratic meanings of compounds (see also Selkirk’s 1982 analysis below) or that the question itself falls outside of the synchronic study of language — and thus outside of the concern of the generative paradigm — since the highly individual meanings of compounds are the results of diachronic or pragmatic processes. Such a perspective is represented by Richard Beard (1977), who looks upon “semi-idiomatic” compounds such as blackberry — where the meaning of the compound is far more complex than what can be inferred from the meanings of the constituents — as irregular patterns in the lexicon which should fall outside of transformational rules and possibly even a synchronic account of language. The lexical information in black and berry — as Beard claims — is irrelevant to the description of blackberry, because there is no way to predict the meaning from the constituents. Thus Beard considers compounds such as blackberry as arbitrary, monolexemic linguistic signs which belong to the diachronic theory of a language and “may explain certain types of jokes, puns and poetry” but are completely irrelevant to a synchronic study.

2.2.1 A critique of the transformationalist approach: the metaphorical and idiomatic compounds of Afrikaans One of the strongest criticisms of the transformationalist/generative approach is provided by Rudolf P. Botha (1968), who first of all criticises both Anna Granville Hatcher’s (1960) and Bloomfield’s (1933) classifications of English noun compounds, arguing that both linguists based their systems on “arbitrarily select. Hatcher (1960) classifies English noun compounds on the basis of the semantic relationship between the constituents of the construction. In this vein, she establishes four main classes, characterised in the following manner: (1) N1 is contained in N2 (sandpaper); (2) N1 is the source of N2 (handwriting); (3) N2 is part of N1 (broomstick); (4) N1 is the destination of N2 (sugarcane). These four main categories are further subclassified by Hatcher, on the basis of the semantic class the constituents belong to (person, animal, concrete object, place, time, activity, etc.). For a discussion of Bloomfield’s classification, see section 2.1.1.

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

ed criteria, are not susceptible to testing, and make no empirical claims” (p. 55). The importance of this criticism lies in the fact that it was Bloomfield (1933) who brought forward the idea of endo- and exocentricity in compounds, notions which have survived in linguistic thought up to the present. However, as Botha points out, such classifications are justified by linguists on the ground that they are “elegant”, “simple” or “logically consistent” — although no explanation is provided why a set of linguistic statements should conform to these methodological criteria. Botha (p. 56), for instance, cites Hatcher (1960: 365), who prefers her own classification to the one of Jespersen (1954) because “it is logically conceived, and therefore neater and more pleasing aesthetically”. Botha discusses Afrikaans “metaphorical compounds” in detail, as there is an abundance of such metaphorical constructions in the Afrikaans language. He claims that in constructing an Afrikaans transformational generative grammar of compounds, metaphorical constructions cannot be left unconsidered. Botha classifies metaphorical compounds into three main types: (1) constructions which have a metaphorical sense as wholes (melkkoei “milk cow” — ‘something bringing in money as regularly as a milk cow’); (2) compounds which are metaphorical because of the metaphorical sense of one or more of their constituents (the first constituent is metaphorical: klokrok “bell skirt” — ‘a skirt shaped like a bell’; the second constituent is metaphorical: handskoen “hand shoe” — ‘glove’); and (3) compounds which have a metaphorical sense not only as wholes, but have additionally one or more constituents which are used in a metaphorical sense (tranebrood “tear bread” — ‘living earned through suffering’). Metaphorical compounds are distinguished from “idiomatic compounds”, which refer to a category of linguistic phenomena that constitute in a certain respect a subcategory of the larger category of phenomena referred to by their phrasal correlate. Thus for example, swartbord (“blackboard”), an idiomatic compound, refers to a board (usually black, dark green or dark blue in colour), which can be said to be a subcategory of the category referred to by the phrase swart bord (‘a flat slab of wood, that has a colour opposite to white’). This “narrowing down” of meaning (as termed by Botha) that can be observed in idiomatic compounds is well reflected by the fact that the sentence containing the phrase swart bord is semantically anomalous (1), while the sentence containing the compound swartbord is semantically non-anomalous (2):

(1) *Die swart bord is groen. *‘The black board is green.’

. Contemporary morphology textbooks make constant reference to these terms; see e.g. Francis Katamba (1993).

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(2) Die swartbord is groen. ‘The blackboard is green.’

Botha notes that the comparative aspect of metaphorical compounds is not characteristic of the idiomatic ones, as there is a definite similarity between their lexical sense and that of their respective non-idiomatic phrasal correlates. Botha raises a very important issue regarding both metaphorical and idiomatic compounds. Namely, that such constructions had been neglected mostly in transformational generative grammar, although native speakers of Afrikaans have linguistic intuitions concerning the metaphorical and non-metaphorical uses of a linguistic unit such as melkkoei, as well as regarding the partial similarity between an idiomatic compound and its non-idiomatic (phrasal) counterpart, as exemplified by swartbord. These intuitions call for an account of such phenomena in a transformational generative grammar account of Afrikaans (or any other language which also uses metaphorical and idiomatic compounds). Botha quotes Dwight L. Bolinger (1965: 567), who believed that a proper semantic theory also had to account for “the process of metaphorical invention”. However, according to Botha, “[t]he semantic component of a transformational generative grammar . . . is, by definition, unequal to such a complete semantic theory. This semantic component is, namely, a block of rules in the kind of grammar that aims at accounting for rule-governed and not for rule-changing creativity” (p. 200). As Botha argues, a metaphorical compound undergoes a change in both the semantic and the syntactic properties — with which transformational grammar cannot deal with: “[n]o theory of rule-governed creativity can be expected to predict these instances of rule-changing creativity” (p. 201). One of Botha’s examples is middelmannetjie, which can be translated literally as “middle-man”, but has the meaning of ‘(central) ridge (in road)’. In his opinion, the syntactic features of the literal sense are +Animate and +Human, while in the metaphorical sense these change to ‑Animate and ‑Human. If these syntactic feature specifications are not represented explicitly in grammar, then it would be unable to generate the sentence Die middelmannetjie is uit gruis opgebou (‘The middle-man is built up from gravel’) as grammatical when the compound occurring within it is used in a metaphorical sense. (And it would also be unable to indicate that the sentence is ungrammatical when the compound is not used in a metaphorical sense.) The problem lies in the fact that Botha — admittedly — fails to construct appropriate deep structures for a large number of Afrikaans compounds, from which the metaphorical meaning of the construction can be arrived at (as the surface structure).10 These are compounds that have a definite, perceivable relationship between 10. Lees (1968) does not differentiate between metaphorical compounds such as foxglove or bottleneck: he derives such constructions transformationally as surface structures from deep struc-

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

their literal and metaphorical meaning (such as kalklig, literally translated as “limelight”, but meaning ‘the centre of attention’). Botha argues that there is a group of Afrikaans metaphorical compounds for which it would be possible to construct more appropriate deep structures with the help of comparatives. Nevertheless, these deep structures are not adequate in the his view, since if these deep structures are kept fairly simple so that they can be applied to more than one compound, then the semantic interpretation assigned to them is too poor to account for the semantic intuitions that native speakers have about the meaning of these constructions. This problem is well illustrated by comparing the syntactically simple, and semantically poorer deep structure (3) of the compound vioolhaai (“violin shark”) with its syntactically more adequate deep structure (4):

(3) Die haai lyk soos ‘n viool. ‘The shark looks like a violin.’

(4) Die vorm van die lyf van die haai lyk soos die van ‘n viol. ‘The shape of the body of the shark looks like the shape of a violin.’

As Botha rightly argues, if one decides to complicate the deep structures of metaphorical compounds in the way exemplified in (4), then the base rules of Afrikaans grammar would be extended drastically. In addition, the deep structures would fail to communicate the intuitions that native speakers have regarding the relationship between the meaning of the non-metaphorical and the metaphorical senses of compounds.11 Botha dismisses the transformational approach in the account of idiomatic compounds as well, since the grammar in question cannot make a distinction between the deep structure that underlies the idiom and its phrasal counterpart. The problem is well illustrated with the examples of swartbord and swart bord: Botha quite rightly argues that these two constructions cannot be derived from the deep structure of Die bord is swart (‘The board is black’). In the deep structure that underlies the non-idiomatic phrase swart bord, it must be made explicit that this deep structure can undergo several transformations, producing for example negative (5) and interrogative (6) structures:

(5) Die bord is nie swart nie. ‘The board is not black.’

tures, with the help of the same rules that are used for the other, non-metaphorical compounds. 11. I would like to point out that compounds such as violin shark can be easily accounted for with the help of conceptual metonymy (and metaphor): there is a whole–part relationship between shark (whole) and the shape of the shark (part) on the one hand and between violin (whole) and the shape of the violin (part). This metonymy (whole for part) makes the metaphorical mapping between the two conceptual domains of shark and violin possible.

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(6) Is die bord swart? ‘Is the board black?’

However, in contrast, it must also be indicated that the deep structure that underlies the idiomatic compound swartbord cannot undergo these transformations. Botha arrives at the conclusion that transformational grammar cannot make this distinction. He raises the possibility of entering metaphorical and idiomatic compounds into the lexicon, which contains the full set of irregularities in a language, be they syntactic, semantic or phonological. Nevertheless, Botha points out that by placing metaphorical compounds into the lexicon as single lexical items implies that their “regular syntactic, stress and semantic properties cannot be presented as regular” (p. 231, italics added).12

2.2.2 Levi’s generativist account Probably the most far-reaching work on the semantics of nominal compounds within the generativist tradition is Levi’s (1978) analysis of complex nominals. In Levi’s definition, the term “complex nominal” encompasses three sets of expressions: (1) noun–noun nominal compounds such as apple cake and doghouse; (2) nominalizations such as government intervention and city planner; and (3) nominals containing nonpredicating (attributive only) adjectives such as electrical engineer and musical talent. What all the three types of nominals share is a head noun preceded by a modifying element. Levi claims that all complex nominals are derived by two syntactic processes: predicate nominalization and predicate deletion. In the latter case, the nominal compounds are a result of syntactic transformation in which clauses such as “cake with apples” surface as nominal compounds such as apple cake. The semantic relations between the member elements of the compound represent one of the nine recoverably deletable predicates such as cause, have, make, use, be, in, from and about (capitalisation as in the original). These predicates are deleted at surface structure but the interpretation of the compound is made possible by using the reconstituted relative clause. One of the problems of Levi’s proposal is the difficulty of classifying compounds based on this taxonomy since they might be interpreted by more than one recoverably deletable predicate. A classic example is provided by John R. Taylor (1989: 91), who points out that alligator shoes are taken as “shoes from alligator skin” rather than “shoes worn by alligators” (cf. horse shoes) or “shoes for walking on alligators” 12. Entering idiomatic compounds into the lexicon is equally unsatisfying, since by doing so we would imply that “their regular syntactic and stress properties and partially regular semantic characteristics cannot be presented as respectively regular and partially regular” (p. 231, italics added).

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

(cf. beach shoes) or “shoes for wearing during the alligator time” (cf. winter shoes). However, Levi was aware of this problem and proposed that multiple ambiguity can be done away with the help of pragmatic clues. Although grammatically all of these interpretations are possible, the context and encyclopaedic knowledge greatly reduce the range of variants. Further criticism has been provided by Seana Coulson (2000), who points out that the predicates are so general in meaning that they fail to denote specific concepts. While fertility pills, bug spray and birdballs (Levi’s examples) all entail the predicate for, the three kinds of purpose involve different interpretations. In the case of fertility pills (from the underlying relative clause “pills for fertility”) the pill is used to increase fertility; in bug spray (from “spray for bugs”) the spray is used for harming bugs; in birdballs (from “balls for birds”) the ball contains something nourishing for the birds (Levi 1978: 99). In addition, while fertility pills increase fertility, headache pills are taken to reduce the headache. Nevertheless, Levi’s aim is to account for the semantic content of nominal compounds, which means the content in their semantically equivalent relative clauses: “[m]y theory claims . . . that all we know for sure is that there is a relationship of intent or purpose between the head noun . . . and its pronominal modifier” (p. 99). It is up to the speaker (based on contextual information for example) to be able to pair abstract notions such as purpose or intent with more specific information regarding the entities involved in the relation (Coulson 2000). Coulson rightly criticises Levi’s theory for not being able to explain the highly specific interpretations that speakers give for nominal compounds. Levi (1978) bases her theory upon endocentric compounds and unfortunately touches upon the issue of exocentric compounds (which are defined as compounds where the referent does not denote a subset of the set of objects denoted by the head noun) only marginally. She lists three types of exocentric constructions: (1) compounds based on synecdoche such as blockhead to describe people and cottontail to describe animals; (2) those based on metaphor such as ladyfinger (a type of pastry) or foxglove (a type of flower); and (3) those which constitute coordinated structures (where neither noun can be taken as a head) such as secretary-treasurer or sofa-bed. Although nonheaded compounds are outside the scope of her study, Levi interestingly remarks that in the case of metaphorical and coordinated structures the semantic relation between the surface form and the unexpressed head noun is be: foxglove denotes ‘[a] flower which is [metaphorically] a fox’s glove’ while sofa-bed means ‘a piece of furniture which is both a sofa and a bed’ (p. 92). In the case of synecdoche-based exocentric compounds, the semantic relation between the surface form and the unexpressed head is have: accordingly, blockhead refers to ‘[a] person who has a brain like a block’. Since both be and have belong to the class of recoverably deletable predicates, exocentric compounds — in Levi’s view — are created in

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the same way as endocentric compounds, with the difference that in the case of the former a process of “beheading” (loss of the head noun) takes place after the transformational rules. Thus, blockhead is derived from *blockhead haver, a regular and endocentric compound similar to home owner (except that *haver never surfaces in the derived form). However, Levi’s theory does not explain how the metaphorical or metonymical interpretation of exocentric compounds is possible, although it should be borne in mind that an analysis of nonheaded constructions was not one of her goals. In fact, she claims that the derivational rules of compounds are not able to “predict either that the CN [complex nominal] is in fact a metaphor or the way in which it is so taken” (p. 93). Although metaphorical exocentric compounds are treated as a distinct class in her analysis, she notes that this identification is for purely “didactic” and not “theoretical” reasons, to point the reader’s attention to the “fruitfulness of the predicate be for deriving both lexicalised and creative CN [complex nominal] metaphors” (ibid). Very interestingly, Levi introduces a “continuum of derivational transparency” (p. 63) for compounds. On one end of the pole are completely transparent constructions such as mountain village that are derived by completely regular syntactic processes. Slightly less transparent cases are exemplified by briefcase and polar bear, which might have been completely transparent at one point but now have meanings that have undergone semantic narrowing or broadening. The third group contains the exocentric compounds discussed above while the last two groups are the most opaque ones and include compounds that are partially or wholly idiomatic such as flea market and honeymoon.13 The significance of this gradient is in lexicalisation: according to Levi, new forms produced by regular derivational processes (which are at the most transparent end of the continuum) do not enter the lexicon of a speech community as long as they retain derivational transparency. However, forms which acquire idiosyncratic semantic interpretations must be learnt as constructions with discrete meanings and thus move lower down the derivational transparency continuum in the direction of opacity.

2.2.3 Selkirk’s word structure rules Elizabeth O. Selkirk (1982) places compound formation within the generative framework by arguing for a context-free word structure rule for generating compound word structures and proposes the general rewrite rule of N → {N A V P} N for 13. Other linguists have also propagated a continuum of transparency; see for example David A. Cruse (1991), René Dirven and Marjolijn Verspoor (1998) and Andrew Spencer (1991). For a detailed discussion, see Chapter 4.

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

the generation of English nominal compounds. She points out that the majority of English compounds is syntactically and semantically right-headed: “[f]or the most part, though, English compounds are right-headed endocentric constructions” (p. 19). The head of the compound is determined by the Right-Hand Head Rule, proposed originally by Edwin Williams (1981). However, Selkirk points out that the Right-Hand Head Rule is not a universal feature of language since languages such as French or Vietnamese abound in left-headed constructions. Thus right-headedness is a part of English grammar, “a parameter which is set for the language” (p. 21). Selkirk claims that Williams’s rule needs to be revised, as it cannot accommodate English verb-particle constructions where the head is on the left. Selkirk slightly modifies the rule by suggesting that the head of a compound will be rightmost element that is characterised by the same “feature complex” as the compound as a whole. The head plays an important role in the semantics of the constructions as well; it is this member that denotes the class of elements to which the element denoted by the compound is a subset of. However, Selkirk points out that outside of verbal compounds14 the range of possible semantic relations between the member elements of compounds is so vast that it is impossible to properly characterise even the majority of cases. This comment is all the more surprising considering the fact that Selkirk’s monograph appeared after Levi’s (1978) and Pamela Downing’s (1977) highly influential and groundbreaking work on the semantics of nominal constructions (and also not forgetting that Levi aimed to accommodate the semantics of compounds within a generativist grammar). Selkirk nevertheless does devote a couple of pages to the idiosyncratic nature of exocentric compounds. It is interesting to note that Selkirk looks upon this linguistic phenomenon as exceptional when she wishes to examine “the few cases of exocentric (nonheaded) compounds in English” (p. 23). In Selkirk’s interpretation, “exocentric” is an umbrella term that contains several distinct syntactic types, all formed by the same set of rules as the endocentric compounds (see above). Selkirk makes note of the following exocentric types of compounds: (1) N → V N, such as cutthroat or pickpocket; (2) N → A N, such as redhead or longlegs (which she also refers to as the classic bahuvrihi types); and (3) N → V P, such as sit-in or runaway. The nonheadedness of these compounds comes from their semantic — and not syntactic — feature: “the compound does not denote a subset of the entities denoted by the head noun” (p. 26). Thus exocentric compounds are syntactically headed but semantically unheaded. Selkirk does not go into the explanation of the semantics of these constructions at all; this is not that surprising considering her scepticism of characterising endocentric compounds (see above), let alone exocentric ones. She 14. She defines verbal compounds as nominal or adjectival compounds where the head noun or adjective is derived from a verb (e.g. time-saver and handwoven respectively).

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proposes instead special rules in the semantic component of English grammar by which exocentric compounds can be interpreted. Unfortunately no other reference is made to the nature of these rules.

2.3. Alternative approaches The relative failure of the transformationalist approach gave way to theorising about other factors — which lay outside of syntax — that might also influence compounding. In this vein, pragmatic considerations were considered as highly relevant. One of the advocates of a pragmatics-oriented word formation theory,15 Herbert E. Brekle (1978) argues that new word formations are coined primarily for communication purposes in actual speech situations and are not intended to expand the lexicon. He makes reference to the “Minimax Principle” as a governing criterion of German compounding (which is possibly universal): the speaker tries to minimize the surface complexity of the utterance while at the same time aims to maximize the information that is communicated to the hearer. This idea of language economy also emerged in Charles Li (1971, in Downing 1977), who remarked that one of the functions of compounds is to serve as a means for “telegraphic speech”: cradle song is a compact, shortened version of ‘a song to lull a child in the cradle to sleep’.16 Given the problematic nature of uncovering the underlying deleted verb of nominal compounds, Bauer (1979) proposes that a knowledge of the world is essential to reach a correct interpretation of a compound expression. This — to a certain extent — can be formalised by the semantic description of the lexemes making up the compound expression. Thus, the semantic make-up of flour contains the notion of ‘something ground’, while wind contains ‘force’. These help us to differentiate between the meanings of flourmill (‘a mill where flour is ground’) and windmill (‘a mill powered by wind’) respectively. In Bauer’s (1979) view, knowledge of the artefacts connected with a society is required for the formation and understanding of exocentric compounds as well. To provide names such as monkshood or ladysmock (for various plants) in the first place, it is necessary to know what a monk’s hood or a lady’s smock looks like. However, once the terms have been lexicalised — as it is pointed out by Bauer — it is no longer necessary to be aware of the basis of the comparison. In addition, speakers must also be conscious of the qualities associated with certain entities: such knowledge is incorporated in expressions such as dogfight, catnap or settler’s clock (all denoting ‘kookaburra’). Bauer’s suggestion — that both the semantic make-up of 15. Since Brekle, the role of pragmatics within morphological theory has become a significant field of study. For an overview, see Ferenc Kiefer (1998). 16. On this view see also Adams (2001), section 2.3.3.

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

the lexemes and knowledge of the world are required in the interpretation of compounds — is a healthy addition to the highly formalised and syntax-oriented approach of the transformationalists, especially in the light of Beard’s (1977) proposal, who looked upon semi-idiomatic compounds as lexemes which fall outside of a synchronic study of language.

2.3.1 Downing’s account of English compounding: the role of pragmatics One of the most often cited studies on the semantics of English compounds is Pamela Downing’s classic article which appeared in 1977. She investigated compounding in non-lexicalised forms — according to Downing, one of the main problems with previous compound studies was that they analysed already existing forms which had undergone a certain degree of lexicalisation, and while a newly created compound can be interpreted in more than one way, the majority of lexicalised compounds are associated with a reading that is based on only one of the relationships which might hold between the member elements. Downing also points out that the referent class of the compound may be extended through processes of metaphor and metonymy — unfortunately she does not elaborate on the topic. Note, however, compounds such as moon-fish or trumpet plant — both compounds are given by Downing as examples of the Comparison relationship. I believe that both compounds exhibit a metaphorical relationship: the former is a fish resembles the moon its shape or appearance and the latter is a plant that looks like a trumpet. These are similar to the type of compounds in Beatrice Warren’s (1978) analysis that are exemplified by clubfoot, a foot that is shaped like a club (and thus has a distorted shape). In my view, such compounds bear a metaphorical relationship between the two constituents of the compound: the entity denoted by N2 is metaphorically understood through the entity denoted by N1. However, Downing excluded “deictic compounds” from the study. Deictic compounds are used in conversational situations to refer to a temporary state of affairs, thereby serving as a referential device. For example, Downing cites apple-juice seat — i.e. the seat in front of which a glass of apple juice had been placed — as an example of deictic compounds. While a compound such as apple-juice seat might be used to distinguish one seat from others’ in its vicinity, the lexicalisation potential of such a compound is quite low because it is based on a very temporary relationship. Downing’s data showed that novel compounds based on relationships perceived to be habitual or generic were much more common than those based on temporary relationships: by basing the compound on a habitual relationship, the speaker is able to ensure the interpretability of the expression. Thus when hearing a compound such as owl-house, it is unlikely for the hearer to conceive of this construction as meaning ‘a house that owls fall upon’ or ‘the house where an owl flew by’ because

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these are not considered as typical and habitual properties of houses. Similarly, ‘a pumpkin that was run over by a bus’ was not considered as a possible meaning for pumpkin bus (p. 832). The new compound must also convey further information: a sequence such as egg-bird was judged unacceptable because all birds come from eggs. Head hat was rejected on similar grounds, since all hats are worn on the head. Downing does not wish to give a finite set of compounding relationships between the member elements such as Levi (1978), instead proposes an inventory which should include the following relations (examples of Downing, p. 828): whole–part (duck foot); half–half (giraffe-cow); part–whole (pendulum-clock); composition (stone furniture); comparison (pumpkin bus);17 time (summer dust); place (eastern Oregon meal); source (vulture shirt); product (honey glands); user (flea wheelbarrow); purpose (hedge hatchet) and occupation (coffee man).18

2.3.2 Warren’sinvestigations of the semantics of English compounding patterns Warren (1978) studied the semantic relation between the components of English noun–noun compounds among a corpus of 4566 nominal combinations. Her aim was to unearth systematicity (if there is one) about the semantic patterns of a particular type of compound, and not to account for English compounding in accordance with a particular theory of language. This attitude makes Warren’s study all the more interesting, since her line of analysis is not biased towards specific methods but represents an approach that is not constrained by the limits of various linguistic theories — as opposed to Lees’s (1968) or Levi’s (1978) studies for example, which complied with the tenets of transformational grammar and early generative theory respectively. Warren established twelve major classes in which she placed the vast majority of noun–noun combinations of the corpus. The various classes will be listed here with respect to their frequency, starting with the most frequent type. Whole–part (20.2%): spoon handle; source–result (13.5%): student group;19 purpose (11.8%): 17. Downing asked subjects to rank the meaning of pumpkin bus as ‘a bus that turns into a pumpkin at night’. One person said that this was a likely interpretation of the compound; six found it possible; while one subject considered it impossible. However, I do not agree with Downing in classifying pumpkin bus as a comparison-type compound if it has the meaning that is given in her paper. If the bus does turn into a pumpkin at night, then it exemplifies a copula relation, i.e. the bus is a pumpkin (at night). 18. These relationships were attested in an experiment as well, in which Downing gave subjects novel noun–noun compounds without any contextual support and asked the people to provide interpretations for the examples. 19. According to Warren, part–whole compounds, where N1 represents the parts, subunits or members that wholly constitute N2, constitute one of the subgroups of the source–result cat-

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

Table 2.1 A comparison of Warren’s (1978) and Downing’s (1977) semantic relations between the two components of a noun–noun compound Warren (1978) whole–part source–result purpose place–object part–whole origin–object time�� –object resemblance activity–actora copula size–whole goal–object – –

Downing (1977) whole–part (duck foot) product (honey glands) purpose (hedge hatchet) place (eastern Oregon meal) part–whole (pendulum-clock) composition (stone furniture) time (summer dust) comparison (pumpkin bus) occupation (coffee man) half–half (giraffe-cow) – – source (vulture shirt) user (flea wheelbarrow)

aAccording to Warren (p. 210), the modifier element indicates the regular business, task, activity or interest with which the referent of the head noun is involved.

ball bat; place–object (10.6%): sea port; part–whole (7.5%): armchair; origin–object (7.3%): hay fever; copula (4.4%): girlfriend;20 size–whole (3.8%): 3-day affair; activity–actor (3.4%): cowboy; time–object (3%): Sunday paper; resemblance (1.6%): clubfoot; goal–object (0.3%): moon rocket. Needless to say, the twelve classes are subdivided into further categories, which spell out the degrees of difference between compounds of the same group more explicitly: while both office door and room temperature belong to the whole–part category, in the former door forms a discrete, integral part of office, while in the latter example temperature is a feature or quality of room. It is probably no simple coincidence that the majority of Downing’s (1977) list of semantic relations coincides with those of Warren (see Table 2.1). There were 562 examples that Warren did not place into any of the twelve major classes, these included proper name compounds (Washington State), dvanda comegory. I do not agree with Warren in classifying student group as a source–result compound: this construction represents rather a member–group type of compound (not discussed by Warren). According to Warren, group–member compounds — which are discussed in detail — are a subcategory of the part–whole class: such compounds are constructions where the modifier noun refers to a group of people, an organisation or a community, while the head element is a member of this group. Examples include union member, councilwoman and Peace Corps girl (p. 129). Student group is rather an instance of this semantic relationship working in the other direction: it is the head that refers to a group of people, while the modifier denotes a member of this group. 20. Some explanation is necessary here with reference to copula compounds. In these constructions, the connecting verb between the components is be, and the compound does not allow for a prepositional paraphrase, nor is it possible to assign the constituent nouns any particular semantic roles.

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pounds21 (poet-painter or secretary-treasurer), idiosyncratic compounds and unanalysed compounds22 (g–p men, hour angle, summit magic). Unfortunately, Warren does not provide a gloss for the unanalysed compounds, thus no further analysis can be undertaken into the nature of these constructions. Warren describes idiosyncratic compounds as constructions where the semantic relation between the component elements is neither explicit, nor in accordance with established patterns. She claims that such expressions are opaque as to the semantic relation between the constituents, since the hearer cannot “fall back” upon already existing patterns of English compounding. Examples include minute man (‘man ready at a minute’s notice’) and stage coach (‘coach that goes in stages’). In my view, such compounds are not idiosyncratic. In fact, they will be regarded in this study as a further subtype of creative compound formation and will be discussed in section 7.1.4. Warren claims that there are three major factors that generally restrict compounding (pp. 72–5). For one, the modifier must restrict the reference of the head noun. This can be connected to the general function of compounds, which is to serve as referring units: compounds are not formed to provide information about the head, but to name some referent. Thus we have water rat but no *water fish: the latter does not name anything that the meaning of fish does not include. Secondly, we should be able to connect the compound with a referent: the hearer is at a loss when trying to interpret *village car, although town car does exist: the former does not refer to anything in the world that we know. Third, established words cannot be replaced at will: it has to be accepted that certain compounds are excluded simply because their place in the vocabulary is already taken. For this reason, *rainshade will never replace umbrella. Warren calls attention to compounds that have undergone “idiomatization”. In such constructions, one of the constituents in the compound is used figuratively. It is important to note that the Warren does not regard such expressions as diachronic phenomena, i.e. that the meaning of all idiomatised compounds have evolved and are different from their original meanings. Similarly to the hypotheses of this book, Warren instead argues that such constructions could very well be synchronic phenomena, and that it is possible to form these compounds from words that are used figuratively or in a specialised sense, and further, that these constructions can also be categorised on the basis of existing compounding patterns. Although Warren does not go into details regarding this claim, it is one that is highly noteworthy, since the view which considered idioms as nothing more than dead metaphors 21. Warren came across only ten such instances in her corpus, in these cases the first noun does not modify or characterise the second noun. 22. Warren found 23 compounds where she was not able to establish the semantic relation between the component nouns.

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

was very prevailing in linguistic literature, and the vast majority of linguistic analyses did away with a proper account of idioms by arguing that the meaning of such terms had to be learned individually. Warren’s (1992) more recent study analyses changes in word meaning. Although her analysis is not restricted to noun–noun combinations, it is nevertheless an interesting and relevant study, since one of Warren’s hypotheses regarding meaning change is that metaphorical and metonymical extensions constitute one of the possible ways in which memorised meanings may be modified so as to yield a novel contextual meaning (which may become later on a novel dictionary meaning). Warren argues that every word meaning consists of a set of necessary features. When the context invalidates one or several of the necessary features of the word, this will cause the interpreter to abandon the literary interpretation and search for a replacement. Thus, for example, if the context suggests that the referential meaning of mouse is a device used with a computer, the interpreter will allow mouse to refer to this object, provided that there is some connection between the conventional and the new referents. Connections that are readily accepted include similarity between the old and new referents (metaphor), and some kind of possessive, locative, temporal, causal or constitute relation (metonymy). Warren gives as an example for metonymy body (‘a leotard-type blouse’), where the new referent is conceived of as part of the old (i.e. ‘that which covers the body’). Warren did not restrict her corpus to any of the major word classes (her examples contain nouns, adjectives, verbs as well as adverbs), nor to any sort of semantic criteria, that is, her corpus contains expressions that have turned up in other linguistic analyses under the “exocentric” or “bahuvrihi” category (e.g. cutthroat). She claims that her data set consists of 1000 senses and not words, out of which 500 exemplify sense developments within ordinary English, 500 illustrate the development of standard senses into slang expressions and 63 sense developments within slang (i.e. when a slang sense has given rise to another slang sense). Her results (p. 126) show that metaphor is the most often used device in sense development, accounting for 45% of the corpus. Metonymy accounts for 7% of the meaning changes, while the combined effect of metaphor and metonymy acts upon 2% of the examples. Before I discuss Warren’s analyses of metaphorical and metonymical compound expressions in detail, I would like to look at Warren’s other sense development “devices” as well. One of these is particularisation (23% of the total corpus), which in other words is meaning specialisation. For example, Warren (p. 47) gives the example of chicken run, whose source meaning is ‘place/route where chickens run’. In her view, the established particularised meaning of chicken run is ‘cage for fowl’, which has developed the novel particularised meaning of ‘route out of Zimbabwe used by whites’. I do not agree with Warren in classifying the novel meaning of chicken run as an instance of particularisation: in my view, the meaning of the expression

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requires the activation of metaphor, where the whites are conceptualised as chicken, while the cage where the chickens run is understood as the route leading out of Zimbabwe that is safe for whites to travel on (just as the conventionalised use of chicken run refers to a place where the chicken can safely peck at the seeds). Warren also classified lead poisoning (‘poisoning caused by bullet(s) in the body’) as an example of particularisation, where the novel sense development, in my opinion, is rather an instance of metonymy. Warren gives ‘poisoning caused by consumption of lead’ as the established meaning of the compound, but it is not clear whether she considers the established meaning as the antecedent of the novel meaning (though it is quite probable that Warren saw the established meaning as the basis from which the meaning of the expression underwent particularisation to denote the novel meaning of ‘poisoning caused by bullet(s) in the body’). I believe that the construction did not undergo a meaning particularisation from the established meaning, but got its novel meaning through the metonymical relationship between the modifier element (lead) and bullet (constitution schema). Mary Ellen Ryder’s (1994) study has shown that novel compounds are formed on established linguistic patterns or “templates”, thus the pattern of the established meaning of lead poisoning “lent itself ” to the novel meaning. However, I do agree with Warren on the point that the novel and established meanings often have the character of puns (p. 46) — due to the fact that they share the same word-form. The language user might have created the novel meaning with the established meaning also in mind, but nevertheless, I would like to emphasise once again that the sense development is more of an example of metonymy than meaning specialisation. Warren analyses a number of constructions (including noun–noun combinations which would be taken as “exocentric” from a traditional point of view) with the help of metaphor and metonymy (though not in a cognitive linguistic framework). In discussing metonymical constructions, Warren notes that only certain types of metonymical relations occur regularly, such as composition as in desktop, possession (car door), location (muscleman), causation (bullet hole) and comparison (frogman). However, she also admits that her corpus of 68 metonymical examples is not truly representative. It should be noted, however, that in the case of noun–noun combinations, Warren analyses only the relation of the constituents to one another, and leaves the relation of the constituents’ meaning to the meaning of the whole untouched: she does not shed light on how the various elements of desktop motivate the compound’s meaning. Her discussion of the use of metaphor in sense development is based on a much larger corpus (450 examples), and thus can be viewed as a more representative analysis than the metonymy-based constructions. Warren argues that a new sense based on metaphor can arise if “the unnamed notion has some obvious similarity with some named notion” (p. 93). She claims that by far the greatest number of oc-

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

currences was similarity as to effect, as in banana skin (‘something that causes embarrassment’), which is something that can cause an embarrassing mishap (like a banana skin), i.e. has an effect that is similar to that of a banana skin. Second most frequent feature was similarity as to concrete shape, which Warren exemplified with beachball (‘sphere for transporting astronauts’) — an object that has a similar shape as the ball that is used to play with on the beach. Other features that were exploited for creating new senses from already existing words included behaviour, position and consistency, size, sound, motion, composition, etc.

2.3.3 Adams revisited The scope of Adams’s (2001) study is the realm of complex words, in which a significant part deals with compound formation. A short section (pp. 81–2) looks at exocentric compounds (where exocentricity is based upon semantic criteria). Adams claims that such constructions are small in number and are formed on the basis of three patterns: (1) the relation between the elements is similar to that of verb and complement, as in pickpocket; (2) the elements are a combination of adjective and noun as in highbrow; and (3) the elements are a combination of noun and noun, as in spoonbill. While her categorisation is quite generalised, Adams does make an interesting comment: “Many examples [of exocentric compounds] are likely to be encountered as modifiers within noun phrases, as in ‘a free-lance writer’, ‘long-nose pliers’, ‘a maidenhair fern’, ‘break-neck speed’, ‘stop-gap measures’” (italics as in original, p. 82). She also claims (p. 88, n5) that exocentric compounds are very similar to metonymic expressions confined to a particular speech situation (as in ‘the mushroom omelette is waiting for its bill’) — which most probably does apply to many unlexicalised constructions which have a meaning only on the spur of the moment (as the much-quoted example of apple-juice seat in Downing 1977). Adams presents a survey of some of the semantic relations that can exist between the elements of a nominal compound, though it is not clear what sort of analysis she based her categories on and what her criteria were for including certain patterns in the book — and excluding others. Nevertheless, she remarks very rightly (p. 84) that one of the main problems of any sort of categorisation is that the various groups are not homogenous and many of the constructions are able to fit more than one category on the one hand (e.g.: are the second elements of sleeping bag or springboard instruments or locations?), and the definitions of the categories are not watertight on the other hand (e.g.: ‘anxiety’ as a cause in anxiety neurosis has definitely a more direct role than what ‘tide’ plays in tide waves). Adams implies that the definitions of compound categories need to be left open to accommodate all the various manifestations of semantic patterns among the constituents — a view which is completely in harmony with a prototypical perspective of compound categories.

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Adams (2001) emphasises contextual importance for understanding compound expressions and claims that compounds serve a double purpose: they express a new lexical concept or serve as a compact version of a longer expression in the neighbouring context which provides a full gloss for their meaning. In the latter function, the compounds can either follow the material which defines them, or can actually point forward by standing before the context or sentence(s) that incorporates their meaning. This is often employed by newspaper headlines, as Adams remarks. She (p. 88) gives the example of a Guardian headline: “Snake girls’ record” which precedes the text in which the meaning of snake girls is actually explained (as girls who live in the same room with a snake). Yakov Malkiel (1966, in Adams 2001) introduced the notion of “leader-word” to refer to words which serve as a possible model for further constructions and are evoked by a series of others. For example, beatnik has been a leader-word for other ‑nik constructions denoting individuals. This view is carried further by Ryder (1994), who argues that groups of compounds with an identical first or second element are very often formed by analogy, on the basis of an already existing pattern. In this respect, Ryder gives the example of road rage (‘rage directed by motorists at others in difficult driving conditions’), which provided the base on which further constructions such as trolley rage (of supermarket shoppers) or rod rage (of anglers) was formed. Although Ryder does not use this particular terminology, it can nevertheless be remarked that road rage acted as a “leader-word” for further constructions also bearing rage as the second constituent of the compound.

2.4. Summary This chapter focused on the diversity of approaches towards the issue of English endo- and exocentric noun–noun combinations. It can be rightly claimed that exocentric compounds have been generally excluded from linguistic analyses. Descriptivists such as Bloomfield (1933), Jespersen (1954) and Marchand (1960) discussed only metonymy-based noun–noun combinations, and ignored other kinds of nonendocentric compounds. Although Adams (1973) did include a class of metaphorical compounds in her analysis, the categorisational system she uses is so arbitrary that it cannot be considered as a serious improvement on the subject. Botha (1968) pointed out the failure of the transformationalist/generativist approach to accommodate metonymical and metaphorical compounds. This prompted linguists, such as Selkirk (1982), to argue for the creation of separate semantic rules in the grammar by which exocentric compounds could be interpreted. Francis Katamba (1993) heavily criticises Selkirk (1982) for introducing the idea of separate semantic rules. He argues instead for a simple listing of the meanings. In

Chapter 2. Alternative theories

Katamba’sview, both idioms and exocentric compounds are listemes with regard to their semantics — which is opaque, i.e. not subject to compositionality. This is the reason why, according to Katamba, exocentric compounds are used much less frequently than endocentric compounding in the creation of new words. However, if the semantics of exocentric compounds is opaque then why bother using them at all? It would be more evident — following Katamba’s line of reasoning — to denote things only with semantically endocentric compounds. Yet the simple fact that English does have such constructions implies that either English speakers like to invent dim and murky terms when creating a new word for public access or that the meaning of exocentric compounds is not as opaque as it seems.

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Cognitive linguistics Principles and methodology The methodology that will be used throughout the book to analyse English noun– noun combinations is based upon cognitive linguistic theory. Thus I will first give an overview of the main principles of cognitive linguistics, concentrating on how it is different from the generativist framework. Next I will outline the Langackerian system of grammar that I will often make reference to. The notions of conceptual metaphor and metonymy will also be introduced, concepts that are at the centre of cognitive semantic theory and which are also at the core of the analyses of English creative compounds. Last but not least I will present an overview of the various approaches towards noun–noun combinations, within the framework of cognitive linguistic theory. There does not seem to be a general consensus even within cognitive linguistics regarding the analysis of noun–noun compounds. However, with the advent of blending theory, provocative and exciting proposals have emerged on the analysis of compounds. Constructions that have puzzled linguists before have finally become analysable: as Verena Haser (2003) argues, “[b]ecause of mental spaces, the usual objections against compositionality in cases such as fake gun (that it cannot simultaneously be a gun and a fake) can be handled: the object is a gun in one mental space but a fake in another”. In my analyses of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds I have also relied heavily on blending. Therefore, I wish to give a detailed account of conceptual integration theory and how it has been put to use in examining the semantics of compound expressions. It is this methodological base, coupled with the other principles of cognitive linguistic theory, that I will be expanding on in Chapters 5 to 8.

3.1. Establishing a new linguistic philosophy Cognitive linguistics emerged as a linguistic theory around the late 1970s, receiving impetus from several different sources (Taylor 2002): it wished to take a stand against the formalistic-logical description of linguistic meaning; at the same time it was greatly affected by work on prototype-based categorisation, conducted by Eleanor Rosch and her colleagues. It can be claimed that both generative grammar

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and cognitive linguistics are “cognitive”: both study language as a mental phenomenon. Yet while the former is interested in our knowledge of the language and seeks to find an answer to how such knowledge can be acquired, cognitive linguistics studies our knowledge of the world and how natural language contributes to this (Taylor 2002). To differentiate between the two theories, the generativist framework is often referred to as the “modular” approach, while cognitive linguistics is termed as a “holistic” enterprise (Kertész 2000; Kiefer 2000). Nevertheless, Péter Pelyvás (2003) rightly argues that cognitive linguistics would not have come about without the generativist theory of language, and sees the former as a possible — alternative — continuation of the latter. Yet cognitive linguistics goes further by establishing a new paradigm that attacks all the major assumptions of the generativist tradition. First of all, it goes against the objectivist notions of language and philosophy in general (Sweetser and Hunt 1995), which governed Anglo-American twentieth century linguistic thought (Lakoff and Johnson 1999). Richard Rorty (1991) rightly points out that within contemporary culture, the notions of “science”, “rationality”, “objectivity” and “truth” are closely bound up with one another. Science, he argues, is thought of as providing us with objective truth, i.e. truth that is in correspondence to reality (and “the only sort of truth worthy of the name” — p. 35). What are the main tenets of this tradition of thought, originating in analytic philosophy? First, meaning is mind-independent, objective, and publicly accessible. Second, the meaning of a word correlates with things in the world, and third, the meaning of a sentence is based upon truth conditions: a sentence is true if the words fit the state of affairs in the world (Lakoff and Johnson 1999). According to Rorty (1980), this philosophy of language centres around the problem of systemising meaning and reference by using the advantages of quantificational logic and to “generally produce a clear and intuitively satisfying picture of the way in which notions like ‘truth,’ ‘meaning,’ ‘necessity,’ and ‘name’ fit together” (p. 257). From the denial of an objective meaning outside the human mind follows an opposition towards formalism: cognitive linguistics rejects the view that language can be described with the help of mathematical-like theorems, thus runs counter to any formalist enterprise towards language, such as the generativist tradition. . In the present book, “cognitive linguistics” will be applied to the holistic view. . If the world contains a set of entities, properties and relations, then the states of the world can be described by set-theoretical structures, where meaning will be a relationship between symbols of a formal language and entities in a set-theoretical model (Lakoff and Johnson 1999). . However, in one of his relatively recent works, Ray Jackendoff (1997: 4) argues that while the formalisation of language helps one to be “more abstract, rigorous, and compact”, it also has its pitfalls: too much formalisation hides the main objective of linguistic enquiry, namely “insight into language” (ibid.).

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

The impact of formalisation on linguistic enquiry was enormous: it resulted in transforming a “socially-based field of enquiry to an algorithmic science” (Sweetser and Hunt 1995: 328). Eve Sweetser and Patricia Hunt quote the linguist Jacqueline Henkel (1990) in their article, who referred to Chomskyan linguistic theory as “science”. It should be borne in mind, however, that the status of linguistics as a “science” has been emphasised by many linguists from the second half of the twentieth century onwards, so as to differentiate it from the “subjective, speculative and unsystematic” traditional investigations into language that existed before (Lyons 1970: 16). Traditional grammar, which originated in Greece in the fifth century bc, was heavily influenced by philosophy and literary criticism and it was from these influences that Chomskyan grammar wished to free itself from, by emphasising the scientific description of language which is “carried out systematically on the basis of objectively verifiable observations and within the framework of some general theory appropriate to the data” (ibid.). George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (1999) claim that the current state of affairs in contemporary linguistics is a “clash between empirical linguistics and a priori philosophical assumptions that, knowingly or not, have been adopted by certain linguistic theorists” (p. 469). It was mainly through the publication of the works of Ronald W. Langacker (1987, 1991a, 1991b), together with those of George Lakoff (1987, 1993) that paved the way for a structured, uniform theory of cognitive linguistics. Langacker challenges the Chomskyan view of the autonomy of grammar, which isolates language from other sources of mental experience and which also maintains that the other components of language, such as the lexicon and semantics, are also separate “modules” of the mind. Langacker claims instead that language is not autonomous from cognitive processing but is vested in general human cognition: “Meaning is equated with conceptualization. Linguistic semantics must therefore attempt the structural analysis and explicit description of abstract entities like thoughts and concepts” (1991b: 2). Langacker also radically questions the notion of pure, syntactic form, since in his view language hardly ever exhibits form without content, thus grammatical structures are motivated by and reflect meaning: “. . . language is neither self-contained nor describable without essential reference to cognitive processing. Grammatical structures [. . .] are claimed [. . .] to be inherently symbolic” (1991b: 1). Langacker (2000b) argues that natural language can only be adequately described with the help of a cognitive linguistic approach, where “cognitive” means . Lakoff and Johnson (1999) do tend to blur the distinction between the two meanings of the word “empirical”: whether cognitive linguistics is an empirical enterprise because many of its claims are supported by psycholinguistic data or whether “empirical” should be taken in the philosophical sense, i.e. that our knowledge of the world comes from sensory experience primarily.

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an identification of meaning with conceptualisation. In Langacker’s interpretation, conceptualisation is basically any type of mental experience, including novel and established conceptions, as well as immediate sensory, motor and emotive experience: “. . . linguistic meaning is seen as the product of mental activity on the part of physically embodied, socio-culturally grounded human minds” (p. 26). However, by adopting the view that meaning is subjective, it does not mean necessarily that meaning and language in general cannot be the focus of scientific research. One of the most important findings of cognitive linguistics is that conceptualisation exhibits structure and organisation, which can be justified by the means of wide applicability to diverse sets of data, grounding in well-established cognitive phenomena, predictions concerning distribution and well-formedness, motivation from cross-linguistic distribution and intuitive naturalness (ibid.). What are then the main theoretical assumptions of cognitive linguistics that clearly differentiate it from the generative approach (based on Taylor 2002)? For one, it claims that language is inherently symbolic: form is not devoid of meaning. Pelyvás (1994) provides a very clear example to illustrate this point. Consider the following two sentences: (a) “John loaded the truck with hay”; and (b) “John loaded hay onto the truck”. Pelyvás argues that the different syntactic structures can be explained on the grounds of the different ways reality is perceived. In sentence (a), the truck was filled (i.e. it is full of hay), while in (b) the truck is not full with hay — the hay merely changed location. As the author claims, “. . . a situation is not described as it is ‘objectively given’ . . . The ‘observer’ plays a very active role in the process, interpreting what (s)he sees, and imposing a structure on it . . . the resulting sentence (utterance) will evoke very different pathways in an elaborate network which cognitive grammar identifies with meaning” (p. 120). Second, it posits that language is not isolable from general cognition, thus there is no autonomous syntax, nor separate modules or components of grammar. Third, meaning is not objective but has a perspectival nature: language does not reflect the world objectively because humans conceive and portray the same situation in more than one way. This process is called by Langacker (1991b, 2000b) as “construal”: every semantic structure requires at least one domain in order for it to be conceptualised in the speaker’s head. For example, to be able to conceptualise hypotenuse, we need to also conceptualise the domain of a right-angled triangle. Without the latter, the former would make absolutely no sense. There are a number of basic domains which are “cognitively irreducible”, such as the domain of time, our capacity to deal with two and three dimensional spatial configurations, the colour space, the pitch scale, temperature sensations and emotive domains. However, the content of a domain can be structured — construed — in different ways, depending on the speaker’s preference, viewpoint or position. Fourth, all our concepts employ imaginative aspects of the mind, such as con-

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

ceptual metaphor and metonymy, frames, mental spaces, blending and prototypes. It should be kept in mind, however, that these claims were not formed a priori as philosophical assumptions, but were “discovered” by empirical evidence as cognitive linguistic thought evolved through the findings of an ever-increasing body of international researchers: “Its findings [...] contradict established philosophy, but they were not initially assumed. It looks for converging evidence. It is free to study the mind and language in all their manifestations” (Lakoff and Johnson 1999: 496).

3.2. The Langackerian system of grammar Langacker (1987) maintains that all of the structures in language (lexical, phonological, morphological and syntactic) can be described by three types of units: semantic, phonological and symbolic. A symbolic unit constitutes of two poles: a semantic one on one end and a phonological one on the other end. This relation is symbolised by Langacker as [[sem]/[phon]]. That is, the symbolic unit table has the form [[table]/[teɪbəl]], where capitalisation is a notation for the semantic structure and the phonological structure is represented phonetically. Symbolic units form a continuum of schematicity. Thus the symbolic units representing grammatical categories such as noun and verb will be highly schematised; a noun will be conceived of as [[thing]/[x]], while a verb will bear the structure of [[process]/ [y]]. x and y are highly schematised phonological structures, specifying little more than the presence of some phonological content (pp. 16–17). Cognitive linguistics concentrates on the relations that can exist between units, whether these are phonological, semantic or symbolic. One of the most important relations is the vertical relation of schema and instance (see Figure 3.1): the vertical relation that holds between units varies in detail. Thus a unit that is specified in greater detail may count as an instance of another unit, which is specialised in lesser detail, and which is schematic for the former. The relationship depicted in Figure 3.1 can apply equally to phonological, semantic and symbolic units. Semantic units combine with each other to form more complex structures through the establishment of a valence relation: “Two units, x and y, enter a valence relation, if some element in the structure of x is construed as identical with some element in the structure y and can be unified with it.” (Taylor 2002: 229). A valence relation can be described as either one of the following three relations: head–complement, where a complement elaborates (gives additional conceptual substance . The idea that our abstract concepts arise from metaphorical and metonymical processes of thought was propagated by the modern classic, Metaphors We Live By (Lakoff and Johnson 1980).

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Figure 3.1 The relation between a more abstractly characterised unit (schema) and more fully specified units [a] and [b] (after Taylor 2002, fig. 2.3)

to) an entity already present, schematically, in the semantic structure of the head; and head–modifier or appositional: “In an expression yx, x and y are in apposition if x and y each designate one and the same entity.” (Taylor 2002: 235). At this point it is necessary to explain what cognitive linguistics calls a “head” of a complex structure. A constituent x can be called a head (also termed as “profile determinant” in Langacker’s writings) if in an expression xy the profile of x is schematic for the profile of xy. Thus the complex structure inherits the profile of the profile determinant (hence its name). In an expression xy headed by y, however, x is the modifier of y if y elaborates a substructure in the semantic structure of x. Alternatively, it can be said that the modifier provides additional — and optional — conceptual substance to the head (Taylor 2002: 230–1). Langacker also establishes the term “constructional schema” for a highly abstract schema that specifies the nature of the assembly of symbolic units. Figure 3.2a shows the highly schematised constructional schema for forming noun–noun compounds in English, where two nouns (denoting different concepts) can be combined into one semantic unit. All the structures and categorising relationships have the status of units, which are indicated by the boxes. Figure 3.2b shows how we are able to arrive at the composite expression of jar lid, the composite symbolic structure of the combination of [[jar]/[dʒɑː]] and [[lid]/[lɪd]], with the application of the noun–noun constructional schema. The assembly of this expression comes from a number of pre-existing units: the constructional schema, the components jar and lid, and the categorisation of jar and lid as nouns. Jar lid is an example of a regular pattern in English compounding, a sequence also observable in e.g. milk carton, salad oil, door knob, pencil eraser — to name but a few. . See, for instance, the following quote: “. . . a head is simply the profile determinant at a given level of organization” (Langacker 2000a: 21; italics as in original).

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

Figure 3.2 The constructional schema of noun–noun compounds (a); and the constructional schema of jar lid (b) (after Langacker 1991a, fig. 7)

Phonologically, both jar and lid are words, while at the semantic pole each is a noun by profiling a thing. Jar profiles a specific kind of container, while lid designates the cover for a container of an unspecified nature. The composite structure jar lid consists phonologically of a two-word sequence, while semantically it profiles the cover for a jar in particular. In a construction, the component and composite structures are linked by correspondences — these specify how the components are integrated to form the composite structure (e.g. the semantic correspondences of jar lid equate the unspecified container evoked by lid to the specific container profiled by jar). In a typical construction, one component is schematic with respect to the composite structure as a whole: while both the schematic component and the composite structure construe the scene in the same fashion, particularly in regard to profiling, they differ in the level of specificity: the composite structure is more specific with regards to the thing that it profiles (jar lid is more specific than lid). In the case of jar lid, lid will function as the profile determinant, as this is the constituent that construes the same scene as the composite structure (Langacker 2000a: 16–18). Jar, however, will function as the modifier of the construction, as it is this component’s salient substructure (the lid of the jar) that is elaborated by the profile determinant.

3.3. Conceptual metaphor Ever since the publication of Lakoff and Johnson’s (1980) groundbreaking work, Metaphors We Live By, it has become one of the main tenets of cognitive linguistic theory that metaphor is not a figure of speech but is a pervasive device both in . Most of this section is based upon Zoltán Kövecses (2002).

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thought and everyday speech. The traditional concept of metaphor can be characterised by five main features: (1) metaphor is a property of words — i.e. it is a linguistic phenomenon; (2) metaphor is an artistic or rhetoric device — Lóránt Bencze (1981: 54) claims that classical Greek rhetoric was composed of three main parts: argumentation, composition and style. However, later on, rhetoric became equated only with style, which meant that metaphor was degraded to an ornamental, artistic device; (3) it is based upon two entities that resemble one another; (4) metaphor is a conscious and deliberate use of words; and (5) it is something that we can do without. According to the cognitive linguistic view, metaphor is the understanding of one conceptual domain in terms of another conceptual domain. For instance, we talk and think about love in terms of food (I hunger for you); madness (They’re crazy about one another); the lifecycle of plants (Their love is in full bloom); or a journey (We’ll just have to go our separate ways). A conceptual metaphor consists of two domains, in which one domain is understood in terms of another: concept a is concept b. a is called a target domain or concept, while b is called a source domain or concept. Conceptual metaphor is distinguished from metaphorical linguistic expressions: the latter are words or other linguistic expressions that come from the terminology of the concept used to understand another. Therefore, all the examples in italics above are metaphorical linguistic expressions. The use of small capital letters indicates that the particular wording does not occur in language as such, but it underlies conceptually all the metaphorical expressions listed underneath it. For instance, the verb in “I hunger for you” is a metaphorical linguistic expression of the love is hunger conceptual metaphor. Conceptual metaphors are systematic. This means that there are correspondences between the source and the target domain in the sense that the conceptual elements of the target correspond to the elements of the source. This set of correspondences is referred to as “mappings” in cognitive linguistic literature (see Table 3.1). Therefore, in the love is a journey conceptual metaphor, the lovers are Table 3.1 Mappings between the source and target domains of the love is a journey conceptual metaphor (after Kövecses 2002: 7) Source: Journey

Target: Love

the travelers the vehicle the journey the distance covered the obstacles encountered decisions about which way to go the destination of the journey

the lovers the love relationship itself events in the relationship the progress made the difficulties experienced choices about what to do the goal(s) of the relationship

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

conceptualised as the travellers who embark on the journey, while the journey itself is the progress of the love relationship. Through the help of the conceptual metaphor and its correspondences, we are able to talk and think about a highly abstract concept such as love without any difficulties. In fact, it is very difficult — if not impossible — to talk about an abstract entity without the help of (conceptual) metaphor. This naturally implies that the most common target domains are highly abstract concepts, such as emotion, desire, morality, thought, society, politics, economy, human relationships, time, communication, etc. However, when it comes to the source domains in terms of which we are able to conceptualise the target domains, we find that many of them are used to conceptualise more than one target domain. The most common source domains include the human body, health and illness, animals, plants, buildings and construction, games and sport, cooking and food, heat and cold, light and darkness, forces, movements and direction. As Zoltán Kövecses (2002: 20) claims, despite the representative nature of the list, we get a sense of the most common source domains and the kind of world that our most common metaphors depict. In this world, it seems, there are people, animals, and plants; the people live in houses, they have bodies, they eat, they get sick and get better; they move around and travel; they live in a physical environment with all kinds of objects and substances in it; the objects and substances have all kinds of properties; the physical environment affects the people; and the people make tools, work, and engage in various transactions with other people. This is an extremely simplified world, but it is exactly the simplified nature of this world that enables us to make use of parts of it in creating more abstract ones.

Just by a quick glance at the list of source domains in the paragraph above, it becomes evident that metaphorical thinking is rooted in our very basic experiences that we have of the world around us. Accordingly, Gábor Győri (2000) argues that metaphorical thinking is a natural way of processing the information that surrounds us and played a crucial role in the evolution of human thinking. Győri maintains that cognition is a product of evolution in every single organism, since organisms need to understand the same objective reality. However, the primary aim of cognition is an adaptation towards reality, and this is only possible if there is no “God’s eye view” of the world. In Győri’s understanding, it was man’s imagination and an ability to compare things to one another that grounded the success of humans in the process of evolution. Needless to say, Lakoff and Johnson (1980) also reject the objectivist assumption that absolute and unconditional truth exists. At the centre of their experientialist synthesis lies metaphor, which they refer to as “imaginative rationality” (p. 193): as our everyday reasoning involves metaphorical entailments and inferences, ordinary rationality must also be governed by imaginative thought. . A similar view is represented by Bencze (1981: 95), who argues that man’s creative ability and the origins and development of rational thought are related to the very nature of metaphor.

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Although truth is relative to our conceptual system — which is grounded in our everyday experiences of the world around us — Lakoff and Johnson maintain that there might be a “kind of objectivity relative to the conceptual system of a culture” (ibid.), which is required for example in scientific experimentation or to set a standard of cultural values. The role of human experience in reasoning (i.e. accessing abstract concepts with the help of more concrete ones through conceptual metaphor) is also emphasised by Lakoff and Johnson (1999), who argue that embodiment plays a crucial role in conceptualisation: concepts originate from and are understood through the body, the mind and experience with the world. The meaning of concepts comes from perceptual and sensori-motor phenomena — these “directly embodied concepts” provide the basis for the metaphorical projections through which we are able to understand abstract reasoning and thought. Much of this work, however, was foreshadowed by Mark Johnson’s (1987) treatise on embodiment. In this relatively early writing, Johnson already argues for “putting the body back into the mind” (p. xxxvi): physical experience and its structures (these are organised into “image schemas” which function as an abstract structure of an image and connect a range of different experiences which are manifested through the same image schema) affect the way the mind organises knowledge. Thus embodiment plays a crucial role in meaning, since image-schematic experiential structures and their figurative elaborations and projections map onto abstract thought processes: consider for example the compulsive force schema that is present in our experience of opening a heavy door and also in a more metaphorical sense, when, for example, we do something out of peer pressure.

3.4. Conceptual metonymy Traditionally, metonymy has been regarded as a figure of speech, i.e. an ornamental device used in rhetorical style. Accordingly, the study of metonymy was restricted to stylistics and rhetoric. However, Kövecses (2002) remarked that despite the general acceptance of the above definition, even linguists working within the traditional view have operated with concepts in their actual practice of describing metonymy. Their descriptions of classes of metonymic expressions have relied on such conceptual relationships as producer for product, place for the event, place for the institution, part for whole (i.e. synechdoche) and whole for part. Nevertheless, cognitive linguistics has gone beyond the traditional interpretation of metonymy and has found that just as metaphor, metonymy is also conceptual in nature, implying that there is a relationship between concepts and not just merely words. In fact, cognitive linguistics regards metonymy even more ubiquitous

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

than metaphor. As John R. Taylor (1989: 124) claims, “. . . metonymy turns out to be one of the most fundamental processes of meaning extension, more basic, perhaps, even than metaphor”. What does it exactly mean that metonymy is “conceptual” in nature? As Langacker (1993) has argued, we are using one entity or thing to provide mental access to another thing that is related to it in some way. What this implies is that metonymy structures not just language, but thought — a view that was considered as genuinely revolutionary back in the linguistic community of the 1980s as the notion of conceptual metaphor. A more precise definition of conceptual metonymy is offered by Günter Radden and Zoltán Kövecses (1999: 21): “metonymy is a cognitive process in which one conceptual entity, the vehicle, provides mental access to another conceptual entity, the target, within the same idealized cognitive model.” The notion of idealised cognitive models, or ICMs, was introduced by Lakoff (1987). A very good explanation of what ICMs are is offered by Radden and Kövecses (1999: 20): “the ICM concept is meant to include not only people’s encyclopaedic knowledge of a particular domain but also the cultural models they are part of. The ICM notion is not restricted to either the world of reality, the world of conceptualisation or the world of language but . . . may cut across these ontological realms.” The ICM approach towards metonymy implies a further, very important feature of conceptual metonymy: it is not a random process, but happens in a systematic way, within an ICM. As Langacker (1993) claims, metonymy is the ability to invoke the conception of one entity for purposes of establishing mental contact with another. The process is so ubiquitous that we do not even realise it: for example, the computer’s onswitch can only be conceptualised through the whole computer. Langacker terms the former as “target” and the latter as “reference point”. As Figure 3.3 shows, the conceptualiser selects a reference point within a domain (or ICM), in order to access the target in the same domain (or ICM). Reference points have cognitive salience — that is why they are selected by the conceptualiser.

Figure 3.3 The process of selecting a reference point within a domain (or ICM) to provide access to a target (after Langacker 1993: 30).

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Langacker states the following: “metonymy is prevalent because our reference-point ability is fundamental and ubiquitous, and it occurs in the first place because it serves a useful cognitive and communicative function” (p. 30). This function reconciles two conflicting factors: the need to be accurate and our natural inclination to think and talk about those entities that have the greatest communicative salience for us. Langacker (1993: 30; also see Radden and Kövecses 1999) explains that there are three main principles that govern our selection of an entity as being salient: human experience (such as human over non-human, as in “I’m reading Shakespeare”), perceptual (such as more over less, as in “How old are you?”) and cultural (such as typical over non-typical, as in “You’ve got a bad cough”) factors. Radden and Kövecses (1999: 45) account for these preferences by our anthropocentric view of and interaction with the world. Accordingly, humans take precedence over non-humans, things are viewed from a subjective rather than an objective point of view, concrete objects are regarded as cognitively more salient than abstract entities, things that we interact with are chosen over things we do not interact with, and functional things are more important to us than non-functional things. The notion of metonymy has been broadened to also include the way we conceptualise category structure. An often-cited example (Taylor 1989) is the category of bird that consists of different kind of birds, such as robins, ostriches, owls, eagles, sparrows, etc. Nevertheless, these types of birds do not have the same cognitive status for people, as some birds are viewed as “birdier” than others. The results of psychological experiments carried out by Eleanor Rosch (1973, 1975, 1978) have shown that for the majority of people, robins, sparrows and swallows are more representative of the category bird than e.g. a penguin or an ostrich. Such generally accepted representatives of a category are prototypes that can be accounted for in categories through a metonymic process. As Lakoff (1987) explains, category structure is generally metonymical: a subcategory stands for the category as a whole. This state of affairs is well exemplified by the social stereotype of the housewife-mother. Lakoff claims that social stereotypes are cases of metonymy. The housewife-mother category, though unnamed, exists: it spells out what a mother is supposed to be like. Generally speaking, Western culture views housewife-mothers to be better examples of mothers than non-housewife-mothers. This is well exemplified by sentences (1) and (2):

(1) She is a mother, but she isn’t a housewife. (2) ??She is a mother, but she’s a housewife.

The point is that a stereotypical mother is a housewife-mother, this is why sentence (b) sounds strange. The word but is used in English to mark a situation that is in contrast to some model that serves as a norm — and there is no contradiction or straying from the norm in sentence (b).

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

3.5. Blending Mental space theory was devised by Gilles Fauconnier (1984), with the original aim to answer questions concerning indirect reference and referential opacity. Mental spaces consist of partial representations of entities and relations of any given scenario, as perceived or understood by the speaker. Elements within the mental spaces represent each of the discourse entities and simple frames represent the relationships that exist between them. For example, when coming across the sentence “When I was eighteen I had waist-length hair” the reader constructs two mental spaces, one for the present utterance space and one for the time when the speaker was eighteen. One important component of mental space theory is the establishing of correspondences — mappings — between elements in different mental spaces; in the case of the above sentence there is a mapping between the speaker at the age of eighteen and the speaker at the time of the utterance. Mappings help to keep track of elements and relations represented in different mental spaces (Coulson and Oakley 2000). Blending theory, or conceptual blending theory, was a development of mental space theory to account for cases where two or more spaces yielded a so-called blended space which contained selected aspects of structure from each input space and quite often an emergent structure of its own. Central to blending theory is the idea of conceptual integration network (CIN for short — Fauconnier and Turner 1998). A prototypical CIN is comprised of four mental spaces: two input spaces structured by information from discrete cognitive domains, an optional generic space that contains structure shared by all spaces in the network and a blended space. In blending, the selection of input structures is selective, that is, not all the elements from the input spaces get to be projected. The blend can also contain emergent structure; that is, elements not contained in the input spaces. Emergent structure can arise out of three processes (Fauconnier and Turner 1998: 138–40): • composition: the attribution of elements from the inputs makes relations available in the blend that did not exist in the separate inputs. • completion: structural properties of the blend can be mapped back onto the input spaces and thus can be matched back onto information in long-term memory. • elaboration:a process that develops the blend through imaginative mental stimulation according to principles and logic in the blend. As a result, blended spaces can become extremely elaborated. At first glance it might seem that blends are too powerful, accounting for everything. However, Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner (1998: 163–77) suggest a number of “optimality principles” which constrain the emergence of blends. These principles compete with one another and the satisfaction of one principle is often

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inconsistent with the satisfaction of another. However, it is important to emphasise that blending is a routine cognitive process that is performed unnoticed on a day-to-day basis. Fauconnier and Turner (1998) argue that blending is on a par with other mental processes such as analogy, recursion, mental modelling, conceptual categorisation and framing. Nevertheless, it should be kept in mind that blending is very much a dynamic process: as the optimality principles also imply, the inferences and ideas developed in the blend can affect cognition, leading us to modify the initial inputs and to change our view of the corresponding situations. Conceptual integration can happen in different ways. Fauconnier and Turner (2002) argue that the various types of blending processes can be placed on a gradient, on which five blending processes can be singled out as characteristically different, prototypical cases of conceptual integration. The five different types of blending processes represent increasingly complex systems of cognitive operations. 1. Simplex networks: in this type of conceptual integration, the fact that blending is taking place in the background goes basically unnoticed. Good examples are provided by kinship terms, such as mother, father, daughter, son. It is the notion of the family which underlies these terms, and thus serves as one of the domains or input spaces (see Figure 3.4). The words in the family domain have open slots, which are waiting to be filled by certain elements, that is, individual people. Thus the other domain or input space contains a set of individuals (e.g. Harry, Sally, Jack etc.), a list of people who are connected by the values that are provided by the family domain. In this case, there are two input spaces: a family domain and a domain of individual people, which are integrated in the blended space: Harry is the father of Sally, Sally is the mother of Jack, etc. The blend combines the two inputs: the category system of kinship terms are “filled” by the individuals. Simplex networks are based upon a domain which contains a frame or a set of roles (such as the family concept), and a domain with a set of elements which fit these roles. Correspondences between the two input spaces match the roles with the elements. . The optimality principles are the following: • Integration principle: the blend must constitute a tightly integrated scene that can be manipulated as a unit. • Topology principle: relations in the blend should match the relations of their counterparts in the input spaces. • Web principle: manipulating the blend as a unit must maintain mappings to the input spaces. • Unpacking principle: given a blended model, the interpreter should be able to infer the structure of other spaces in the network. • Good reason principle: if an element appears in the blend, there will be pressure to find significance for this element. • Metonymy projection constraint: when metonymically related elements are projected into the blended space, there is pressure to “shorten” the metonymic distance between them in the blend.

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

Figure 3.4 Simplex blend (after Fauconnier and Turner 2002: 121). Following Fauconnier and Turner (2002), conceptual mappings between elements in the input spaces will be denoted by full lines, while conceptual projections from the input spaces to the blended space (and from the generic space to the input spaces) will be denoted by dotted lines.

2. Mirror networks: in this type of conceptual integration, there is one single organising frame that structures the generic space, the inputs and the blend. The organising frame does not have to be exactly the same in all the mental spaces, but there must be an adequate degree of similarity. For example, on the fiftieth anniversary of the Hungary–England football match, where the English football team was beaten by a visiting team for the first time in football history, one of the British newspapers theorised about the possible outcome of a football match between the current English national team and the Hungarian team of 1953. Such an exercise in imagination requires the mirror network blend, by which we are able to integrate the current English national team from one of the inputs and the “Golden

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team” from the other input space and project them onto the football match frame. Similarly to the simplex network, correspondences are at play in this type of blend as well, thereby creating conceptual “links” among the various spaces. 3. Single-scope networks: in this type of blending process, conceptual metaphor has a very important role. The two input spaces correspond to the source and target domain of conceptual metaphor theory, and the blended space inherits the structure of one of the inputs (generally the input which serves as the source domain). Thus, for example, the sentence “Murdoch knocks out Iacocca” (Fauconnier and Turner 2002) can be understood via the conceptual metaphor business is boxing, where the two input spaces correspond to the source (boxing) and target (business) domains (see Figure 3.5). There are systematic correspondences between the elements of the source and target inputs; the two boxers competing against one another (from the boxing domain) are Murdoch and Iacocca (from the business domain), and knocking someone out (from the boxing domain) corresponds to defeating

Figure 3.5 Single-scope blend (after Fauconnier and Turner 2002: 128)

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

someone (in the business domain). The blend is structured by the boxing frame, and certain roles of the frame are filled by elements from the other input space (in this case, business). 4. Double-scope networks: in the case of double-scope networks, the target domain plays an equally important role in contributing to the frame structure of the blend. The emergent frame of the blend is constituted by selective parts of both the source and the target domain. Kövecses (2002) gives as an example the following sentence: “God, he was so mad I could see the smoke coming out of his ears.” According to Kövecses, this is an elaboration of the anger is a hot fluid in a container metaphor, where an element of the source domain (hot fluid in a container) is blended with an element of the target domain (anger): there are no ears in the source domain and there is no smoke in the target domain, but both are present at the same time in the blend, where an angry person’s head with ears becomes the container in the source, and the smoke (or steam) in the source will be perceived as coming out of the ears of the angry person. 5. Multiple-scope networks: Fauconnier and Turner (2002) provide the example of The Grim Reaper as an expression that represents the activation of a multiple-scope network. This personified conceptualisation of death is based on several input spaces: the harvest domain, the domain of human death and the domain of killing. A significant part of the network is the conceptual metaphor a human lifetime is the life cycle of a plant, or more specifically, death is harvesting. The metaphor involves the input domains of death, harvesting and killing: the plant that is cut down by a reaper corresponds to the person who dies. The reaper in turn corresponds to the killer in the killing domain, thus causing people to die. The question can of course be raised, why is blending necessary at all in the analysis of The Grim Reaper, why isn’t a simple conceptual metaphor analysis sufficient to explain the meaning of the expression? The answer lies in the blended space of The Grim Reaper. While there are many reapers at a harvest, there is only one single Grim Reaper. This conceptualisation of death does not harvest — or kill — indiscriminately, but always kills a specific person. There are additional aspects of The Grim Reaper blend that call for a multi-scope analysis. For instance, death is conceptualised as a skeleton wearing a cowl and holding a scythe. While the scythe can be accounted for from the harvest input domain, the skeleton and the cowl are elaborations of the human death input domain. The skeleton is the result of the long decaying process of the human body, where the skeleton represents the final stage. The Grim Reaper image compresses this long process by representing the final phase of human death and decay. The cowl can be metonymically associated with a priest, who is in charge of performing the funeral. What needs to be stressed here is that blending is a process which is performed regularly, and is such a common activity that it goes generally unnoticed. None-

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theless, it is a complex thought process, rooted in our imagination. The language user needs to construct blends on the basis of conceptual metaphors and metonymies and pre-existing frames of understanding, which are then moulded in the blend to fit the discourse context. Creating blends can only be performed by the integration of the various elements in the inputs, that is, with the help of creative reasoning. Although conceptual metaphor theory and blending have been discussed in separate sections, this does not mean that these theoretical and analytical approaches are separate methods, applied to different sets of linguistic data. On the contrary, as it has been argued by Joseph Grady et al. (1999), conceptual metaphor theory and blending theory are complementary: “the cross-domain relationships which have been identified by CMT [conceptual metaphor theory] researchers shape and constrain the more complex process of conceptual blending” (p. 101). Grady et al. (1999) emphasize that conceptual metaphors often serve as inputs to blend networks, by establishing links between elements in the various domains of a blend network. The authors point out the commonality of the so-called “metaphorical blends” which I believe are the same type of conceptual integration which Fauconnier and Turner call “single-scope networks” — that is, the two input spaces of the blend corresponds to the source and target domains of a conceptual metaphor and the elements within the input domains are linked to one another through a series of mappings. Such type of blends will occur frequently in the analytical chapters of Part II; as we shall see, conceptual metaphor theory and blending are indeed employed complementarily on numerous occasions in understanding and accessing the meaning of creative noun–noun combinations.

3.6. Methodology After discussing the main principles of cognitive linguistics, I wish to turn to how the theory is put into practice in the case of noun–noun combinations. As the following paragraphs will show, there is no general agreement on how to approach the issue: Mary Ellen Ryder (1994), for instance, applied scheme theory to her analyses, while others, such as Seana Coulson (2000) and Fauconnier and Turner (2002) approached the issue with the help of blending theory. Yet even though blending has been fruitfully applied to all sorts of linguistic phenomena, there are not too many analyses of compounds within a conceptual integration network in cognitive linguistic literature. Nevertheless, the couple of examples that have been meticulously examined all bear evidence to the fact that blending theory is the way forward in accounting for the semantics of creative compounds. However, I do agree with Eve Sweetser’s (1999) argumentation (see below),

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

which maintains that blending theory is not enough in itself to explain the semantics of compounds. Since there is a great amount of intuition on the par of the linguist in constructing blend networks, there is always the danger of blends becoming too powerful and explaining everything. In fact, Raymond W. Gibbs (2000: 356) warns blending scholars to be careful when justifying their theory with psychological facts: “. . . there are many kinds of data in the psychological literature supporting many types of theories.” Therefore, the methodology that is applied in this book relies heavily on blending theory, though this reliance is not exclusive: the method of analysis is a continuation and adaptation of the work of cognitive linguists on compounding discussed in the following sections.

3.6.1 Ryder’s schema theory-based approach Ryder (1994) classifies noun–noun compounds into three main groups (pp. 8–11): (1) deictic compounds (the meaning is largely based on the sentential and nonverbal context, where the context is quite sufficient to determine the meaning of the referent); (2) novel compounds (these are created with the intention to be a permanent name for the referent, thus they must be interpretable without recourse to a single immediate context); and (3) established compounds (these are expressions which have been accepted by the speech community, but whose meaning may change over time). Ryder’s objective is to describe noun–noun compounding within the framework of cognitive grammar, as developed by Langacker and schema theory. For her description of the various schemas taking part in the meaning construction of noun–noun compounds, Ryder distinguishes among three types of schemas (pp. 68–9): (1) event schema (“appropriate sequences of events in a particular context”, i.e. what are usually referred to in schema theory as “scripts”); (2) entity schema (these are constant, general characteristics); and (3) feature schema (actions, relations and qualities which are common to all event and entity schemas — e.g. the property of roundness can be extracted from a number of entity schemas such as ball, orange, etc.). When coining a novel compound, the first step is to select the head noun, or profile determinant of the expression. This is a rather important process, as the head element will be the one according to which the referent of the expression will be classified.10 Next a modifier element is selected, based on schemas that the modifier shares with the head. (For example, in the case of giraffe-cage the speaker can assume that the most plausible common element the listener will find is an event schema involving cages containing giraffes.) If the speaker cannot find any nouns 10. It is important to note that Ryder excludes exocentric compounds from her analysis, i.e. those linguistic expressions that — in Ryder’s interpretation — do not have a profile determinant.

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whose central schemas match those of the referent, then the interpretability of the novel expression will depend on the listener’s ability to modify existing schemas. The speaker is also given the possibility to create an expression based on already existing compounds and their schemas. Ryder calls these “linguistic templates” (p. 79). She cites the existence of core words (i.e. words that participate in large numbers of different compounds) to provide evidence for linguistic templates: “once a pattern begins, the more established forms there are in that pattern, the more likely it is that a new form will be based on one or more of these forms, or on a slightly more abstract template based on them” (p. 80). However, there are many core words that exhibit great variety in the possible schemas they are able to form with the other element — thus the number of linguistic templates to choose from can be quite large. Nevertheless, Ryder states that if there are a number of different templates to choose from, the speaker will most probably select that which is the most common type used for the class of the referent.11 When a novel compound is coined, it then needs to be interpreted by the listener, who makes use of a number of strategies when coming across a novel compound (pp. 85–93). Although the listener cannot be sure whether the speaker based the novel compound on an already existing template, the listener will nevertheless use his own repository of templates when trying to interpret the novel expression. Very often there is a whole range of templates to choose from. In such a circumstance the listener checks what information the context can give about the compound’s meaning: if only very little information is provided, the listener will most probably choose a template which will provide a very rich meaning for the compound. A more elaborate and detailed context leads the listener to choose a template with a more generalised schema. Schemas vary in their strength: a schema gains strength, or becomes “established” or “entrenched”, in proportion to the number of instances which elaborate it. Schemas which are elaborated by many instances will tend to be highly entrenched; while those that have a small number of instances will be less salient; i.e. they will be weakly entrenched. Consequently, schemas that have only one instance will not be entrenched at all. Figure 3.6 shows this state of affairs, where the relative salience of a schema [x–y] (where x and y represent the phonological and semantic pole of a symbolic unit respectively) is based upon the number and entrenchment of its instances (salience is represented by the heaviness of a surrounding box) (Taylor 2002). Taylor gives the example of the English plural for schema1, which has a very large number of instances. The instances themselves, however, are not par11. This assumption is shared by psycholinguistic approaches as well. Christina L. Gagné and Thomas L. Spalding (2006: 152) claim that “relations [existing between the modifier and head] compete with one another such that strongly activated relations are more likely to be selected than are less activated relations” (emphasis added).

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

Figure 3.6 The strength of a schema for combining units x and y is related to the number and entrenchment of its instances (after Taylor 2002, fig. 14.3)

ticularly salient: while there are countless plural nouns in English, the plural nouns themselves are probably not well entrenched (i.e. they do not tend to be stored as fully-formed, composite expressions). However, schema2 has only a small number of instances, which are at the same time highly entrenched — such as words commencing in negative n–: never, neither, nor, none. These are all high-frequency words, and are highly entrenched, but their analysability is not particularly evident to the language user. When arriving at the most likely schema for the compound, the listener checks the information provided by the template against what he knows about the real world (Ryder refers to this real-world knowledge as “semantic information schemas”). When a semantic information schema is found that is common to both nouns in the compound, it will be selected as the meaning of the expression. If nothing works, the listener is prompted to alter an already existing schema on analogy with semantic information schemas. Interestingly, Ryder suggests an “order of severity” (pp. 91–2) in modifying or creating schemas, ranging from least severe through more severe to most severe, depending on the range of alteration to already existing schemas. Least severe: when the adding of a new schema is not contradicted by existing schemas (e.g.: a dog eating at a restaurant — although dogs don’t eat at restaurants, this schema does not contradict out prototypical restaurant schema); more severe: changing the range of a variable (e.g.: a brick-red cat — no such colour range exists for cats); most severe: changing the value of a constant (e.g.: the restaurant where the customer doesn’t pay for his meal — within the restaurant schema a customer paying for his meal is one of the most central schemas). (Ryder calls the last two types of schema-modification as “accommodation”.)

3.6.2 Blending put to the test: the analyses of Coulson and Fauconnier and Turner Coulson (2000) relies on conceptual blending theory in explaining the meaning of several compounds. Her methodology is the following: she provides us with a list of

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Table 3.2 Coulson’s analysis of the pet fish blend (after Coulson 2000: 143) Input 1

Input 2

Blend

Elements Pet Owner House

Elements Fish Water

Elements PetFish Owner House Tank

Relations Feeds (Owner, Pet) Loves (Owner, Pet)

Relations Lives-in (Fish, Water)

Relations Feeds (Owner, Fish)

Swims (Fish)

Swims (Fish) Lives-in (Fish, Tank)

elements and relations of the input spaces, of the generic space and of the blend in neat tables. See for example her analysis of pet fish (Table 3.2). Although Coulson discusses each example in elaborate detail, there are a number of questions which are not addressed and which, I believe, apply to all of the examples. First, it is not completely clear what relation is there between input spaces and the composite elements of the compound. At first glance it seems that an input space is correlated to one of the elements in the compound: pet fish has two input spaces, each being one of the composite expressions of the compound (pet and fish in pet fish). However, another example, caffeine headache, has three input spaces: headache, counterfactual [scenario], caffeine. In a further example, when analysing the expression of hot lid, the input spaces do not correlate with the elements of the compound at all but are more abstract entities: temperature and container. The second issue which needs to be raised regarding Coulson’s analyses are the elements and relations which get listed in the input spaces. What elements and relations should we list under an input space? According to Coulson (2000: 129), “[f]rames associated with each of the component nouns are evoked in the input spaces of the network.” However, this methodology leaves substantial leeway for the linguist to include data based on subjective selective criteria. For example, in the case of pet fish, I would definitely consider the relation “Lives-in (Pet, House)” as an important aspect of the frame. A further problem is posed with the use of the relations themselves, which are similar in spirit to the transformational and early generativist accounts of compound expressions.12 While a relation such as “Swims (Fish)” in the pet fish example seems to be easy to understand (“the fish swims”); the relations “Hot (Substance) Solid/Liquid/Gas” or “Lid (Sturdy, Plastic) in the hot lid analysis are more difficult to grasp.13 12. See for instance Robert B. Lees (1968) and Judith N. Levi (1978). 13. Are there deletable predicates in the relations as well which provide the link between the

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

Figure 3.7 The blend analysis of land yacht (after Fauconnier and Turner 2002: 357)

In a chapter on the relationship between form and meaning, Fauconnier and Turner (2002: 353–406) concentrate on the significance of blending in the construction of adjective–noun and noun–noun combinations alike, therefore approaching the topic from a more generalised point of view — and also concentrating less on the specific examples — than Coulson (2000). As the authors point out, it is blending that enables us to understand the difference in the meaning of the word safe in adjective–noun combinations such as dolphin-safe [tuna] (which means that measures had been taken to avoid harming dolphins during the harvesting of tuna), child-safe [room] (meaning that the room is free of the typical dangers for children) and shark-safe [beach] (which refers to a beach that is protected from shark attacks): “[i]n every case, from simple forms the understander must construct elaborate integration networks” (p. 354), and this mental “work” that is required from us to access the various meanings may differ from compound to compound. However, even familiar combinations, such as red pencil, require conceptual integration, since the compound can refer to a pencil whose wood has been painted red on the outside, a pencil that leaves a red mark, a pencil smeared with red two elements in the brackets? Or is the relation itself the predicate? If the answer is yes, it is difficult to see how hot or lid (as in the examples above from hot lid) are on a par with a verb such as swims.

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lipstick or the pencil that is used to record the activities of the team dressed in red. As the authors point out, the various scenarios that are needed for these integrated meanings are no simpler than the ones required for the adjective–noun combinations ending in -safe: [t]he cognitive capacities needed to construct these integrated meanings are the same as those needed to interpret the supposedly exotic examples, and these cognitive capacities apply as well to the supposedly central examples” (p. 356), such as red pencil. The same applies to noun–noun combinations as well, where the constituents of the compound name two elements in two different input spaces: in order to understand a construction such as land yacht (‘a large, luxurious automobile’), we need to blend the various elements of two domains serving as input spaces to a blend network, car being driven on land, and yacht (see Figure 3.7). In order to access the meaning of land yacht, we need to perform a mapping between the two input spaces: in this mapping, corresponds to , and corresponds to <water>, while the of the car corresponds to the <skipper>of the yacht and the of the car maps onto the who owns the yacht. Through conceptual integration, we arrive at the blended space of land yacht, which names a new element in the blend itself, , even though the compound itself names nothing in either of the inputs, and even though land is not a counterpart of yacht. As Fauconnier and Turner emphasise, the Noun–Noun combination does not only invoke the blend network, but also provides a way of naming a part of the emergent structure. This state of affairs will often characterise the creative compounds that will be under analysis in the book.

3.6.3 Sweetser’s integrated approach to adjective–noun combinations In an analysis of adjective–noun combinations, Sweetser (1999) claims that “the variability and complexity of these [both adjective–noun and noun–noun combinations] constructions’ interpretation suggests that a variety of mechanisms may be involved in their semantic interpretation” (p. 131). What this means is that the analysis of such compounds requires not only metaphor and metonymy, nor just blending theory, but the application of other aspects of cognitive linguistic theory as well, such as frames, active zone, profiling and construal. Sweetser (p. 145) points out that by the application of mental spaces in semantic structure, we get metaphor and metonymy “for free”: there is no need to create separate mechanisms by which a component in a composite structure profiles a metaphorical (or metonymical) domain. Sweetser analyses the adjective–noun combination red ball in detail to give an account of the various cognitive mechanisms at play when we understand this expression. Although the meaning of red ball is a ball that is red on its outer surface, it

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

could just as well mean a ball whose interior constituent is red (from among a group of balls painted blue on the outside), or the ball which has a red mark on it, or the ball that belongs to the team which wears a red uniform. According to Langacker (1987, 1991b, 2000a), semantic elaboration relationships depend on the identification of an appropriate active zone of the elaborated concept. Thus the active zone of ball might be its exterior surface (which is probably the most highly conventionalised usage), but it can also be any other relevant part of the frame associated with ball, depending on the frame that has been set up in the context. However, the reason why the red-surface sense of red ball seems so natural and objective is not simply due to the flexible negotiation of meaning between the two word senses and between senses and context, nor just to the guidance that is offered by prototypes and frames. According to Sweetser, there is considerable overlap between the frames involved in red and ball: balls are physical objects, made up of a constituent material, have some kind of a surface, etc., and the colour red can be imagined as applying to either to the ball itself or some other related object in its physical environment. In Figure 3.8, the blend of the red-surface meaning of red ball becomes apparent: while at first glance the two input spaces seem to be non-overlapping in structure (one refers to a colour, while the other to a three-dimensional object), but colours are generally conceptualised as colours of visually perceived objects, thus, accord-

Figure 3.8 The blend analysis of red ball (after Sweetser 1999: 139)

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ing to Sweetser, one obvious mapping between the two inputs is a correspondence between the ball and the object whose surface is perceived as red. Thus what happens in fact is that the noun referentially profiles some entity as a member of a category (in this case, the noun ball profiles the concept of ball), while the adjective elaborates an active zone of the entity profiled by the noun (the adjective red elaborates the colour of the surface of the ball). It is important to mention that Sweetser also considers the possibility of metaphorical and metonymical meanings, that is, the case where red ball refers for example to the ball of the team which wears a red uniform. In Sweetser’s view, profiling and active zones can also involve metaphorical and metonymical inferences. In these interpretations, there is no need for previous processing of and rejection of a literal sense (what is referred to as the “garden-path” interpretation, see Gibbs 1994), all is required is flexibility in negotiating the frame structures of the respective inputs to “appropriate aspects of the cognitive structure at hand” (p. 149), that is, the immediate context in which an expression is given. As Sweetser emphasises, this process is an everyday task performed in human reasoning, and the context determines whether the expression has a literal meaning or more elaborate mentalspace structures are required for its interpretation: “We constantly access multiple

Figure 3.9 The blend analysis of intellectual sleeping pills (after Sweetser 1999: 145)

Chapter 3. Cognitive linguistics

spaces, and the context and the ongoing dynamic processes of meaning-building will determine whether the ‘simplest’ reading of some word is the literal (or ‘direct’) reading or one demanding interspace connections” (ibid.). In her analysis of intellectual sleeping pills (pp. 144–6, see Figure 3.9), it is evident that only a metaphorical structuring enables us to understand the meaning of the expression (‘sermons’), and this can be relatively easily performed by the blending of mental spaces. According to Sweetser, the hearer blends the space involving the sleeping pills (which is a physical domain in the sense that the pills cause physical inactivity or unconsciousness), with the domain of sermons (which is an intellectual domain in the sense that it involves an intellectual ability and is intended by the preacher to intellectually benefit the listeners). The cross-space correspondences between sleeping pills and sermons make it possible for the sermons to map onto the sleeping pills, thus subjecting the listeners to a state of mental inactivity or unconsciousness. Thus what happens is that sleeping pills profiles not actual sleeping pills but their counterpart in the intellectual domain. The adjective intellectual provides a contextual cue that prompts the listener to blend the intellectual domain with the physical domain. It is important to note that this type of blend is unidirectional: while sermons can be conceptualised as sleeping pills, the latter cannot be understood as the former.

3.7. Summary This chapter explored the basic principles on which cognitive linguistic theory rests. As opposed to the generativist paradigm, cognitive linguistics rejects the modularity view of language and claims that language is “inherently symbolic” (Langacker 1991b: 1), that is, form is never devoid of meaning. Cognitive linguistics identifies meaning with conceptualisation, and accordingly, aims to analyse and describe abstract entities like thoughts and concepts through mental, sensory, motor and emotive experience. Research of the past decades has shown that conceptualisation does exhibit structure and organisation, and can be justified on the grounds of diverse sets of data, including predictions concerning well-formedness or motivation from cross-linguistic data. The chapter presented an overview of cognitive linguistic concepts such as conceptual metaphor and metonymy on the one hand and blending theory on the other, and has shown how the latter has been applied to the analysis of compounds. As the analyses of Coulson (2000), Fauconnier and Turner (2002) and Sweetser (1999) have demonstrated, conceptual integration networks can be successfully applied to explain the semantics of linguistic phenomena that were difficult to resolve from a compositional point of view. Nevertheless, much caution needs to be taken with

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r egard to blending analysis; as Harder (2003: 92) points out, “. . . an attractive post hoc interpretation is not a sufficiently robust foundation for a theory of actual mental processing”. As Sweetser (1999) also argues, the analysis of compounds requires the full “regalia” of cognitive linguistics, which includes for instance construal or profiling, as put forward by Langacker (1987, 1991b, 2000a), or Ryder’s (1994) linguistic templates based upon schema theory. It is this integral approach that will be followed in Part II.

chapter 4

Compositionality and transparency One of the basic tenets of formal semantics is the compositionality of meaning, which is also referred to as “Frege’s principle”. According to this theorem, the meaning of a sentence can be deducted from the meaning of its constituents (Kiefer 2000: 17). Although the focus of Frege’s principle is the sentence (more specifically the proposition contained in the sentence), the theory of the compositionality of meaning has been extended to lower levels of syntax as well, such as phrases and words. The latter includes composite expressions formed from independently existing words, such as glasshouse, and those that are coined from the adding of an affix to an independently existing word, such as computer from the verb compute and the suffix -er. As John R. Taylor (2002) argues, the “strict compositionality view” is taken as a fundamental property of semantic structures in many semantic theories, especially formal ones. However, it is widely recognised even among the promoters of strict compositionality that certain phenomena are not subject to this principle, such as idioms, figures of speech (metaphor, for instance), and expressions that are subject to pragmatic interpretations — consider Pamela Downing’s (1977) much quoted applejuice seat example. As it turns out, the exceptions do not form a clearly identifiable category: linguistic phenomena are subject to idiomaticity, metaphoricity and pragmatic interpretation to various degrees. As Taylor puts it, “it is strict compositionality that turns out to be the exceptional condition” (p. 100). In the following, the chapter will examine the notion of compositionality with reference to compounds, as well as the related concept of transparency of meaning, and will also take a detour into the realm of idioms, since a number of linguists have regarded metaphorical compounds such as belly button idiomatic — and hence unanalysable. Finally, the chapter will explore the question of how compounds are represented in the mind, and will take a stance on the age-old storage versus computation issue.

4.1. Contested concepts Both mainstream linguistics and cognitive linguistics have delved into the matter of compositionality and transparency. As a representative of the former, Peter . Leonard Bloomfield (1933) has already investigated the notions of transparency and opacity

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H. Matthews (1974), for instance, devotes a whole chapter to how semantics plays a role in distinguishing between compounds and non-compounds (phrases). In this respect, compositionality is a key feature: while the meaning of a black bird is predictable from the components (referring to a bird which is black in colour), blackbird is noncompositional: it does not refer to a black bird but a species in the family of birds. David A. Cruse (1991) questions the idea whether compositionality is indeed an effective way of distinguishing between compounds and phrases by putting forth the view that compositionality surfaces as a matter of degree, where semantically non-transparent expressions such as compounds are rated along a “continuum of degrees of opacity”. Opacity depends upon the number of “indicators” in an expression (Cruse 1991: 29–40). Indicators are elements that carry the same semantic meaning in the compound expression as the one they have as independently occurring words. Yet Cruse does stretch his theory a bit too far: he claims that blackbird is less opaque than ladybird because the former has two indicators (black and bird refer to the ‘state of blackness’ and ‘birdiness’ respectively) while the latter bears only one indicator (bird). While it is true that both blackbirds and ladybirds can fly, a lot of imagination is needed to see further similarities between ladybirds and birds. Though Cruse does not make any reference to prototype theory, his idea is very much rooted in it: to stick with the ladybird example, one needs to evoke a prototypical bird (relatively small and possessing the ability to fly, unlike penguins or ostriches for example) to bring it into some sort of similarity with the insect. The difficulty of reconciling compositionality with compound meanings also surfaces in Keith Allan’s (1986: 225) work, who claims that compound meanings are occasionally “predictable” from the component meanings. However, he does not explain which compounds fall into this category. Allan later on (p. 229) reconciles this issue by positing that conventional compounds are stored similarly to lexemes — that is, their meanings are entered as wholes in the lexicon; while the meanings of novel compounds are determined from the meanings of their constituents. A relatively recent contributor to the debate surrounding compositionality and compounds, Nigel Fabb (1998: 68) takes a more liberal approach and claims that the meaning of a compound is to some extent compositional, though not predictable: how the parts of the compound contribute to the meaning of the whole becomes evident only if we know the meaning of the whole. But if we are not aware of the meaning of the compound, then the meaning is very difficult to guess at by merely looking at the parts. This lack of predictability is explained by Fabb as the consequence of semantic drift (which can also include metonymy, as in the case of in his monograph. In his interpretation, a compound is transparent if it can be clearly analysed into its constituents, and the familiarity of the constituents is sufficient to interpret the meaning of the compound. The opposite of transparency is opacity, that is, when the compound cannot be clearly analysed into its parts.

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

redhead), on the one hand, and the many possible semantic relations that may exist between the component elements, on the other hand. Interestingly, Fabb draws upon the similarities between endocentric and exocentric compounds, instead of concentrating on the differences. He even claims (p. 67) that the distinction between endocentric and exocentric compounds is of little relevance: whether greenhouse is endocentric or exocentric depends on whether it is conceptualised as a kind of house. This argumentation can be seen very well in the light of Fabb’s further assertion, that the semantic relations between the parts . In a highly illuminating article, Elke Ronneberger-Sibold (2001) also puts emphasis on the consequences of semantic drift, and explores the various ways German compound expressions can lose their transparency from a diachronic point of view. She establishes four major categories that result in loss of transparency: (1) complete loss of transparency by diachronic change (consider the standard German Grummet for ‘second day harvest’, which originates from the Middle High German gruon mât, that is, ‘mowing of the green’, an activity that took place on the second day of the harvest); (2) complete loss of transparency by borrowing (for example, the standard German noun Rhododendron originates from the Greek rhodo dendron, literally meaning ‘rose tree’); (3) partial loss of transparency by obscuration of morphs (for example, the standard German Himbeere for ‘raspberry’ can be derived from the Middle High German hint ber, ‘hind berry’); and (4) partial loss of transparency by obscuration of the structural relation between the morphs (consider the standard German fruchtbar, meaning ‘fertile’, composed of two components: a lexeme frucht, that is ‘fruit’, and a suffix –bar, that is ‘fit for being done’. The suffix originates from the Middle High Greman –baere, which, in turn, is derived from the verb beran, meaning ‘to carry’, and served to form denominal adjectives, such as vruht-baere, that is, ‘fit for carrying fruit’. However, baere later on was extended to mean ‘fit for being’, as in manbaere, that is, ‘fit for being a man’, i.e. marriageable, and finally the suffix was extended to verbal bases, meaning now ‘fit for doing’). . In Hungarian literature, the general assumption regarding exocentric compounds is that they are not compositional. A good example of this view can be found in a discussion of Hungarian morphology, where Ferenc Kiefer (1999) defines exocentric compounds as constructions that do not have a head and claims that their meaning is not deductible from the components — thus they are noncompositional. In Kiefer’s view, exocentric compounds are not formed on the basis of existing semantic rules, or the rules that have formed them are not productive anymore (and hence the words have undergone lexicalisation). Kiefer does not discuss the issue further, thus exocentric compounds are excluded from his study of Hungarian compounding, although exocentric expressions do exist in Hungarian as well. (E.g. dobozfül, “box ear” for ‘the top corners of a milk carton’, or reklámdzsungel, “advertisement jungle” to refer to the masses of advertisements that we are faced with on the streets). The examples are from Gábor Kiss and Ferenc Pusztai (1999). There is also an abundance of examples in Ágnes Huszár (1985). In an earlier study on Hungarian compounding, Kiefer (1992) makes the following claims: “there are no productive patterns by which new exocentric compounds can be formed” (p. 62). Exocentric compounds are all lexicalised, and accordingly, must be individually listed in the lexicon. Consequently, they “play a rather peripheral role in the system of compounds” (ibid.). . Exocentric compounds are constructions that do not have a head (also called bahuvrihi as Fabb points out, p. 67). Fabb does not explain what he has in mind by “head” — whether this is a syntactic or semantic phenomenon, or both.

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of a compound can be understood as a modifier–modified relation and this is also true for exocentric constructions: red modifies head. Fabb (p. 70) points out that this characteristic of exocentric compounds raises important descriptive issues: some accounts assume that a modifier–modified relation in itself is evidence that exocentric compounds are also headed. Fabb also brings up the notion of directionality in compounds: in English, modification goes usually rightwards, and exocentric compounds are no exceptions in this respect either. In Fabb’s (1998: 68) view, transparency and predictability of a compound’s meaning are associated with structural transparency: in languages where one type of compound is interpretively more transparent than the other, the interpretively less transparent type will be subject to greater morphological and phonological modification. A similar approach is represented by Andrew Spencer (2001), who claims that blackbird is a lexicalised compound whose internal structure is only of historical significance, unlike a non-lexicalised construction such as morphology article. In time, blackbird will also become opaque as husband. Compounds show varying degrees of transparency and can be placed on a cline of transparency: morphology article is more transparent than blackbird while blackbird is more transparent than husband.

4.1.1 The cognitive linguistic perspective Having taken a look at the various approaches taken towards the issue of compositionality and compounds within mainstream linguistics, I wish to turn to the cognitive linguistic point of view on the topic. In this section I will first discuss the theoretical assumptions of Ronald W. Langacker, and then will take a critical look at René Dirven and Marjolijn Verspoor’s take on the discussion of the semantics of compounds. Both works are highly significant for the present study: Langacker had pointed out where the flaws were in the previous considerations on the topic and has provided a cognitive linguistic interpretation and framework for the related notions of compositionality and analysability. At the same time, Dirven and Verspoor’s work highlights the practical difficulties of placing the notions discussed in this chapter within a cognitive linguistic frame of reference. Turning back to Langacker (1987: 452–3), the notion of compositionality, in his opinion, can be seen as originating from two conceptual metaphors. One of these is the container metaphor that conceptualises linguistic expressions as containers into which a “substance” called meaning can be filled. This corresponds to what George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (1980: 10–13) call the conduit metaphor complex, which is based upon three sub-metaphors: ideas (or meanings) are objects, lingiuistic expressions are containers and communication is sending. Thus the speaker puts ideas (objects) into words (containers) and sends them

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

(along a conduit) to the hearer who takes the idea/objects out of the word/containers. Lakoff and Johnson make reference to Michael J. Reddy’s (1993) work, who has collected hundreds of expressions regarding language communication in English, out of which more than 70% are instantiations of the conduit metaphor. Linguistic examples include the following: I gave you that idea; It’s difficult to put my ideas into words; His words carry little meaning; Your words seem hollow; Try to pack more thought into fewer words (italics as in original). Langacker (1987) claims that the second conceptual metaphor, on which the theory of compositionality is based, is the building block metaphor, where the meaning of the composite expression can be “built up” with the meanings of its component parts. According to Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 202), objectivism claims that “the world is made up of objects; they have well-defined inherent properties, independent of any being who experiences them, and there are fixed relations holding among them at any given point in time”. From this follows the building block metaphor: if objects have well-defined inherent properties, and stand in fixed relations to one another, then we can have many-place predicates corresponding to each relation. Thus the meaning of a sentence will be its truth conditions, the conditions under which the sentence can be fitted to some situation — the meaning of the sentence will depend purely on the meaning of its parts and how they fit together. Langacker (1987) points out that these two metaphors do not give an accurate or realistic picture of what compositionality might be. He argues that instead of looking at linguistic expressions as containers, they should be seen as providing access to various semantic networks. As far as the building block metaphor is concerned, the components should be considered as elements that motivate various aspects of the meaning of the composite term. This means that the composite term evokes a semantic network to which neither of the component structures provides direct access. Langacker (1987) maintains that linguistic phenomena are more likely to show partial compositionality than to be fully compositional. Composite structures do follow conventional patterns of composition, that is, the relation that they bear to their components is not random, nor arbitrary. Yet composite structures are not constructed out of their components, nor are they “consistently or fully predictable” (Langacker 2000a: 16): “Rather than constituting a composite structure, the component structures correspond to certain facets of it, offering some degree of motivation for expressing the composite conception in the manner chosen” (ibid., italics as in original). Constructions, i.e. symbolically complex expressions that can be characterised as an assembly of symbolic structures, such as black bird (meaning ‘a bird that is black’), belong to the group of fully compositional items, in such cases the composite expression has a “regular composite function” where the two components a and b combine on the basis of a regular syntactic rule (adj + n) to give the

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composite element c (which is then “algorithmically derivable” from a + b by an associated rule of semantic interpretation). Thus the composite construction can be expressed as the following: c = [ab]. However, blackbird (meaning a bird species) shows partial compositionality because even though the composite structure c is a combination of the meanings of its components, it has undergone a specification of meaning since it refers to a specific type of black bird. Thus blackbird can be expressed by the formula c = [abx], where x marks a specialisation of the meaning of the components. A composite structure such as blackboard is also partially compositional, though in a different sense than blackbird. Here the meaning of the composite construction is extended to refer to boards that are not black in colour but can also be green or blue, for example. Note, however, that although there is no greenboard or blueboard in English, whiteboard does exist, which, according to the LDOCE, is a “large board with a white, smooth surface used in classrooms for writing on”. Thus blackboard can be neither a board, nor necessarily black in the prototypical sense of the words. Thus blackboard can be formalised as c = [a′b′], where a′ and b′ refer to the nonprototypical use of the respective words. In Langacker’s view, when a new linguistic expression is coined, it is interpreted with a quite rich contextual and specified meaning, therefore c ≠ [ab]. As the form gets to be established, some of this extra meaning is retained and that is the reason why most composite expressions have a conventionalised meaning that is more specific than their compositional value. Langacker (1987: 459–62) further argues that compositionality should be treated distinctly from the notion of analysability. The former term describes an awareness on the part of the speaker towards the complexity of the composite term. However, it should not be confused with analysability, in which case the speaker is not only aware of the expression having a composite structure, but is also capable of isolating the separate components. Analysability and compositionality play an important role in the interpretation of novel composite expressions: novel composites are fully analysable; only when the form becomes established does the term lose its ability to evoke the activation of its components. When this happens, the term can be regarded as fully opaque and unanalysable. Nevertheless, even if a term loses its analysability, it can still be partially compositional (e.g. computer, meaning a machine that computes — the non-person quality of the meaning is not expressed by the suffix -er). Yet the relative ease with which we are able to spot the analysability of a composite term varies from expression to expression: mixer seems to be an easier example than for instance propeller, yet both are based on the same syntactic/semantic schema. This implies that compositionality is not a yes-no question but a matter of degree. Langacker (2000a: 13) provides the following examples to demonstrate the degree of analysability of expressions: diversifier (which exhibits full analysability)

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

> complainer > printer > computer > propeller > drawer (which lacks analysability completely). Langacker argues that while it is relatively natural to think of a printer as ‘something that prints’, computer is less likely to be understood as ‘something that computes’, and we would definitely not think of propeller as ‘something that propels’. However, just as with drawer, propeller might have been analysable originally, but lost this characteristic as it lost its novel status and became a lexicalised item. Langacker (2000a: 152) rightly argues that the gradation that is observable in the analysability of constructions is a further counterargument against the building block metaphor, which is not able to account for the problem of partial analysability: either something is built out of smaller pieces or it is not. In line with Langacker’s reasoning, René Dirven and Marjolijn Verspoor (1998) leave behind the traditional categorisation of endo- and exocentricity (in fact, these terms do not even turn up in the text); and argue instead for a cline of transparency on which compounds can be placed on the basis of the transparency of their meaning. At the fully productive (and transparent) end of the continuum, both parts of the compound and the semantic link between them “are unequivocally analysable and hence immediately transparent” (p. 60), such as apple tree. In the case of partially transparent expressions, the components are still analysable but the semantic link is less apparent and insufficient to see which subcategory the meaning of the compound involves, such as blackbird, which does not denote a black type of bird but a bird species. At the other end of the continuum lie non-transparent expressions which Dirven and Verspoor call “darkened compounds”: in these cases metaphorical or metonymical processes are involved in the meaning of the constructions, such as red tape, which does not describe a kind of tape but refers to long and irritating bureaucratic procedure. There are two main problems with Dirven and Verspoor’s (1998) analysis. Firstly, their definitions of the various degrees of transparency are very vague. When is a semantic link “unequivocally analysable” in the case of transparent compounds? Are there certain semantic relations which are more transparent than others? If yes, what are these? Needless to say, the problem also arises in the case of partially transparent compounds. When does a transparent compound become partially transparent? In my view, partial transparency might involve some sort of meaning specialisation or generalisation, thus ashtray is not really a tray, or a tray for ashes, but a specific kind of ‘tray’ for cigarette ashes. Attaché case, on the other hand, could be . Apple tree could hypothetically mean ‘a tree made of apples’. The only reason why apple tree seems to be “unequivocally analysable” as Dirven and Verspoor say so, is that English possesses a productive compound-forming pattern of fruit + tree (cherry tree, pear tree, plum tree, orange tree, etc.), which means ‘a tree which bears the fruit specified in the modifier position’. Nevertheless, Dirven and Verspoor do not consider the role played by productive compound-forming patterns in their discussion of transparent compounds.

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an example for a partially transparent compound where generalisation of meaning occurs: it is not a case used by attachés only, but by many people in all sorts of whitecollar professions. The second problem with Dirven and Verspoor’s (1998) analysis has important consequences for the present study as well: the authors state that non-transparent or darkened compounds are metaphorical or metonymical. Yet such a claim is at odds with their explanation of information highway (metaphorically referring to the Internet), which they see as “easily analysable” (p. 60–1) on the basis that the metaphorical meaning of highway is linked to the source domain of traffic with the target domain information, and with the help of our cultural knowledge we know the cultural background to which the word refers to. Tim Rohrer (1997), for instance, analyses the internet is a highway metaphor system, of which the compound information highway is a prime example. In this case, there is a source domain of highway and a target domain of information, and some portions of the source map onto the target domain. Rohrer argues that the internet is a highway metaphor system involves two related, but separate interpretations. In the “cyberspace” case, the Internet allows us to move in space virtually to another destination. For example, “It’s still a bumpy highway for data” (italics as in original). The sentence refers to the problematic transmission of data on cellular phones. There are mappings or correspondences between the following elements in the source and target domain respectively: highway–transmission pathways (e.g. cables); space–cyberspace; vehicles–computers (telephones, TV, etc.); goods transported–information; drivers–users; destinations–information supply sites; journey–downloading information. In the “cyberfuture” case, the Internet is a road through time rather than space, leading into the future, on which we must travel. For example, “AT&T stalled on the info-highway” (italics as in original). The sentence refers to the view that a telecommunications company such as AT&T must be present in the sphere of information technology to remain successful in the long run. There are mappings or correspondences between the following elements in the source and target domain respectively: highway–highway into the future; space–time; destination–information nirvana (“technoutopia”); journey–travelling along the information highway in order to meet the demands of the future and arrive at information nirvana; vehicles–new technologies (software, phone, etc.); goods transported–nations, citizens, corporations; drivers–telecommunications experts. The juxtaposition in Dirven and Verspoor’s (1998) claim is the following: if a metaphorical expression such as information highway is easily analysable indeed, as they very rightly argue, then why should such a compound be placed at the nontransparent end of the continuum? The answer, in my view, is that there is no need for us to do so in the first place. If metaphor and metonymy are everyday processes

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

of thought, as Lakoff and Johnson (1980) say they are, then metaphorical and metonymical compounds are just as normal and everyday constructions as nonmetaphorical or nonmetonymical ones. Therefore, the difference between a nonmetaphorical compound such as apple tree and a metaphorical one such as information highway is linguistic creativity: the latter represents a more creative process of word formation.

4.2. Idiomaticity The creative aspect of metaphorical (or metonymical) compounds has not gone unnoticed by linguists. So much so in fact that such compounds have often been likened to idiomatic expressions. Needless to say, idioms are a highly intriguing set of linguistic phenomena, for the simple reason that compositionality is doomed to failure when it comes to their semantics. Therefore, many linguists have shared the view that an idiom can be defined as a polylexemic expression whose meaning cannot be deduced from the meaning of its parts, though this broad definition has most often been based on popular examples such as kick the bucket or shoot the breeze. Some examples for the definitions of idioms include the following: • “[an idiom is] a series of constituents for which the semantic interpretation is not a compositional function of the formatives of which it is composed” (Fraser 1970: 22); • “idiom(atic): . . . From a semantic viewpoint, the meanings of the individual words cannot be summed up to produce the meaning of the ‘idiomatic’ expression as a whole” (Crystal 1991: 170); • “. . . sometimes compositionality is not fully respected. In a sentence containing an idiomatic element, the interpretation of the sentence is not fully determined by the interpretation of its parts” (Haegeman and Guéron 1999: 494). In effect, the various definitions suggest that their figurative meanings are directly stored in the mental lexicon in the same way as the meanings of individual words are listed in a dictionary. When learning a new idiom, the speaker has to form an arbitrary link between the idiom and its nonliteral meaning. Nevertheless, in the past two decades, numerous studies have been written on the successful application of metaphor, metonymy and blending in the analysis of idiomatic expressions which traditional linguistic literature treated as semantically unanalysable phenomena, that go against the theory of compositionality. (On the analysability of idioms see for example Benczes 2002a, Gibbs 1994, Lakoff 1987, Kövecses and Szabó 1996.) The analysability and compositionality of idioms point to the idea that the meaning of the constituents of idioms might be related to the concepts to which the idioms

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actually refer to. George Lakoff (1987: 447–8), for instance, states that conventional images (mental images which are shared by a cultural community) play a crucial part in language, especially in the case of idioms. Exocentric compounds were often held to be similarly to the traditional notion of idiomatic expressions. Matthews (1974: 97), for instance, raises the problem of differentiating between idioms and compounds. He notes that in English this is no easy distinction: mental hospital does not denote a hospital that is mental, thus it is questionable whether the construction is a compound at all but should rather be classified as an idiom. While Matthews (1974) reverts to all sorts of phonological (more specifically stress) and syntactic criteria to reach a decision, distinguishing between compounds and idioms is somewhere irrelevant: when a composite expression is created, it is very rarely compositional, since the elaborate semantic relations that exist between the members on the one hand and between the individual members and the meaning as a whole on the other greatly influence the compound’s meaning. Thus, in this sense, all compounds exhibit idiomaticity of varying degrees. Interestingly, Francis Katamba (1993) discusses idioms and compounds in one chapter, because he believes that both raise interesting questions concerning the interaction between morphology, syntax and the lexicon. Katamba claims that exocentric compounds are headless — that is, they do not contain an element that can function as a semantic head (p. 320). Interestingly, Katamba states that exocentric constructions do not exhibit a head–modifier semantic relationship, since greenhouse is not a house that is green and lazy-bones does not specify a set of bones that has the characteristic to be lazy. In Katamba’s view, the meaning of exocentric compounds is opaque, since it is impossible to arrive at the meaning of the whole for the meaning of the constituents — i.e. they are noncompositional (like idioms, Katamba adds). This implies that the meaning of such compounds needs to be listed in the lexicon, just as in the case of idioms (p. 321).

. Conventional images not only help in forming new idioms but can also be used to explain old ones. Lakoff asked hundreds of people what image they have of the expression keeping someone at arm’s length, and quite remarkably there was a rather high degree of systematicity among the replies concerning such details as how the arm and the hand is held with respect to the body or whether the palm is open or not. These results prompted Lakoff to conclude that in a large case of idioms meaning is not arbitrary but motivated, which Lakoff defined in the following way: “The relationship between A and B is motivated just in case there is an independently existing link, L, such that A–L-B ‘fit together’. L makes sense of the relationship between A and B” (Lakoff 1987: 448, italics as in original). Motivation arises from conventional images, conceptual metaphors and conceptual metonymies, which provide the “link” between the idiom and its meaning. . In English, stress in compounds normally falls on the first member, not the second.

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

Perhaps the most significant and detailed writings on the relationship between compounds and idioms was put forth by Jan G. Kooij in 1968. He distinguished between idiomatic and non-idiomatic compounds, where the former behave like idioms in the sense that the meaning cannot be explained from the constituents and the structure in the same way as a formally parallel expression could: c.f. egghead and egg-shell. This would imply that the meaning of non-idiomatic compounds is deducible from the constituent parts and the structure, but as Kooij rightly claims, the situation is not so simple. He brings up the Dutch example of huisdeur (“housedoor”), which consists of two words, huis and deur, which also occur as independent words with approximately the same meaning. However, the meaning of huisdeur shows specialisation, as it does not denote any door in the house, but the front door exclusively. Such meaning specialisation, as Kooij argues, is a very general feature of non-idiomatic compounding. A further important observation is made by Kooij regarding the uniqueness or unpredictability of the meaning of compounds: this is not a yes-no question, but a matter of degree (as later also argued by cognitive linguists such as Dirven and Verspoor 1998) — thus drawing the boundary between idiomatic and non-idiomatic compounds is no easy task (probably impossible). Kooij argues his point by claiming very rightly that sweetheart is idiomatic compared to sweetmeat, but sweetmeat is more idiomatic than sweet corn. In fact, if the latter expression is used for one special type of corn and thus becomes a proper name, this characteristic makes it still more idiomatic than sweet coffee. Kooij remarks that idioms also observe a matter of degree, ranging from more to less idiomatic constructions. It is quite interesting to read Kooij’s supposition that the grammatical flexibility of idiomatic expressions is the inverse of their degree of . Downing (1977: 821) mentions the study by Charles Li (1971), who excludes what he calls “idiomatic compounds” from his study on the compounding mechanisms of English and Chinese (e.g.: June bug is the name of a bug regardless of the month in which it appears). According to Li, idiomatic compounds acquire their semantic content by “meaning transference rules” According to Downing, this schema for the generation of idiomatic compounds was developed by Li in order to limit the types of compounding mechanisms to a manageable number, accounting for the “specific, idiosyncratic features of various compounds” with the help of a set of meaning transference rules (ibid.). However, Li does not propose any method for distinguishing idiomatic compounds from “regular” compounds. Downing (1977: 821) raises a very interesting question concerning Li’s idiomatic compounds: if one maintains that any existing compound may serve as a model for the creation of new compounds by analogy, then “one is led to consider the possibility that whole classes of compounds may eventually be derived by analogy to a[n. . .] idiomatic compound”. Although Downing leaves the issue unresolved (this was not the focus of her study), nevertheless, the fact that she raises the possibility that idiomatic compounds might not be that idiosyncratic after all and might in fact be based on productive mechanisms, is a giant leap in the reasoning on the semantics of such compounds. It is exactly this hypothesis that is at the crux of the present book.

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idiomaticity — a hypothesis that was put forward two years later by Bruce Fraser (1970: 33): in Fraser’s view, idioms can be organised into a “frozenness hierarchy”, ranging from expressions that are able to undergo nearly all the grammatical transformations without losing their figurative meaning (e.g. lay down the law) to idioms that are unable to undergo even the simplest transformation without loosing their meaning (e.g. face the music). Kooij offers the possibility that instead of deriving compounds from other structures (i.e. underlying sentences), they just might have a structure of their own. In his opinion, the primary relationship that holds between the two nouns in a noun– noun compound is that of modification, which differs essentially from the modification found in sentences: the relation established between the compound members is irreducible. Thus the paraphrase of servant girl is not ‘a girl is a servant’, but ‘a girl who (always, as a rule, by profession) is a servant’. Besides modification, various relations also hold between the constituents of the compound, which in Kooij’s terminology are called as substructures. These substructures are in some cases similar to the syntactic relations found in sentences, e.g. Subject–Predicate Complement (man servant, servant girl).10 However, this still does not explain why meaning specialisation takes place in many of the compounds, thus making them close to full idioms in Kooij’s view. He comes up with an answer that bears some resemblance partly to the frame theory put forward by Charles Fillmore (1982), but partly also to the notion of blending in cognitive linguistic theory (see section 3.5). Kooij argues that both constituents of a compound have various “semantic features”, but when they are combined in a compound expression, only some of them will be “actualised” or “foregrounded”. Kooij illustrates this with the help of compounds of the house + N type: house coat, house boat and house-agent. In house coat, the features (Home), (At home) and (Indoors) is actualised, while in house boat the emphasis is on the features (Inhabitance) and (Home). House-agent actualises the features (Inhabitance), (Building) and (Real estate). The crucial aspect of Kooij’s theory is that the actualisation of features (i.e. which features will participate in the meaning of the compound) “is brought along by mutual influence of the constituents upon each other” (p. 264). This means that the language user needs to adjust the meaning of both constituents to some point, . A further similarity between idioms and compounds — that is mentioned only marginally here — is that under certain circumstances, the former may be used as if the specialised (idiomatic) meaning were absent, which results in ambiguity and is often abused in puns and jokes. Non-idiomatic, completely regular compounds can also be “reinterpreted”, thus there is no reason why sheep dog could not be understood as ‘a dog that looks like a sheep’, or bullfight as ‘a fight between bulls’. 10. The substructures will not be discussed here in detail, for further examples (and explanation) see the article in question, pp. 259–63.

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

to be able to arrive at the meaning of the whole — an idea that comes up in blending theory as well, where various elements of the input spaces combine with one another in the blended space. Nevertheless, Kooij restricts his analysis to endocentric constructions, claiming that — even though idiomatic compounds did have originally the same structures as regular ones — these have undergone meaning specialisation to such a degree that they cannot be described by the same set of rules, thereby they represent a different category in grammar as non-idiomatic compounds. Nonetheless, he does note that although the meaning of fully idiomatic noun–noun constructions may be unpredictable from the rules used for the description of normal compounds, they are not wholly unanalysable. In my opinion, however, Kooij enters into a self-contradiction when he claims that idiomatic compounds are dead metaphors11 — and at the same time he also puts forward the view that the process of metaphorisation is very much alive and productive. I can only agree with the latter remark, namely that metaphorisation is a productive process that underlies many compound expressions in English — and for this very reason metaphors cannot be considered “dead”, even if the metaphors in question are highly conventional ones.12 11. According to Raymond W. Gibbs (1994: 273), the reason why idioms are often claimed to be “dead metaphors” is because linguists confuse dead metaphors with conventional ones. Since people usually have little knowledge of the original metaphorical roots of an idiom such as be soft hearted, it is believed that the comprehension of idioms is the same as knowing the meaning of individual words, which is based on convention. However, words that appear to be salient examples of dead metaphors have evident metaphorical roots. For example, Eve Sweetser (1990: 32– 3) gives an account of how the meaning of see in Indo-European languages regularly acquired the meaning of know due to the pervasive conceptual metaphor of knowing is seeing. As new words for seeing developed, the meanings of these were extended to their meanings of knowing as well, thus giving a motivated reason for semantic change. The knowing is seeing metaphor is still an integral part of our conceptual system, thus it would not be correct to suggest that the reason why see is related to know is based on a dead metaphor. See also the work done by Gábor Győri (1998), who convincingly argues that the etymology of certain emotion words, such as anger, fear, sad, love or happy can be traced back to conceptual metaphors and metonymies that are in use even today. For instance, the Proto-Indo-European root of happy was *kob-, meaning ‘to suit, fit, succeed’. This meaning can be derived from the cause for emotion conceptual metonymy, in which a situation where things suit or fit us, or we succeed, causes us to become happy. 12. As Gibbs (1994: 277) points out, “[t]here are plenty of basic conventional metaphors that are alive, certainly enough of them to show that that what is conventional and foxed need not be dead”. For instance, even in the case of an opaque idiom such as kick the bucket, speakers do have some intuition regarding how the meaning of the various constituents effects the meaning as a whole: according to American speakers, the idiom refers to an abrupt death (as opposed to a slow and passive one), an interpretation that might come from the intentional action that is described by the verb kick. Further evidence is provided by Lera Boroditsky and Michael Ramscar (2002), who demonstrate that the way we reason and think about time (that is, through the time as moving ob-

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Kooij also emphasises that as far as endocentric or non-idiomatic compounds are concerned, many of them are not far from being idiomatic. This of course once again brings forward the matter of degree in compound idiomaticity, a view which questions the traditional classification of endocentric and exocentric compound groups: where should one pull the line between the two categories? Kooij implies that there is no need for any line or boundary separating the two categories, as compounds represent various degrees of endocentricity (or exocentricity for that matter).

4.3. Storage versus computation? Perhaps the most fundamental question that arises in conjunction with the interrelated issues of compositionality, transparency and idiomaticity is how are noun– noun compounds represented in the mind. Are the meanings of compounds entered as wholes in the mental lexicon (as, for instance, claimed by Allan 1986), or should we follow Langacker’s (1987) reasoning and maintain that the overall meaning of the compound evokes an elaborate semantic network that is motivated by the component elements? The question at hand is none other than the age-old storage versus computation issue. As Gary Libben (2006) elaborates, if the human mind sought to maximise computational efficiency, then compound words would be represented as whole lexical forms as soon as possible. Such an approach “would limit the need for morphological composition to the times when a speaker constructs a novel compound and would limit the need for morphological decomposition to the times when a listener encounters a novel compound” (p. 5). In all other cases, the compound could be extracted from the mental lexicon. However, if the human mind was created so as to maximise storage efficiency, then compounds would never be entered as wholes in the mental lexicon (so that there would be “no additional storage cost” — ibid.). server conceptual metaphor, as in “We’re approaching Christmas” versus the time as moving objcet conceptual metaphor, as in “Christmas is coming up on us”) is tied to our experiencedbased knowledge of space, and if our spatial experience or activity changes, then so does the way we think about time. In an experiment, Boroditsky and Ramscar presented visitors at an airport with the following situation: the meeting that was scheduled to be held on the next Wednesday was rescheduled and moved forward two days. Then they asked the question: What day is the rescheduled meeting? They reasoned that people who were just after a lengthy experience of moving through space (i.e. travelling by plane) were more likely to conceptualise time by the time as moving observer metaphor than people who were waiting to depart or who were waiting to pick somebody up. Their data justified these assumptions and therefore show that even a highly conventionalised word such as forward is understood metaphorically, and the metaphorical understand is tied to the direct embodied experience of the conceptualiser.

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

In this scenario, every time a compound was encountered, it would have to be “decomposed into an ordered arrangement of morphemes and interpreted anew in terms of those constituents and that ordering” (ibid.). However, psycholinguistic research suggests that the human mind seeks neither of these two extreme positions with regard to the representation of compounds. In fact, evidence indicates that the mind stores and computes as much as possible. A frequently encountered compound (and which — consequently — has undergone lexicalisation to various degrees) can be stored as a whole in the mental lexicon, but — as Libben (2006: 6) emphasises — this does not mean that the process of morphological decomposition is “shut down” (ibid.): the links between the constituent morphemes and the compound as a whole are still preserved. Why does, however, the human mind adopt such a complicated architecture? According to Libben, the main answer is that such a makeup “does not require anything to be decided [. . .] all representations that can be activated, will be activated” (p. 9). Therefore, novel words will be processed in terms of their constituents (as there is no whole-word representation to activate), while already existing words will vary to the degree to which they are processed by their constituents and as a whole — depending on their semantic transparency and the level of lexicalisation they have gone through. As Libben points out, such an architecture favours “a connectionist rather than a symbolic approach to modelling” (p. 13). In fact, the relational network model of Sydney M. Lamb (1998) ties in with the connectionist approach advocated by Libben. In Lamb’s view, the lexical system differs from the traditional treatment of the lexicon in that it does not incorporate meanings, but connections to the meanings. Concepts that are semantically closely related are connected within the system also relatively close. The mind is not seen as a device for storing and rewriting symbols but as a network system, whose information lies in its connectivity. Understanding a compound on the basis of its components and understanding it as a unit (that is, without recourse to the meaning of the components) is not an either-or question: as Lamb argues, these two processes may operate in parallel. One of the consequences of the democratic approach offered by Libben and Lamb is that the ambiguous issue of motivation and remotivation can be finally settled — that is, even though very often we have absolutely no idea how the original word formation process took place, it is nevertheless possible for speakers (including the analysing linguist) to make sense of the products, and remotivate them.13 However, if the meaning of a complex lexicalised form (which, however, is compositional — that is, the speaker is aware of the complexity of the term) can be ac13. This question ties in with the issue of analysability as well, as discussed by Langacker (2000a). See section 4.1.1.

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cessed both as a whole and by its constituents, then the speaker necessarily — and quite automatically — remotivates the meaning of the whole, based on the meaning of the constituent parts. Remotivation as an input to a productive process is illustrated by hamburger (Taylor 2004: 60–1). According to the OED, the expression Hamburger steak was in use around the turn of the nineteenth century, and denoted a peace of meat made out of minced beef. Hamburger was derived by ‑er suffixation from Hamburg, as the steak was associated with the city of Hamburg. However, at a certain point in time, speakers began to reanalyse the meaning of Hamburger as ham + burger (which Taylor accounts to the phonological properties of the word), after which all sorts of variations sprang up containing burger (cheeseburger, chickenburger, vegetable burger, etc.), which acquired the status of a meaning bearing unit. Nevertheless, speakers’ awareness towards the compositionality of an item (and hence its availability for morphological analysability) varies. As Lamb (1998: 171) argues, a linguist might be conscious of the non-productive -th affix in words such as breadth and width, which at the same time might not be evident for speakers outside the linguist community.

4.4. Summary The chapter focused on how the compositionality of compounds is treated in both mainstream linguistic literature and within cognitive linguistics. Much emphasis has been given to Kooij’s (1968) paper, which argued against the setting up of a strict boundary between endo- and exocentric compounds and proposed instead that this distinction is a matter of degree. Similar conclusions have been drawn by cognitive linguists such as Dirven and Verspoor (1998), who establish a cline of transparency on which compound expressions can be placed on the basis of the transparency of their meaning: thus there are transparent expressions such as apple tree on the one end of the spectrum, and semantically opaque cases like information highway on the other end. Nevertheless, I argue against Dirven and Verspoor’s (1998) proposal and claim instead that if the metaphors and metonymies that are used in the construction of information highway are everyday phenomena, and the constituents of the compounds themselves are selected so as to follow normal, everyday patterns of English compounding, then metaphor and metonymy based compounds are just as everyday occurrences of language as nonmetaphorical and nonmetonymical ones. The difference between apple tree and information highway is not transparency, but creativity: the latter represents a more creative process of word formation. From such a statement it follows that semantic transparency is not considered as a property of the entire multimorphemic expression, but is regarded rather as the property of

Chapter 4. Compositionality and transparency

individual constituents. This assumption14 is in heavy support of the connectionist model to the mental architecture, according to which — as discussed by Libben (2006) and Lamb (1998) — the mind relies on a parallel system in the understanding of combinations, accessing both the individual constituents and the unit as a whole. Consequently, novel words will be processed in terms of their constituents, while already existing words will vary to the degree to which they are processed by their constituents and as a whole, depending on their frequency or degree of lexicalisation. Libben’s (2006) and Lamb’s (1998) account is in full agreement with Langacker (1987) on the one hand, who claims that a given compound evokes a semantic network to which neither of the constituents provide direct access, but rather they motivate various aspects of the meaning of the unit as a whole. On the other hand, a connectionist approach also chimes with blending theory, which is based upon the idea of a conceptual integration network. Accordingly, it is this connectionist approach that will be followed in the individual analyses and modelling of creative compounds that form the subject of the subsequent chapters. 14. Libben et al. (2003) have shown that both constituents of a noun–noun compound show priming effects (therefore supporting a deconstructionist approach to compound meaning), regardless of the degree of transparency involved — for a detailed discussion, see section 1.1.2.

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Analysing creative compounds

chapter 5

Metaphor-based compounds This chapter explores the various ways conceptual metaphor acts upon English noun–noun compounds. The fact that metaphor is a driving force behind compounds is no news; several linguists who have already been discussed in Chapter 3 have observed that many of the nominal compounds in English are metaphorical to some extent. Reference should be made especially to Rudolf P. Botha (1968), who discussed “metaphorical” compounds in Afrikaans in detail and pointed out that although there is an abundance of such expressions in Afrikaans, the transformational generative approach is not able to accommodate them in its grammar. Mention should also be made of Beatrice Warren (1992), who analysed a relatively large corpus (450 examples) of metaphorical compounds. However, she claims that a new sense based on metaphor can arise only if the unnamed entity has some sort of similarity with the named notion — thus the author keeps in line with the traditional view of metaphor which maintains that metaphor is based upon two entities that resemble one another. Needless to say, I will follow the cognitive linguistic view of metaphor, which argues that it is conceptual in nature: that is, it is not a figure of speech, nor a rhetorical device, but is pervasive both in thought and everyday speech — metaphor is the understanding of one conceptual domain in terms of another. Ever since George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (1980: 1), we know that “[o]ur ordinary conceptual system, in terms of which we both think and act, is fundamentally metaphorical in nature. . . . If we are right in suggesting that that our conceptual system is largely metaphorical, then the way we think, what we experience, and what we do every day is very much a matter of metaphor.” The authors’ statement implies that the coinage and use of metaphorical compounds is a natural linguistic process. This assumption is backed up by the study of Pamela Faber and Carlos Márquez Linares (2004), who analysed a corpus of medical texts of approximately 32 million words in both English and Spanish within the domain of oncology. They have found that metaphor is extremely pervasive in the examined texts, a phenomenon which is well visible on the terminological level. This level is rife with relatively newly coined nominal compounds that are exocentric in the traditional sense . However, it should be borne in mind that cognitive linguists such as René Dirven and Marjolijn Verspoor (1998) regarded metaphorical compounds as opaque — i.e. unanalysable (see Chapter 4).

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of the word. The authors have found plenty of terminologies that are based on the conceptualisation of the doctor being a farmer and the human body an agricultural field. Examples include tumor seeding and bone marrow harvest (conceptualised as agricultural activities performed by the doctor), and radiation seeds (conceptualised as parts of a plant). The human body is often conceived as a geographical surface as well, as in the case of hormonal high tide, vascular waterfall and ciliary valley. The body parts can also be conceptualised as building structures, as in cell walls, vascular arcades or DNA library. The study by Faber and Márquez Linares (2004) provides further evidence for the use of metaphor in the creation of novel compound expressions. However, what is especially interesting is that such constructions are used for naming highly specific, medical phenomena. What this implies is that the use of metaphor does not make the meaning of a construction more ambiguous than a “literal” term, because if this were the case then they most probably had not been even coined in the first place with the help of metaphorical meaning extensions. Relying on metaphors to understand and conceptualise more abstract concepts (cancer as in the case of the study carried out by Faber and Márquez Linares) is a natural process which comes up not only in general language but in highly specialised, scientific texts as well. What I wish to show in this chapter is that conceptual metaphor can show up in noun–noun compounds in a remarkable variety of ways. It is not enough to say that metaphorical compounds exist in English because that does not tell us much about language in general. We need to go further than this, by examining in what ways conceptual metaphor acts upon noun–noun combinations in English, so as to see what patterns of creative compound formation exist. I have managed to identify five such patterns, whereby conceptual metaphor acts upon the compound in the following ways: (1) on the modifying constituent; (2) on the profile determinant; (3) on both constituents of the compound; (4) on the compound as a whole; and (5) on the relation between the two constituents of the compound. These five main categories yield various subtypes, based on the conceptual metaphor acting upon the meaning of the compound on the one hand, and on the semantic relation that exists between the two constituents on the other. It should be kept in mind that the metaphors that participate in the meaning of the compound are mostly established conceptual metaphors that emerge in all sorts of linguistic (and non-linguistic) phenomena, i.e. they are not restricted to noun–noun combinations exclusively. . The use of metaphors in science and scientific theory has already been observed in a number of writings, see for example a discussion on the topic by Olaf Jäkel (1996), Zoltán Kövecses (2002), Friderich Ungerer and Hans-Jörg Schmid (1996) and Gábor Tolcsvai Nagy (1989). . This last group is so large and complex that it will be treated separately in Chapter 6.

Chapter 5. Metaphor-based compounds

Therefore, many metaphorical compounds are the result of creative thought processes rooted in the conventional usages of conceptual metaphors.

5.1. Metaphor-based modifier This section will focus on compounds where it is the first, modifying constituent that is understood metaphorically. It seems that the occurrence of this type of creative compounding is not that frequent in English: I have not managed to come across too many examples exhibiting this pattern in the various sources that I used for this research. Perhaps this can be explained by the fact that the metaphorical understanding of the first constituent is mainly restricted to compounds that follow the N2 is N1 compounding pattern (which will be discussed in Chapter 6). In fact, the borderline between the two types of creative compounds is very difficult to draw, as it will be presented below in the discussion of two established compounds, heartland and armchair.

5.1.1 Heartland Heartland (‘the central part of a country or area of land’) can be understood to mean a piece of land that is situated in the centre of a larger area. If this is so, then heart metaphorically stands for a central location: the larger area is conceptualised as the body, and the heart of this body is situated at more-or-less the centre, just as it is the case with our own bodies. This conceptual metaphor — the centre of an entity is the heart — is often used in English: e.g. in the heart of the city, or at the heart of the matter. Therefore, there is a location–located relationship between the two constituents of the compound: the modifier specifies the location of the head element. However, there is an alternative line of analysis for heartland, whereby the compound follows the N2 is N1 pattern: heartland denotes a piece of land that is understood as the heart (i.e. centre) of a larger region. It is difficult to decide which of the two analyses is correct. Nevertheless, since both lines of analyses are capable of unraveling the meaning of the compound quite straightforwardly, there is not much point in choosing between the two.

5.1.2 Armchair Armchair (‘a comfortable chair with sides that you can rest your arms on’) is very ambiguous in terms of its analysis. If one considers armchair to represent a purpose–object semantic relation, where chair is used for the purpose of resting one’s arms, then the compound is not metaphorical at all but metonymical: arm (the

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object of the action) stands for the act of resting one’s arms. Therefore, the object for action (Radden and Kövecses 1999: 37) conceptual metonymy acts upon the modifying constituent. However, I will assume rather that the modifying constituent in armchair is understood metaphorically, to mean the armrests of a chair. Therefore the semantic relation between the two constituents of the compound is not purpose–object, but part–whole. If this interpretation holds, then the chair itself is conceptualised as a human being with arms, legs and back. An evidence for the human conceptualisation of pieces of furniture can be found in Dennis E. Baron (1982, in Kövecses 2000: 252). Baron writes about an incident that involved Captain Frederick Marryat, and Englishman travelling in America in the 1820s. The Captain went to a seminary for young women, where, to ensure good taste, a four-legged pianoforte had its legs dressed “in modest little trousers, with frills at the bottom of them!” (from the Diary of Captain Marryat, pp. 246–7). A further piece of evidence for supposing that arm is metaphorically understood in armchair is provided by the fact that the armrests of chairs were often carved or created to resemble human arms (and the legs of the chair to look like human legs). Gábor Tolcsvai Nagy (1989), for instance, draws attention to the fact that the shape of . Evidence for this conceptualisation is provided by the etymology of armchair. According to the OED, the compound is derived from armed chair, i.e. “a chair with arms”. Dmitrij Dobrovol’skij and Elisabeth Piirainen (2005: 82–3) claim that the motivation of figurative expressions must also include an etymological description as well, where “etymological” is equivalent with “diachronic”. As the authors point out, while etymology does not always influence actual meanings, it nevertheless should not be excluded a priori. Dobrovol’skij and Piirainen illustrate their point by the German idiom seinen Hut nehmen (“to take one’s hat” — i.e. ‘to resign from one’s post, to step down). In the past, middle class men used to wear a hat in public which they had to take off when entering a room. When a man was leaving, he took his hat — and this action developed into the meaning of ‘to leave a group, to say goodbye’. While women also wore hats, they were not obliged to take them off when entering or leaving a room. The consequence of this was that the use of the idiom was restricted to men. Although the custom of wearing a hat has changed, the gender-specific restriction of this expression still has an impact on its usage: according to the authors, from 500 text examples found on the Internet, only one example referred to a woman. Dobrovol’skij and Piirainen label this restriction in use as etymological knowledge (or “etymological memory”). Günter Radden and Klaus-Uwe Panther (2004) also draw attention to the significance of “genetic motivation” in linguistic analysis, that is, a diachronic approach that accounts for the motivating factors that underlie linguistic change. . According to Kövecses (2000), American English contains more of what can be termed as verbal prudery than British English. This tendency was observed by H. L. Mencken (1963: 356, in Kövecses 2002: 247) for instance, who made the following comment: “The nasty revival of prudery associated with the name of Victoria went to extreme lengths in the United States, and proceeded so far that it was frequently remarked and deplored by visiting Englishmen.” As Kövecses argues, Americans “censored themselves” in their language, and when a word could be understood to have “unfavourable connotations”, they rather resorted to words that were much “safer” to use in this respect.

Chapter 5. Metaphor-based compounds

a violin follows the lines of a curvaceous female body. The various parts of the violin are referred to in Hungarian through various body parts (such as body, neck, head and back). It is, of course, uncertain whether the violin was deliberately formed to resemble the human body (or quire simply this shape suits acoustics best), but nevertheless, the metaphorical terminology used for the parts of the violin implies that man-made objects can become conceptualised through the human body (as in the case of armchair as well). Nevertheless, it needs to be pointed out that not all chairs with armrests are called an armchair. A prototypical armchair is made of a comfortable material, has large armrests and is used mainly in homes. While chairs used in offices, for instance, often come with armrests, they are not called armchairs, instead they are referred to as a guest chair or stackable chair — where the first compound highlights the chair’s function (used by guests), while the second compound focuses on the chair’s most important property (i.e. that they can be stacked on top of each other, thereby not taking up too much office space). Therefore, the modifying constituent of armchair might have been understood metaphorically in the first place, but later on the compound underwent a process of semantic lexicalisation, by which it has come to denote a specific kind of chair with armrests.

5.1.3 people are animals Moving from the realms of geography and furniture to humans, there are numerous, well-established compounds that are based upon the understanding of humans and human characteristics through animals and animal characteristics. Generally, people are often understood via plants, inanimate objects and animals (among other things). These metaphors are based on a metaphor system that is referred to as “The Great Chain of Being” (Lakoff and Turner 1989), a folk understanding of how things in the world are related to one another. The authors claim that the “basic Great Chain” has the following hierarchical structure:

humans: Higher-order attributes and behaviour animals: Instinctual attributes and behaviour plants: Biological attributes and behaviour complex objects: Structural attributes and functional behaviour natural physical things: Natural physical attributes and behaviour

As Lakoff and Turner point out, The Great Chain of Being is not a metaphor, what it postulates rather is a hierarchy of things and concepts that is structured from the top to the bottom. The chain is characterised by attributes and behaviour (for example, humans are characterised by rational thinking), and the system becomes metaphorical when a particular level of the chain is used to understand another

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level. For instance, all the four compounds analysed in this section — puppy love (‘the love of a very young, immature person’), puppy fat (‘plumpness that the boy or girl will shed upon reaching maturity’), hen party (‘a party to which only women or girls are invited’) and stag party (‘a social gathering for men only’) are motivated by the people are animals conceptual metaphor, where conceptualisation goes from a lower source (animals) to a higher target (humans) in The Great Chain. In the case of puppy love and puppy fat, the child is conceptualised as a puppy. This conceptualisation is based upon the people are dogs conceptual metaphor, which is quite common in language; there are many idiomatic expressions in English that are motivated by it. However, if humans are conceptualised as dogs, then it “logically” follows that children are understood as puppies — hence the puppy in the modifying position of the compounds. Both compounds are based upon the knowledge that we have about the behaviour of puppies. For one, they are very affectionate towards people, and it is this characteristic that provides the basis for puppy love. Second, puppies are generally plump, but as they grow, they gradually lose their fat. This fact underlies the other compound, puppy fat. According to Zoltán Kövecses (2002), the main meaning focus of the humans are animals conceptual metaphor is objectionability and undesirability. However, in the case of these two compounds puppy gives both compounds an endearing, even affectionate character. The picture is very different in the case of hen party and stag party. In both compounds, the modifying element highlights the sexuality of the women and the men, respectively: stags can only be male animals, while hens are female animals. In English, women are often conceptualised as birds, as a number of slang expressions reflect this, such as bird, chicken and chick. The selection of hen in hen party (as opposed to bird party or chick party for instance) is purely a matter of convention, which however might be influenced by pragmatic factors: while bird is used chiefly by men to refer to one’s girlfriend, chick denotes “young, attractive women” (CCED). Hen, however, is not restricted in meaning to a certain age limit, and what is more, it shows up in a number of idiomatic expressions that are related to domesticity and motherhood, that is: a hen-pecked husband (‘a man who is domineered over by his nagging wife’); like a hen with one’s chicken (‘over-protective over one’s only child’). However, the choice of stag in stag party is more difficult to account for (and I . As Lakoff and Turner (1989) and Kövecses (2002) point out, this folk understanding of things in the world can be found in many cultures and may well be universal. In an analysis of metaphorical linguistic expressions from North American slave narratives, Réka Benczes (2002b) shows that the slaves were able to understand their situation of bondage and their relationship to their masters through coherent conceptual metaphor systems, such as The Great Chain of Being. . For example: to lead a dog’s life — ‘to lead a thoroughly miserable existence’, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks — ‘it is difficult to get people to try new ways of doing things’, to help a lame dog over a stile — ‘to help a struggling person’.

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have not managed to find any other idiomatic expressions either that contained stag in the same sense). Stags usually gather together during the mating season, to fight for a deer, otherwise they do not interact with one another. An underlying motivating factor for the coinage of this compound might be based upon the high degree of male assertiveness that is associated with the mating season of stags — and which is then assumed to characterise a “wild night” of men partying together. Nevertheless, similarly to the usage of hen in hen party, here too the selection of stag in the modifier position (and not some other male animal) might be a case of convention of usage. Yet where do these associations come from? In Dmitrij Dobrovol’skij and Elisabeth Piirainen’s (2005) view, the answer might lie in our knowledge of shared stereotypes. Hen and stag are social stereotypes evoked to categorise social groups (the social stereotypes of talkative women or the macho-like attitude of men), and although some of these stereotypes might not be important anymore, they might have played a certain role at one point in history and have therefore left their mark on figurative language in general.10 Nevertheless, the structure of hen party and . It should be noted that English slang has numerous expressions that are motivated by the general metaphor of men are male animals, through which men are conceptualised as dogs, horses or studs. . As Raymond W. Gibbs points out (1994: 274), the latter also plays an important role in the appropriateness of idioms in different social situations. While spill the beans and blow the lid off refer to the same thing, that is, ‘to reveal a secret’, spill the beans has been judged by speakers to be appropriate in situations where somebody reveals personal information about someone else, while blow the lid off is more appropriate for describing the revelation of a public matter. As Gibbs notes, while it is not clear what is the motivation behind the developments of these conventions of usage, “it is still possible that speakers learn to use some idioms in particular social contexts and not in others simply by forming arbitrary links between an idiom, its figurative meaning, and a specific social situation” (ibid.). 10. Consider for example the English idiom to go Dutch with someone (‘to share costs equally’): this expression is based upon the British stereotype of Dutch people being frugal. According to Dobrovol’skij and Piirainen (2005: 99), although the British might not perceive the Dutch in this manner today, if people want to make sense of this expression they have to understand the relationship between the lexical structure and the actual meaning. The motivation of the idiom comes from this relationship, namely convention, which in this case is a “conceptual world fixed and preserved in language”. According to Dobrovol’skij and Piirainen (2005), figurative expressions that are based upon animal conceptualisation or behaviour (such as hen party or stag party for that mater) are symbolically motivated, and this symbolism is ingrained in culture. For example, the symbolic meanings of ‘falseness’ and ‘malice, evil’ that are associated with the concept of snake are apparent in the idiom to warm/nurture a viper in one’s bosom (‘to lavish attention, care on a person, who later turns out to be ungrateful, treacherous). The cultural coding of the symbol of snake as ‘malice’ can be traced back to the Bible, where the snake or serpent symbolises original sin, seduction and deception. I do not agree however with the claim that cultural symbols associated with animals can in any case account for the motivation of the figurative expressions we use today. Consider stag

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stag party is the same: the constituents of both compounds represent a member– group relationship to one another. This pattern can be observed in other English constructions as well, to denote groups in general, such as student group, card pack and flower bunch exemplify.

5.2. Metaphor-based profile determinant This section will look at creative compounds that contain a metaphorical head noun and a non-metaphorical modifier noun. The complexity of the analysis of these compounds varies: some of them seem to be relatively straightforward, where the compound is created with the help of a linguistic template, that is, on the analogy of an already existing, non-metaphorical noun–noun compound. Other metaphorical compounds are more elaborate in their structure and require blending for their analysis, since the meaning of the compound as a whole is based upon an emergent structure. Generally speaking, this pattern of metaphorical compounds, where the profile determinant is understood in a metaphorical sense, seems to be a quite prevalent type of creative compound formation.

5.2.1 Single-scope networks In single-scope networks, the two input spaces correspond to the source and target domain of a conceptual metaphor, and the blended space inherits the structure of one of the inputs (generally the input which serves as the source domain). This type of blending is quite common in creative compounds as well, as the examples of jailbird (‘person serving a prison sentence’), belly button (‘navel’) and meadow mayonnaise (‘cowpat’) show. All three constructions can be modelled by a single-scope network, where the two input spaces correspond to the source and target domains, and where the elements of the two domains are linked to one another through a set of mappings or correspondences. As the analyses show, the various noun–noun combinations discussed here follow identical patterns of creativity, which implies that they are not expressions that are formed by ad hoc processes of thought but are regular and analysable, and are based upon human cognition. First I will discuss the blending processes that operate within the semantics of the three compounds, then the relation between the components and the overall meaning of the compounds will be examined. p arty for instance: according to the DOS, the stag symbolises regeneration and growth, and heaven and light. In my view, the motivation behind hen party and stag party is more likely to be based on the folk understanding we have of the behaviour of these animals and conventions of usage.

Chapter 5. Metaphor-based compounds

Figure 5.1 The blend analysis of jailbird

In jailbird (see Figure 5.1), the two input spaces are imprisoned person and caged bird, where the latter is the source domain and the former the target domain, thus we are accessing the concept of a prisoner through the image of a caged bird. The conceptual metaphor a prisoner is a caged bird operates between the input spaces, thereby linking the <prisoner>in the target domain to the in the source domain, and the <prison cell> in the target domain to the in the source domain respectively. It should be noted that not all possible elements within the caged bird domain take part in the blend: such as the appearance of the bird (i.e. feathers, beak, etc.), its ability to sing and that it is usually kept as a pet, just to name a few. Similarly, not all elements in the imprisoned person domain are “activated” in the blending process: the fact that people go to prison because they have committed something against the rules of society, or that the imprisonment is for a certain amount of time (except life sentences) after which the prisoner is allowed to go free. Yet there must be something perceived as similar in the two domains, otherwise the blend would not take place at all. This similarity is provided by the generic space, which is no more and no less than a highly schematic domain shared by both inputs. In this case, the shared generic structure is containment with constraint. An imprisoned person and a caged bird are both contained in a prison cell and a cage,

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Figure 5.2 The blend analysis of belly button

respectively, against their free will.11 The blended space inherits the structure of the input domain, in this case the caged bird domain, where the prisoner is seen as a bird within a prison cell. The blend draws elements from both inputs selectively, thus creating an emergent structure based on composition. As Figure 5.2 shows, in belly button one of the input spaces contains the domain of the upper body, which serves as the target domain. The other input contains the domain of an upper garment, which acts as the source domain. Through the conceptual metaphor the upper body is an upper garment, the image of an upper garment is mapped onto the image of the upper body: the <sleeves>correspond to the <arms>and the to the . The on the front part of the garment are mapped onto the front side of the upper body, and thus one of the lower buttons of the garment corresponds to the . 11. Kövecses (2002: 79–83) notes that when a source domain is applied to a target domain, not all aspects are brought into focus, a process that is called hiding. Thus the metaphor concentrates on one (or some) aspects of the concept and the other possibilities will remain hidden. At the same time, the metaphor will accentuate a certain feature of the source, a process that is called highlighting. In jailbird, the generic structure offers a clue to the highlighted aspect of the source, namely containment with constraint. Other features, such as the circumstances of the constraint, for example, will remain hidden in the conceptual metaphor.

Chapter 5. Metaphor-based compounds

Similarly to jailbird, not all aspects of the various domains are activated in the blend: the material or the colour of the garment do not take part in the blending process, neither do the organs of the upper body (such as the heart, the lungs or the stomach). Nevertheless, there is some similarity between the upper body and an upper garment, namely their shape. This highly schematic, abstract image is contained in the generic space, which maps onto both input domains and the blend and which makes the cross-space mappings between the two input domains possible. The blended space contains elements from both input domains, thereby creating an emergent structure based on composition (similarly to jailbird): the from the upper body domain and the (which corresponds to the navel) from the upper garment domain are merged to give an image of an upper body that has a button in the place of the navel. Meadow mayonnaise (see Figure 5.3) follows the same cognitive processes as jailbird and belly button. Here, the input space which acts as the source domain contains the domain of dish with mayonnaise topping. The other input space contains the domain of meadow with cowpat; this serves as the target domain. The conceptual metaphor meadow with cowpat is a dish with mayonnaise topping operates between the two inputs, thereby linking the various elements to

Figure 5.3 The blend analysis of meadow mayonnaise

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one another: the <meadow> in the target domain corresponds to the in the source domain, and the corresponds to the mayonnaise topping, respectively. Once again, not all aspects of the metaphor are activated: there is no mention of cows in the blend, even though they “produce” the cowpat, and no reference is made to the specific nature of the food in the target domain (whether it is a hamburger, sandwich, pizza, etc.). However, the schematic image of the generic structure, an entity that has something on its surface, makes it possible to establish a similarity between the two input spaces. At a closer look, it becomes evident that cowpat and mayonnaise have more than one characteristic in common: both of them have a similar texture, a slightly similar colour and both are sticky. It is no accident that cowpat is compared to mayonnaise and not to ketchup for instance: the latter dressing is too red in colour, while the off-yellow shade of the former is closer to the colour of the target domain’s . Such perceived similarities between cowpat and mayonnaise give rise to the blend, where the <meadow> element of the target domain and the <mayonnaise> element of the source domain are merged to give an image of a meadow “topped” with mayonnaise. After having looked at the blending processes, our attention can be turned towards the structure of the compound expressions themselves, in order to see how the various components add meaning to the whole expression. In all three cases (jailbird, belly button and meadow mayonnaise), the meanings of the compounds arise from a blend that is based on the combination of elements from two input spaces. This blending process is visible in the structure of the compounds themselves, since all three noun–noun combinations are constituted of two words that represent the two input spaces of the blending process. Thus, in jailbird, jail relates to the imprisoned person domain (the target domain), and bird relates to the caged bird domain (the source domain). In belly button the same situation can be observed, since belly refers back to the upper body (target) domain, while button refers to the upper garment domain (the source). Meadow mayonnaise follows the same pattern: meadow can be linked to the meadow with cowpat (target) domain, while mayonnaise can be connected to the dish with mayonnaise topping (source) domain. What happens in all three cases is that the second (right-hand) constituent in the compound serves as the profile determinant, which is then modified by the first (left-hand) constituent. However, the right-hand constituent profiles a metaphorical domain, whose meaning nevertheless can be easily retrieved, since the correspondences between the two input spaces help keep track of the mappings between the source and target domains. As Ronald W. Langacker (1987) has pointed out, the meaning of the composite expressions is not the simple sum of the meanings of the components; instead, the composite elements motivate the meaning of the

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compound by providing access to semantic networks. This is exactly what happens in these cases as well: the component nouns activate various semantic networks or domains, which serve in fact as input spaces to the blending process by which the composite meaning can be unravelled. As Eve Sweetser (1999: 144–6) argues, the left-hand constituent acts as a “contextual cue” which prompts the listener to cognitively manipulate the various domains through blending in such a way as to arrive at the composite meaning. This cognitive “manipulation” is helped by the generic space, since its highly schematic structure is shared by both input spaces and the blend as well. A further and very important question still remains open: on what basis is the modifier element chosen? Why is jail the left-hand noun in jailbird, and not prison for example? Or why is belly selected in belly button to stand as the modifier, and not chest or navel? The same issue can be raised with meadow mayonnaise: why meadow and not cow? The answer lies in the basic semantic relations that exist between the components of nominal compounds. The components of jailbird represent the semantic relation of container–contained, since bird is contained in jail. This semantic pattern is nothing particular or extraordinary, there are many English compound nouns that also exhibit the same semantic relation (e.g. pocket book). In the case of belly button and meadow mayonnaise, the components of the compounds are based on a location schema, displaying a location–located relation towards one another: button is located on the belly, while mayonnaise is located on the meadow. Once again, this pattern is very frequent in English (e.g. fridge magnet). As Mary Ellen Ryder (1994) claims, when creating a novel compound, the speaker chooses a head element that serves as the profile determinant (in the case of these three compound expressions, the head profiles a metaphorical domain), and chooses a modifier which will cause the listener to find the common schema that will highlight the characteristic the speaker has chosen for picking out this referent from among others. However, the speaker is strongly affected by conventionalised expressions in the grammar that act as linguistic templates, such as whole–part, origin–entity, container–contained or location–located. In fact, containment and location are so ordinary semantic patterns that Ryder makes reference to both types as frequent and highly reliable linguistic templates in English compound formation.12 12. A further possible influencing factor in choosing a modifier might rest on phonological considerations; more precisely rhyme and alliteration. The jail of jailbird rhymes with jay, a species of bird that can be kept as a pet in a birdcage, and the established status of jaybird as a compound might have strengthened the emergence of jailbird. As for belly button and meadow mayonnaise, both compounds exhibit alliteration, a phenomenon that will be discussed in section 7.1.3 as well. It is hypothesized that phonological factors such as rhyme and alliteration induce a creative compound to gain an established status in language, though this supposition needs to be further tested on a substantially large corpus.

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Figure 5.4 Model of a creative compound with a metaphor-based modifier and profile determinant

5.3. Double metaphorical processing: metaphor-based modifier and profile determinant This section will look at compound expressions where both the head element (the profile determinant) and the modifying constituent are metaphorical. This pattern of creative compound formation is shown in Figure 5.4. The compound is made up of two symbolic units, each being composed of a semantic pole (x and y) and a phonological pole ([x] and [y], respectively). Both constituents of the compound serve as source domains of conceptual metaphors through which we are able to understand the (phonologically) unnamed target entities, w and z. Therefore, there are two separate conceptual metaphors acting upon the meaning of the compound: w is x and z is y, where x and y represent the semantic pole of the constituents participating within the compound expression. The target entities, w and z, combine with one another to form a semantic unit, the meaning of the compound, that is the result of cognitive manipulation of w and z to arrive at a composite meaning. It seems that double metaphorical processing is not as productive in English as single metaphorical processing, that is, when only the head element or only the modifying element is understood metaphorically. Nevertheless, the pattern does exist: I have come across two noun–noun combinations which are based upon this type of creative compound formation.

5.3.1 Chicken hawk This compound (‘a person who now advocates war but who once took special measures to avoid military service’) has a very interesting semantic structure. Hawk can

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be found in the dictionary (LDOCE) on its own, and has a metaphorical meaning of ‘a politician who believes in using military force’. This understanding of hawk is based upon our close association that we have between animal behaviour and characteristics on the one hand and human behaviour and characteristics on the other, i.e. the people are animals conceptual metaphor. In this case, the source domain is the hawk, and the target domain is a politician who believes in military intervention. The basis for the metaphor comes from the behaviour of hawks, which are birds of prey and hunt smaller birds and animals. There is a mapping between the prey of the hawk and small and weak countries: the latter are just as defenceless against the military intervention of a more powerful nation, as the former are against a hawk.13 One of the meanings of chicken is ‘a coward’. The possible basis for the cowardly person is a chicken metaphor (a submetaphor of the more general people are animals conceptual metaphor) is the fact that chickens can be frightened very easily. This characteristic is projected onto a person who is called a chicken. Although the compound inherits its profile from hawk, I believe that the relationship between the modifier and the head is very difficult to determine: neither of the constituents can be assigned a semantic role such as Patient, Agent, etc (similarly to girlfriend for instance). A chicken hawk is a person who is both a chicken and a hawk at the same time — i.e. while advocating military intervention, they are nonetheless considered as cowards by society.14 Linguistic literature calls such compounds — where the construction is a hyponym of both constituents — appositional: it seems that chicken hawk is a representative of this class of noun–noun combinations.

5.3.2 Flame sandwich Flame sandwich (‘a note that consists of a negative comment surrounded by two positive comments’) can be considered as one of the epitomes of linguistic creativity. The structure of the meaning can be best analysed with the help of a multiple-scope blend, consisting of three input spaces: a sandwich domain, a line of comments domain, and the argument/fire domain (Figure 5.5). This third input space can be considered as a blend in itself, since it merges the two domains of argument and fire through the argument is fire conceptual metaphor. According 13. According to the PDEI, hawks and doves originate from the British Houses of Parliament, where the former are the hardliners of the Conservative right wing, and the latter are those on the left, favouring conciliation and compromise with the other parties. 14. See for example the following quotation: “Well, it looks like the ‘chicken-hawks’ are at it again. These people who were too chicken to go to war (or even serve in the military) become middle-aged hawks looking for an opportunity to send others to kill and be killed.” (Peter Lorenzo, “Chicken Hawks”, Sacramento Bee, 31 March 2002. Source: wordspy)

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Figure 5.5 The blend analysis of flame sandwich

to Kövecses (2002: 114), one of the conceptualisations that we have of arguments is through the source domain of fire (i.e. through the argument is fire conceptual metaphor). An entailment of this metaphor is that an argumentative comment is a flame. The head element, sandwich, provides the domain for the structure of the comment: the negative comment is “situated” between two positive ones just as a sandwich filling is situated between the two slices of bread. There are mappings between Input 1 (sandwich domain) and Input 2 (line of comments domain): the <slices of bread> correspond to the , while the maps onto the <middle (negative) comment>. However, the fact that the middle comment is negative does not come from the sandwich domain, but from the third input space, that is, the argument is fire metaphor, which is evoked by the modifying element of the compound, flame. A cheese sandwich is a sandwich that has a slice of cheese in it, while a ham sandwich contains a slice of ham. Therefore, the modifying element in sandwich compounds specifies the filling that the sandwich contains, i.e. such composites follow a contained–container semantic structure. This compounding pattern is observable in the case of flame sandwich as well, where the sandwich (line of comments) contains an entity that is metaphorically understood to be a flame. The choice for selecting flame and not fire in the modifying position can be explained by the characteristics of flames: there is an element of suddenness within them, that is, they

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quickly flare up and give off intense heat. However, they are much “smaller” in size than a fire: a fire can burn on and on, just as an argument can go on for a long time as well. However, a flame sandwich is a negative comment that is immediately followed by a positive one — therefore, the “size” of the argumentation is very limited indeed. A further note can be added about the selection of sandwich as the profile determinant. As Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 46–7) argue, one of the possible ways we conceptualise ideas is in terms of food.15 On the basis of the ideas are food conceptual metaphor, it is quite “logical” to conceptualise our comments that we have about something also as a type of food. It is simply a next step in linguistic (and conceptual) creativity that we specify the nature of this food to best match the structure of our thought processes.

5.4. Summary This chapter explored the various ways conceptual metaphor acts upon the meaning of noun–noun combinations. The aim was to go much further than previous analyses on the subject and systematically map the various patterns by which metaphorical creative compounds are formed in English. My results show that metaphor does not act upon compounds in an ad hoc manner, but there is an inventory of semantic patterns, based upon which part of the compound is activated by conceptual metaphor: the modifier, the profile determinant, the compound as a whole, or the relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant (this latter relationship is explored in detail in Chapter 6). The analyses have shown that patterns exhibit remarkable variety, depending on what type of conceptual metaphor is involved in the meaning of the compound. The analyses of the compounds have also shed light on the fact that the participating metaphors are mostly established ones that emerge in all sorts of linguistic (and non-linguistic) phenomena, i.e. they are not restricted to noun–noun combinations exclusively. This implies that metaphorical creative compounds are the result of thought processes rooted in the conventional usages of conceptual metaphor. 15. For example, What he said left a bad taste in my mouth; I just can’t swallow that claim; That argument smells fishy; This is the meaty part of the paper (all examples are from Lakoff and Johnson, ibid.).

chapter 6

Metaphor-based semantic relation between the constituents of the compound Both Pamela Downing (1977) and Beatrice Warren (1978) have noted that there are numerous noun–noun combinations in English where the semantic relation between the two constituents of a compound is that of resemblance or comparison. More precisely, the second constituent, N2 , is compared to the first constituent, N1. Downing cited the hypothetical moon-fish, i.e. a fish whose appearance resembles the moon, while one of Warren’s examples were clubfoot, a foot that is shaped like a club (and thus has a distorted shape). Such compounds bear a metaphorical relationship between the two constituents of the compound: the entity denoted by N2 is metaphorically understood through the entity denoted by N1. This metaphorical relationship can, of course, be based upon a number of features, for instance appearance or shape, as in moon-fish and clubfoot. More recently, Wolfgang U. Dressler (2006: 38) has called attention to the fact that “no comprehensive description of nominal compounds works without relational notions, such as . . . metaphor, if compounds such as . . . blood orange, velvet voice . . . have to be accounted for”. Warren (1978) also established a category of copula compounds, exemplified by girlfriend, where the connecting verb between the two constituents is be. In such constructions it is difficult, if not impossible to assign semantic roles for the participating nouns. Yet there is not much point in creating a separate category for resemblance-type compounds and those of the copula relation, as Warren did, since resemblance compounds and copula compounds are very much alike. Resemblance compounds (or comparison compounds, to use Downing’s term) are — in effect — also copula compounds, since they too are linked with the verb be and assigning the participating nouns semantic roles is a perplexing issue indeed. The fact that such compounds have a metaphorical relation between N1 and N2 does not call . See also Victoria Adams (1973), who established a separate category of compounds in her typology which are based on resemblance (the first element denotes something to which the referent of the second is compared, as in box kite or sponge cake). Andrew Goatley (1997) has also made note of such compounds, which he refers to as “resemblance incorporated in derivation”, as opposed to “resemblance associated with derivation” (where the derived lexical items are not intrinsically metaphorical but are nevertheless used metaphorically within the compound) as in the case of meteoric rise.

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for the establishment of a separate category, what we are facing rather is a more creative process of “copula-type” noun–noun constructions: the source domain is represented by the first constituent, while the target domain is represented by the second constituent. Therefore, the meaning of the compound as a whole is based upon the conceptualisation of the entity designated by N2 through the entity designated by N1. This conceptualisation is activated by a conceptual metaphor.

6.1. Image metaphors According to George Lakoff and Mark Turner (1989: 89–96), not all metaphors are based upon conceptual knowledge: some involve the mapping of images. Such metaphors are called image metaphors. Metaphorical image mappings work just the same way as conceptual metaphors: the structure of one domain is mapped onto another domain, that is, we superimpose the schematic structure of the source domain onto the target domain. Both big-box store (‘a large-format store, typically one that has a plain, box-like exterior and at least 100,000 square feet of retail space’) and submarine sandwich (‘a large soft breadroll, filled with a combination of things, such as meat, cheese, eggs and salad’) exemplify relatively straightforward cases of image metaphors where the shape of a box and a submarine is superimposed on the shape of a store and a sandwich respectively. In the opinion of Elena Nicoladis (2006), it is exactly this type of creative noun–noun compound, based on a resemblance in shape, that children understand and learn to produce the earliest from among all the various metaphor-based compound expressions in English. This view is supported by the example of sky-car (for ‘airplane’), supplied by Eve V. Clark (1993), which was coined by a child at the age of 1.6 years. As Clark emphasises (p. 117), children’s innovative nouns in the first two years are nearly all compounds formed from two nouns, linked with a primary–tertiary stress pattern. The constituents of such compounds are nouns that already exist in the child’s lexicon. In the case of sky-car, the child creates a comparison between a plane and a car, based on shape and possibly function. In the case of submarine sandwich, the sandwich is like a submarine — on a highly abstract level: the long, sturdy shape of the submarine corresponds to the long and bulky contour of a submarine sandwich. Apart from mapping the shape of a submarine onto the sandwich, no further detail or element is taken from the source . I have checked both traditional and Internet dictionaries for the definition of submarine sandwich, and the long and sturdy shape of this sandwich type is emphasised in each and every one of them. E.g.: “a long bread roll split open and filled with meat, cheese, etc.” (LDOCE); “a long soft bread roll filled with a combination of things . . .” (CCED); “a large sandwich made of a long crusty roll split lengthwise . . .” (http://dictionary.reference.com)

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Figure 6.1 Mappings between the source and target domains of submarine sandwich and big-box store

domain onto the target domain. A similar process takes place in big-box store: the regular shape of a box corresponds to the shape of the store. However, in the latter case the inside layout of the store corresponds to the inside shape of a box, while in submarine sandwich only the outer contour of the submarine is mapped onto the shape of the sandwich (see Figure 6.1). A very interesting case of an image metaphor is represented by the compound beanpole family (‘a family whose living members come from many generations, but with few members in each generation’). In beanpole family, the members of a family, such as the child, the parents, and a grandparent provide the target domain, while solitary beanpoles make up the source domain. The mapping between the source domain and target domain provides the conceptualisation of the family members as beanpoles of various heights (see Figure 6.2). The correspondence between the members of a family and beanpoles of various heights is based upon some similarity in appearance: the various generations of a family differ from one another in height, as there are beanpoles of various heights in a vegetable garden. However, if the members of a family correspond to beanpoles of various lengths, then theoretically the correct form of the compound should in fact

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Figure 6.2 Mappings between the source and target domains of beanpole family

be *beanpoles family (that is, the modifier should be in the plural since the members of a family correspond to different beanpoles, and not to a single one). Yet beanpole family sounds more natural than *beanpoles family. Why is this the case? According to the morphological rules of English, when a noun with a regular plural form is used in the modifier position of a compound expression, it remains in the singular form, regardless of it being used in a plural sense. (The exceptions to this rule are the irregular plurals of nouns; see for example mice-infested versus rat-infested, both meaning a place infested with vermin). It is not quite clear what element of the source domain provides the meaning of ‘having only a few members in each generation’, since this aspect would be equally well covered by a noun–noun combination such as pan-pipe family: here the various pipes would map on to the family members, and since there is only one pipe of each length in this musical instrument, the mapping between the domains would imply that only one family member represents each generation. And it should also be kept in mind that beanpole (see below, in section 6.1.1) has the meaning of ‘a very tall, thin person’, therefore it would be more “logical” if beanpole family meant ‘a family whose members are all tall and lean’. In bar-code hairstyle (‘a style in which a man’s last few strands of hair are combed across the top of his head, thus resembling a bar-code pattern’), the second constituent, hairstyle, is the entity that is metaphorically understood as the first constituent of the compound, bar-code. The basis for the metaphor is the very similar ap-

Figure 6.3 Representation of the image-based conceptualisation of bar-code hairstyle

Chapter 6. Metaphor-based semantic relation

pearance of the strands of a balding man’s hair to the lines in a barcode (see Figure 6.3). Although once again the image is only schematic, there are correspondences between the two entities: a barcode has lines of varying width, and correspondingly, the strands on the top of a balding man’s head are also of varying width.

6.1.1 The case of the true “exocentrics”: beanpole and muffin top Generally, compounds are defined as morphologically complex constructions that contain at least two elements that can otherwise occur as free forms. In this sense, beanpole (‘a very tall, thin person’), for example, is jut as equally representative of English compounding as steamboat or doghouse. All three compounds contain a head element that is situated on the right-hand side, and a modifier element on the left-hand side. However, compounds such as beanpole are quite different from steamboat and doghouse: in the latter two cases, the right-hand member denotes a generic entity, while the left-hand member specifies the nature of this entity. When the meaning of the whole is examined in light of the components, it becomes evident that the meaning of steamboat is motivated by both steam and boat, since the compound can be paraphrased as ‘a boat that is powered by steam’. After Ronald W. Langacker (1987), steamboat can be said to be a composite symbolic structure, a combination of [[steam]/[stiːm]] and [[boat]/[boʊt]], where both nouns denote different concepts: steam denotes the concept of steam, while boat denotes the concept boat. The case is similar to doghouse: the compound is a composite symbolic structure of [[dog]/[dɔg]] and [[house]/[haʊs]], and both nouns denote different concepts: dog and house, respectively. A quick look at Figure 6.4 shows this state of affairs: the compounds are made up of the phonological sequences of [boʊt] and [stiːm], and [dɔg] and [haʊs] respectively, which represent separate semantic concepts. The case is quite different with creative compounds such as beanpole (‘a very tall, thin person’) or muffin top (‘roll of spare flesh which cascades over the op of lowslung jeans’). While it can be claimed that both of them are multimorphemic in the sense that they are made up of two words that can exist as free forms — bean and

Figure 6.4 Constructional schemas of steamboat and doghouse

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Figure 6.5 The typical constructional schema of metaphor-based noun–noun compounds (a); and the atypical constructional schema of metaphor-based noun–noun compounds with an unexpressed profile determinant (b)

pole on the one hand and muffin and top on the other –, there is absolutely no explicit mention of either a ‘thin person’ in the former or ‘superfluous flesh’ in the latter. In this section I wish to argue that both compounds are a special case of imagebased metaphors, where the target domain that is normally designated by the head noun (N2, i.e. the profile determiner) is not expressed — only the source domain that is designated by the modifier noun (N1) is present. This state of affairs is illustrated in Figure 6.5: diagram (a) shows the typical situation, where a multimorphemic modifier (i.e. a compound) and a profile determinant form a composite expression, whose profile is inherited from the head element — denoted by the second constituent (represented by [[Z]/[z]] in the diagram). The meaning of the compound is based upon metaphor, where the source domain is represented by the first constituent [[X Y]/[x y]], while the target domain is represented by the second constituent [[Z]/[z]]. Submarine sandwich, beanpole family or bar-code hairstyle all exemplify this structure. However, what we are facing in examples such as beanpole and muffin top is a slight divergence from the typical structure depicted in diagram (a) — the profile determinant is absent from the compound expression, as shown in diagram (b). However, although the second constituent [[Z]/[z]] — the target domain — remains unexpressed, the overall composite structure nevertheless inherits its profile. Therefore, such compounds are truly “exocentric” in the sense that the head is not expressed within the compound, yet as the target domain of the image-based metaphor, it nevertheless heavily influences the compound’s meaning. As Figure 6.6 shows, the meaning of beanpole is based upon the superimposing of the image a beanpole onto that of a tall, thin person. The image metaphor is motivated by the physical resemblance between a beanpole and a lanky person. The metaphor establishes several highly schematic correspondences between the source and target domain: the height of the pole corresponds to the height of the person; the thinness of the pole is mapped onto the thinness of the person; and the

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Figure 6.6 Mappings between the source and target domains of beanpole

height–narrowness ratio of the pole corresponds to the height–thinness ratio of the person. The meaning of the compound is motivated by both domains, that is, the source domain of the beanpole and the target domain of a tall and thin person. However, what is peculiar about beanpole is that the tall, thin person domain — the target — is absent from the compound. Why is there no explicit reference in the compound to the target domain? A possible explanation is offered by Mary Ellen Ryder (1994), who carried out an in-depth analysis of noun–noun compounds, using the notions of profile determinacy and schema theory. However, she limited her analysis to the so-called endocentric compounds exclusively, i.e. constructions whose semantic head is situated on the right-hand side of the expression. In her view, exocentric compounds lack a profile determinant: they might have started off as complex endocentric constructions, such as hammerhead shark, but then they lose their head because the head is redundant in most contexts in which the expression is used (and thus the construction becomes simply hammerhead, referring to a shark species). It might be possible that beanpole started off as beanpole man or beanpole woman, but after a period of time it lost its head constituent. If the assumption is correct, then beanpole man or beanpole woman should also be possible and existing variations (though limited in number, as beanpole has a more established usage). I have typed both “beanpole man” and “beanpole woman” into the Yahoo Internet search engine, to see if these constructions are used at all in language. Interestingly, the search engine found five websites containing “beanpole man”. Four of the expressions came from short stories that have been put on the Internet, and described a tall male character, while one of the expressions was used in the context of an interview, . For example, “. . . The woman stood deep in conversation with the beanpole man, at about two thirds of his height, the sun catching the frizz on her long blond hair...”, from a short story by M. Covic (http://www.ishmaelreedpub.com/Covic.html).

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Figure 6.7 Mappings between the source and target domains of muffin top

also to denote a lanky man. “Beanpole woman” was found in two websites, one of them denoted a tall female character in a short story, while the other example was used in a BBC commentary on cosmetic surgery, to describe tall, thin women in general. However, it should also be kept in mind that this construction has been in use for a long time, which means that there was plenty of time for the compound to become so established as to lose its profile determinant due to lexicalisation. Nevertheless, the existence of beanpole man and beanpole woman bear evidence to the hypothesis that beanpole is an image-based metaphor whose target domain is not expressed (as is usual in other resemblance-type compounds), due either to redundancy (the target domain is inferred from the context) or lexicalisation. A similar line of reasoning can be used in the analysis of muffin top, an intriguing, relatively novel coinage, originating from two Australian television presenters. As Figure 6.7 shows, the meaning of muffin top can be analysed as the superimposition of the image of a muffin onto that of a waistline of a person. The image metaphor is motivated by the physical resemblance between a muffin and the waistline of a person wearing tight jeans (therefore resulting in the superfluous flesh hanging over the jeans). It should be noted, however, that the compound as a whole does not profile the muffin as a whole (since in such a case the compound would be simply muffin, and not muffin top): muffin top diverts our attention to the pastry that is above the rim of the paper cup and focuses on the ratio between the top of the muffin and the lower part of the muffin — thereby profiling the spare flesh over the waistline of a pair of jeans. Apart from the highly schematic resemblance between a muffin’s upper part and superfluous flesh, a further possible motivation for the choice of this . For example, “. . . Many tribes in Africa regard plumpness as the ideal in beauty. The problem today is the modelling world, where the beanpole woman is marketed as a ‘beauty’...” (source: http://www.news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/talking_point/2207358.stm). . Evidence for lexicalisation is also provided by submarine sandwich, an image-based compound analysed under section 6.1, as the compound has further forms such as submarine or sub (where the latter, interestingly, is the clipped version of the modifier) (CCED).

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neologism can be based upon metonymy: the reason why the “love handles” are there in the first place is because too much muffin has been eaten, therefore a cause for effect conceptual metonymy might also be an influencing factor in the compound’s meaning. Here, the same phenomenon can be observed as in the case of beanpole: the target domain that is denoted by the profile determinant (N2) is absent in the compound, while the source domain (as expressed by the modifier, i.e. muffin top) is present. Yet the unexpressed profile determinant still influences the overall meaning of the compound. This hypothesis is supported by an article on the dresses worn by the actress Gwyneth Paltrow — the journalist pointed out that on one occasion the actress chose to wear an unflattering dress in which her bosoms spilt out of the cleavage, “giving an unflattering ‘muffin top’ spillage under the shoulders”. What is interesting about this quote is that the original meaning of muffin top has undergone generalisation, to encompass any superfluous flesh (not just that hanging out of a pair of jeans at the waistline), and the article immediately specified this “novel” target domain by placing it right after the compound in the text. The “spillage under the shoulders” (the target domain) immediately follows the source domain designated by muffin top, thereby evoking the imagistic metaphorical mapping that superimposes one domain on the other.

6.1.2 Image-schema metaphors Image schemas are extremely skeletal, and as their name suggests, have only a schematic image structure. They include our understanding of a path or human orientations such as up-down and in-out. In English, prepositions are used for expressing these schematic spatial relations, and since many of our conceptual metaphors allow abstract concepts to be understood in terms of physical objects and spatial re. “But Gwyneth’s psychoanalyst would surely have a field day with her repeated failure to choose a dress that fits her bosoms. When she won her Oscar, her pale pink Ralph Lauren was far too big; this time, the dress looks a little too small for the post-Apple figure, giving an unflattering ‘muffin top’ spillage under the shoulders.” Source: Jess Cartner-Horley: “And the winners are”, The Guardian, G2 supplement, 1 March 2005, p. 13. . Two main questions arise with regard to such creative compounds such as beanpole or muffin top. First, whether resemblance-type noun–noun compounds are more prone to “lose” the second constituent, as opposed to other types of creative compounds. An adequate answer would require a suitably large corpus-based analysis, which, however, does not fall within the scope of this research. Second, once such a compound “loses” its head constituent, will the remaining modifying constituent evoke the image mapping between the source and the target domain — i.e. the second constituent in this sense will be lost due to redundancy, or will the meaning of the expression become slightly opaque to language users? The answer requires experimental evidence, which I am not able to provide at this point.

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Figure 6.8 Representation of the out image schema

lations, we make use of these elementary image-schemas to structure abstract domains, as we do when we say to be in love or to be out of power. Figure 6.8 (after Ungerer and Schmid 1996: 162–3) shows the graphic representation of the central image schema of out, as used in the sentence She went out (of the room). As the figure shows, in the first stage the trajector is included in the space occupied by the landmark. Apparently, this initial stage can be viewed as the central image schema for in. Nevertheless, the specificity of out is that the trajector moves from being included within the boundaries of the landmark to a location where the two are completely detached from each other. This is indicated in the figure by the positions of the trajector. Image-schemas can serve as the basis of conceptual metaphors. Thus the motion schema (where we have a trajector moving along a path) underlies the love is a journey conceptual metaphor In the case of shuttle diplomacy (‘the movement of diplomats between countries whose leaders refuse to talk directly to each other, in order to try to settle the argument between them’), the source domain is an abstract image-schema of motion, based upon the movement of a shuttle: the trajector moves back and forth on a path between two destinations (see Figure 6.9). In the figure, the shuttle (trajector) moves from A to B in stage 1, then goes from B to A in stage 2, following the same . Friderich Ungerer and Hans-Jörg Schmid (1996: 160) define image schemas as “simple and basic cognitive structures which are derived from our everyday interaction with the world . . . the schema which has thus developed is obviously less concrete than the rich prototype categories of objects and organisms”. . The notions trajector and landmark are specific manifestations of the more widely applicable notions of figure and ground. When we look at an object in our environment, we single it out as a perceptually prominent figure standing out from the ground. According to cognitive linguistics, the same principle of prominence is valid in the structure of language. E.g.: in locative relations such as “The book is on the table”, the book is conceptualised as the figure (and the table is the ground) (for a detailed discussion, see for example Ungerer and Schmid 1996).

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Figure 6.9 Representation of the shuttle motion image schema

route (though in the opposite direction) as in stage 1. The various elements of this abstract image map onto the target domain, as denoted by diplomacy: the shuttle maps onto the diplomat, the destinations of A and B correspond to the two countries between which the diplomat tries to sooth the crisis, while the trajectory, i.e. the path of motion maps onto the motion of the diplomat. The shuttle motion image schema, however, does not provide any explanation for the communication aspect of the meaning (that diplomats are sent to pacify two parties who are not talking directly to one another). This aspect might be accounted for by the conduit metaphor, namely that ideas are objects, linguistic expressions are containers and communication is sending. In the shuttle diplomacy example — as it has been already pointed out — the diplomat maps on to the shuttle (the trajector moving to and fro between two destinations), thereby the diplomat is de-personified and becomes an inanimate, container-like object. This is where the conduit metaphor comes into the picture: the shuttle-diplomat becomes the container carrying the message, and communication is nothing else than sending the shuttle-diplomat on its way. It does not take much to see that within this interpretation of the conduit metaphor, the sender and the receiver of the message (that is carried by the shuttle-diplomat) are the leaders of those respective countries that have some sort of disagreement between themselves.

6.2. Monsters and zombies What is interesting about the next group of compounds is that the entity denoted by the second constituent in each and every one of them is personified as a monster or other evil creature by the entity denoted by the first constituent: monster country

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(‘a large and populous country, especially one that wields enormous economic, cultural and political power’), monster home (‘an extremely large house, especially one in which the size doesn’t fit in with the surrounding architecture or terrain’) and zombie computer (‘a computer containing a hidden software programme that enables the machine to be controlled remotely, usually to perform an attack on another computer’). If the observation by Lakoff and Johnoson (1980) is taken into consideration, namely that it is a certain aspect of human nature that is singled out in personification, then it is evident that it is the negative aspect of a country or a computer that is brought into focus in these expressions, what is more, monster and zombie imply a certain degree of uncontrollability as well. In fact, the CCED gives the following definition of monster: “. . . something which is extremely large, especially something which is difficult to manage or which is unpleasant”.10 In the case of zombie computer, there are correspondences between the source domain — a zombie — and the target domain — a computer. The LDOCE defines a zombie as “a dead person whose body is made to move by magic”. The computer is the zombie, and the hidden software programme is the magic by which the computer is controlled. Although there is no specific mention if it in the dictionary definition, a zombie does not have powers of its own (since it is a dead person), it is the magic that controls its movements. This feature is mapped onto the target domain as well, since the software programme controls the computer, not the person who actually sits before the machine.

6.3. Personification: bandit sign In the case of a bandit sign (‘an illegal commercial sign posted in a public area’), an inanimate object, denoted by N2 (sign) is conceptualised as a human being by N1 (bandit). Such a process is called personification. Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 33–4) claim that some of the most obvious ontological metaphors are those which specify the physical object or entity as a person. This enables us to understand rather a large number of experiences with nonhuman entities in terms of human motivations, characteristics, and activities. However, as the authors emphasise, personification is not a certain kind of unified process, for each metaphor of personification 10. According to the CCED, monster can also be used as an adjective before nouns, to denote something “extremely and surprisingly large”. However, it is unlikely that in monster country and monster house the first constituent is an adjective used only in the sense of longevity, because in both compounds there is an additional feature of something negative. In the former compound for instance, the meaning of the expression implies that a very powerful country poses a threat to smaller ones. Moreover, a house that is labelled as a monster home is not only very large, but disrupts the harmony of its immediate environment.

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is different from the other in the way human characteristics are singled out from a specific aspect.11 In the case of bandit sign, a simple sign is conceptualised as a criminal, whose main characteristic is that s/he is up to something illegal. This aspect is carried over to the nonhuman entity denoted by N2, thus we are left with a sign that is doing something illegal. It is common knowledge about signs that they are put up by people in a public place to communicate some sort of message — thus a sign can be considered “doing something illegal” in the following scenarios: (1) if it communicates something that is illegal; or (2) if it is located in a place where it does not have a right to be. Once again, common knowledge helps in selecting scenario no. 2 as the possible frame of the compound, since signs are often put up in places where it is illegal for them to be (and it is less common to hear about scenario 1 in the news — although this could also arise as a possibility).

6.4. Single-scope blends 6.4.1 Sandwich generation In sandwich generation (‘people who must care for both their children and their parents; people who have finished raising their children and now must take care of their aging parents’), a is conceptualised as the in a sandwich, where the correspond to the <slices of bread> that cover the middle (see Figure 6.10).12 This metaphor can be based upon our knowledge of sandwiches: that the slices of bread are only secondary in importance; it is the filling that makes a sandwich a sandwich (in fact, sandwiches can have the covering (top) slice of bread missing and still be called a sandwich). In addition, sandwiches are named after their filling and not the bread, thus we have egg sandwich, ham sandwich, cheese sandwich, etc. 11. Lakoff and Johnson (p. 33) give the example of inflation is a person but emphasise that in actual fact the metaphor is more specific and looks more like inflation is an adversary (e.g.: inflation has attacked the foundation of our economy; our biggest enemy right now is inflation; inflation has robbed me of my savings). According to the authors, by approaching the nonhuman entity of inflation as a person who is our adversary helps us in acting towards it and it also helps us in understanding why we suffer substantial economic losses due to complex economic and political factors. 12. In fact, the establishedness — or over-usedness — of the compound is well demonstrated by the fact that it has a number of varieties in existence. In the view of Orin Hargraves (2004), clubsandwich generation is also used to refer to the same concept; and the UK edition of Grazia has published an article on a sandwich woman, who is “trapped between the needs of her children and her seriously ill mother” (9 May 2005, p. 44).

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Figure 6.10 The blend analysis of sandwich generation

The importance of the filling is mapped onto the target domain as well, since the older and the younger generations are dependent on the middle generation (emotionally and financially). In addition, the filling is located in the middle “position” of a sandwich, it is covered by a slice of bread above and below as well — this positioning is mapped onto the target domain, where the middle generation has an older and a younger generation above and below it, respectively. The fact that the older and the younger generation is similar to one another in the respect that both rely on the middle generation is further emphasised by the similarity of the bread slices that cover the filling. The middle generation is in turn pressurised, since it has to look after both generations — this feature is well conceptualised by the two slices of bread that squash together the filling that is between them.

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6.4.2 Seabiscuit candidate As Zoltán Kövecses (2000: 295–6) argues, sport is one of the most important source domains in American politics: “[p]oliticians can sometimes employ hardball tactics; they may have a game plan; they may play it safe or play for time; a politician can be a good teamplayer; a presidential candidate has a running mate; the election campaign may be a close race . . .” (italics as in original). The presidential election can also be conceptualised as a horse race, where the horses correspond to the candidates. This is what happens in the compound Seabiscuit candidate (‘a political candidate who comes from behind to win an election’), an expression that entered the realm of the 2004 presidential election campaign, though according to journalist James Harding, the expression became overused (source: “Horseracing cliché really takes the biscuit”, Financial Times, January 27, 2004).13 What is very interesting about this blend is that it starts off with a simple set of mappings between a source and a target domain (see Table 6.1), on the basis of the u.s. politics is sport conceptual metaphor, more specifically the presidential election is a horse race metaphor. Table 6.1 Mappings between the source and target domains of the presidential election is a horse race conceptual metaphor Source domain

Target domain

horses race start of race end of race horse winning race

candidates presidential election first primary election general election candidate winning election

The presidential election is a horse race metaphor is one that is applied generally to the presidential election campaign of the United States, thus it cannot be considered as anything special. (In fact, the special branch of journalism that surrounds the political battles of an election campaign has been labelled as horserace journalism14 — a creative compound that fits the types discussed in this chapter, that is, the source domain of the first noun is mapped onto the target domain of 13. See for e.g. the following quotes taken from the article: “I have always seen John Kerry as the Seabiscuit of this race. He’s back at the third corner and he sees the wire and there goes Seabiscuit — by the time they see him, nobody can catch him”; “. . . Dennis Kucinich, the Ohio congressman, has also portrayed himself as ‘the Seabiscuit candidate’, saying that, like the racehorse made famous by a book and then the film last year, he will burst ‘from the back of the pack’ ” (italics by me; source: wordspy). 14. Source: Macmillan English Dictionary Magazine, Issue 24 (November 2004). Available online: http://www.macmillandictionary.com

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the second noun.) What is very original about the expression Seabiscuit candidate, however, is that this metaphor is elaborated upon through the movie Seabiscuit, to produce a blended image of a Seabiscuit candidate, where the <political candidate> is conceptualised as a <special racing horse that manages to win despite all odds> (and contrary to expectations). The relatively recent (2003) movie is about a racehorse that the experts said could not win, but eventually it did, thereby inspiring Americans during the depression era. In the single-scope blend network the domain of the Seabiscuit movie provides the source domain, while the presidential election is the target domain (see Figure 6.11). The generic space that is common to both inputs and the blend is an abstract competition frame, where competitors compete with one another. The elements of the source domain map onto the elements of the target domain, thus <Seabiscuit> corresponds to the <presidential candidate>, the to the <primary elections> taking place in the United States, while <Seabiscuit winning the horse race> maps onto to the . There is also

Figure 6.11 The blend analysis of Seabiscuit candidate

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a in Input 1, where Seabiscuit winning the race unexpectedly causes surprise. The blend combines elements from both input spaces, thus we have a <Seabiscuit/political candidate> who wins the primary. The of the source domain is integrated in the blended space by taking an element from the target domain, the <winning of the primary>, as the cause, and having an element from the source domain, <surprise>, as the effect. There is no surprise involved in a political candidate winning a primary election — somebody has to win. The element of surprise comes up in the Seabiscuit movie, where the horse is the cause of great astonishment when it manages to win the race. Thus this effect of surprise is combined in the blend with winning the primary — and this integration of elements is the origin for the compound denoting a candidate who wins unexpectedly. An interesting feature of Seabiscuit candidate is that since the end of the presidential elections — during which the compound was even claimed to have been often and widely applied, see above — it has gone out of use. As Kövecses (2002) emphasises, various factors contribute to the emergence of conceptual metaphors, based — among others — on shared cultural knowledge. The coinage of the creative compound Seabiscuit candidate was motivated by the story of the racehorse Seabiscuit as depicted by the movie, that is, people at that time had the necessary and shared cultural knowledge to establish mappings between a political candidate and the racehorse. However, as this knowledge is directly related to the movie, it is very likely that the cultural knowledge has now become lost (as the movie is not on show at cinemas anymore), and as a consequence the relatively evident mappings between the source and target domains of the blend network are much harder to establish (in fact, even impossible without knowing the storyline of the Seabsicuit movie). A further note about the compound Seabiscuit candidate is that it was also used as Seabiscuit in American English — thus the second constituent of the compound, referring to the target domain (candidate), is not expressed within the compound. Therefore, a similar phenomenon arises as in the case of the true “exocentrics” analysed under section 6.1.1: reducing Seabiscuit candidate to simply Seabiscuit is possible because the meaning is evident from the context (see note 13, first quote) — or, due to the excessive use of the term, the head noun that originally denoted the target domain became redundant (these are, however, are theoretical speculations at this point — see note 7).

6.4.3 Birdcage and cereal box This section will focus on two compounds, birdcage and cereal box, whose morphological structure is similar to that of beanpole and muffin top (as analysed under

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section 6.1.1) in the sense that the target domain — which is denoted by the profile determinant — remains absent from the compound expression. Nevertheless, as it will be shown below, the meaning of both compounds is based upon conceptual knowledge in the form of systematic mappings established between the source and target domains of a blend network, where the target domain is supplied by the absent profile determinant. The basic metaphorical association of planes with birds provides the starting point for the compound birdcage (‘the airspace in the immediate vicinity of an airport’). It is this primary association that makes it possible to form further correspondences between the two domains: as Bipin Indurkhya (1992: 256) points out, once a similarity-based metaphor has been established, it opens up the possibility of “predictive analogy” that is, the creation or inference of further similarities, based on the already existing ones. Therefore, as the element of the tar-

Figure 6.12 The blend analysis of birdcage

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get domain corresponds to the element of the source domain (as illustrated in Figure 6.12), so can the be conceptualised as the . Apart from elements, relationships within the input spaces can also be mapped onto one another: the corresponds to the . A consequence of this relationship is that within the cage, the bird is safe from outside danger — just as a plane is also safe to land once inside the airspace above an airport. Yet how can the birdcage domain infer safety, while in the case of jailbird (see section 5.2.1) the same element was associated with containment (with a prison cell)? Two possible explanations can be given. First, Kövecses (2002: 79–81) states that both source domains and target domains are characterised by a number of different features. When a source domain is applied to a target domain, only some (and not all) aspects of the source are utilised for the conceptualisation of the target, a process that is called “metaphorical utilization” in metaphor theory. It seems that different aspects of the birdcage domain are used in jailbird and birdcage: in the former, the feature of constraint is put to use in the conceptual metaphor, while the latter example utilises the aspect of safety that can be associated with birdcages, as they not only keep the bird inside, but also protect the bird from outside danger. The second possible explanation involves the meaning extensions associated with the preposition in. According to Vyvyan Evans and Andrea Taylor (2004), the proto-scene of in — which constitutes a spatial relation in which a trajector is located within a landmark which has three salient elements, an interior, a boundary and an exterior — gives rise to the various related but distinct senses of in, which, in the polysemy network, cluster around the proto-scene in a systematic way. As the authors indicate, containment “is a complex relation involving numerous functional consequences” (168) — for instance, in the shape of containers, bounded landmarks constrain the movement of a trajector (as in the case of jailbird). Containers can also provide protection — as in the case of birdcage. Therefore, these different experiences of containment, profiled by the various uses of in, help account for the difference in meaning of the birdcage domain with regard to jailbird and birdcage.15 An interesting example is provided by cereal box (‘substandard head protection, particularly a poor quality hockey helmet’). In this case the source domain is a cereal box (as denoted by N1), while the target domain is a (bad quality) helmet (this is the profile of the compound expression, which is inherited from the absent profile determinant, N2). The cereal box and the helmet provide the input spaces in a blend network, where the emergent structure is a very low-quality helmet, i.e. a cereal 15. Consequently, the generic space of the blend network is a highly schematised container bounded on all sides, in which the trajector is located.

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Figure 6.13 The blend analysis of cereal box

box (see Figure 6.13). The basis for the choice of a cereal box to refer to a bad quality helmet arises primarily from the fact that both a cereal box and a helmet are understood as containers: the former holds cereals, while the latter protects the head of a person. The Container ICM is the generic image that is mapped onto both the two input spaces and the blend, thereby giving a common structure to all of the domains. The similarities between the two domains do not stop here: cereals are very brittle, and can be easily turned into a meshy substance just by squashing the sides of the box that holds them. When they become accordingly pulverised, they are not enjoyable anymore for consumption. A person’s head, on the other hand, contains the brain. If the head suffers a strong blow, the brain might get damaged, causing thereby some sort of mal- or dysfunction. Thus the head/brain is conceptualised as the cereal inside the cereal box, i.e. as a matter that can be very easily damaged. It is common knowledge that cereal boxes are made from thin carton, thus their sides can be easily squashed. This characteristic shows up in the blend as well, where we have an emergent structure through

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the combination of elements from both inputs: a cereal box-like helmet which is not able to provide proper protection for the person wearing it because its shell gets very easily damaged (and thereby causing injury to the head). Similarly to the compound beanpole or muffin top, one of the domains, the target, is absent from both birdcage and cereal box; only the source domain — as denoted by N1 (birdcage and cereal box respectively) is present. If the compounds would follow the “typical” structure, as depicted in Figure 6.5, they would have the forms of birdcage airspace and cereal box helmet, where the profile determinant denotes the target domain and the modifier the source domain of a conceptual metaphor. The only possible explanation that can be provided for the absent profile determinant at present is redundancy; namely that the target domain can be inferred from the immediate context.16 Why exactly do some creative compounds lose their profile determinants — while others retain it — is, however, an open question. Further investigations need to be carried out whether this phenomenon is more common among compounds where a resemblance- or similarity-based relationship exists between N1 and N2,17 or whether its occurrence is attributable to the interaction of other factors as well, such as context.

6.4.4 Nanny state and nanny car What is common to both nanny state (‘a government that tries to protect its citizens too much and makes them rely on the state too much’) and nanny car (‘a car that uses computer technology to prevent the driver from making unsafe actions or decisions’) is that they share one of the input spaces, the nanny domain. In both compounds there are two entities (denoted by N2) that are conceptualised as a nanny, as denoted by the first constituent (N1). Nanny state seems to have a more lexicalised status than nanny car: the former can be found in the dictionary while the latter cannot. This might indicate that nanny car was coined on the basis of nanny state — thereby providing a further example to the idea that creative compounds can induce productive processes of word formation. Both compounds can be accounted for through the same source domain, i.e. a nanny domain containing the following elements: and ; and the relation of <dependency of the child on the nanny>. The nanny’s main function of taking care of the child in lieu of the parents also takes part in the blend network, as well as the feelings of responsibility and overprotectiveness felt by the nanny to16. Evidence for this possibility in the case of birdcage is provided by the example citation taken from wordspy: “The night sky over LAX [Los Angeles International Airport] was alive with moving lights as dozens of planes waited in the birdcage for their turn to land” (italics added). 17. Note that from out of all the metaphorical compounds, children understand and learn to produce first those types that are based on a resemblance in shape (Nicoladis 2006).

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wards the child. In both nanny state and nanny car, a process of personification takes place, by which an abstract concept such as state and an inanimate object such as car take on human characteristics. Both compounds can be analysed within a single-scope blend, where both inputs, as well as the generic and the blended space share the same organising frame: that of a controlled–controller relationship. In the case of nanny state (see Figure 6.14), the nanny domain acts as the source domain, while the state domain provides the target domain. Accordingly, maps onto <state>, while corresponds to . The authority that the nanny has over the child maps onto the authority the state has over the citizen, and both and <state> share the responsibility of taking care of the and the , respectively. The blended space inherits elements from both inputs, thereby we get a that is in charge of the , but is at

Figure 6.14 The blend analysis of nanny state

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the same time too overprotective (an element that is inherited from Input 1). However, a nanny state is clearly a pejorative term for a state that is too overbearing over its citizens: this meaning is rooted in the being conceptualised as . A child is considered to be unable to look after itself or make decisions on its own, therefore it is the nanny’s role to do so. Ideally, the relationship between a state and its citizens is reciprocal: both give and gain something out of it. In the case of nanny state, however, the relationship becomes biased towards the : it enjoys complete authority over its , who, in turn, cannot question the actions of the state. The result is an overbearing, overprotective state that is not appealing in the eyes of its citizens. In nanny car (see Figure 6.15), the blend network contains the input spaces of the nanny domain and the car domain. Although the two inputs are seemingly different in their structure, there are certain correspondences between them: maps onto , and maps onto . Nevertheless, there is a major difference between the two: while the nanny controls the child, it is the driver that controls the car. In the case of the blend, however, the controlled–controller rela-

Figure 6.15 The blend analysis of nanny car

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tionship is inherited from Input 1, therefore the relationship between car and driver is reversed: it is the car that controls the driver, by overruling those actions of the driver that the car computer deems unsafe. Thus the car becomes an overprotective nanny that tries to take care of the driver-child. Once again, just like in the case of nanny state, the compound has a negative ring to it, since the authority that the driver has over a car goes over to the car computer, out of the driver’s hands: the driver’s competence is questioned by the nanny-car that overrides the driver’s decisions.18

6.4.5 Jackpot justice A further single-scope blend is offered by the analysis of jackpot justice (‘the practice of awarding huge monetary settlements to plaintiffs in court cases’). One of the input spaces is structured by playing with a one-armed bandit, while the other input space contains the domain of the provision of (court) justice (see Figure 6.16). The overall generic space of winning provides the structure of the input spaces, as well as the blend. Several correspondences occur between the two domains or inputs: the in the source domain maps onto the in the target, while the (such as a one-armed bandit) corresponds to the <judge> in the respective domains. In the blended space, the player/ plaintiff gambles at the courthouse, and if in luck, the judge awards huge sums of money. This compound is rather a derogatory term for court justice, since winning the jackpot in a casino happens only if one is very lucky. Justice on the other hand is supposed to be based upon impartiality and precedence. The blend can be further elaborated by conceptualising the courtroom as a casino, where the player-plaintiff can win big sums of money with little effort. It is purely coincidence who will turn out as the winner and who will leave money behind (at the casino) — therefore, winning a court case is also based upon luck and coincidence.

6.4.6 Chainsaw consultant Chainsaw consultant (‘a consultant hired specifically to reduce employee headcount, thus allowing the company’s top executives to remain blameless’) is an exciting single-scope blend, where the organising structure (as depicted in the generic space) is a simple action chain of Agent — Instrument — Patient.19 The two input spaces, 18. Evidence for the compound’s pejorative sense is provided by its synonymous term, nagmobile (source: wordspy). 19. According to Langacker (1991b, 2000a), action chains describe interactions between objects and organisms. Accordingly, in an Agent — Instrument — Patient action chain the Agent is the initiator of an action; the Instrument is the object manipulated by the Agent to affect another

Chapter 6. Metaphor-based semantic relation

Figure 6.16 The blend network of jackpot justice

the tree felling domain and the reduction in a company’s workforce domain function as the source and target domains of a complex conceptual metaphor through which the reduction of the employee headcount in a company is conceptualised as felling trees in a forest (see Figure 6.17). The tree felling domain consists of a number of elements: the , the in the forest, (environmental) , the , the and the by which the cutting of trees is carried out (usually a chainsaw). This input space also requires the activation of the metonymy instrument for action, by which the element can be understood to stand for the . The reduction of a company’s workforce input space contains the following elements: participant; while the Patient undergoes an internal change of state. In the case of Input 1, the people cutting down the trees correspond to the Agent, the chainsaw to the Instrument and the trees to the Patient. In Input 2, the executives correspond to the Agent, the consultant to the Instrument and the employees to the Patient.

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Figure 6.17 The blend analysis of chainsaw consultant

the <company>, <executives>, <employees>, (economic) , the <event of sending the employees away> and (outside) . The cross-space mappings between the two domains establish a number of mappings (see Table 6.2). The company input space as a whole is conceptualised as a forest, where the correspond to the <workers> or employees. Conceptualising the company or organisation as a forest cannot be considered as anything special, since as Kövecses (2002: 121–39) argues, abstract complex systems, such as the mind, theories, worldviews, society, social organisations, the government, etc. are often conceptualised with the help of four source domains: machine, building, plant and human body, through the abstract complex systems metaphor. This does not mean that language uses only these four source domains for the understanding of various abstract complex systems, but rather that with the help of the four source domains listed above we are able to account for a large portion

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Table 6.2 Mappings between the source and target domains of chainsaw consultant Source domain

Target domain

forest tree reason for felling trees tree felling people cutting down the trees means by which tree-felling is carried out (chainsaw)

company employee reason for reducing workforce sending employees away executives consultant

of our conceptualisations of abstract entities such as government, the mind, society, etc. The company is a forest metaphor can be considered as a submetaphor of the more general conceptual metaphor social organizations (companies) are plants. There are numerous expressions in English which are motivated by this metaphor, as the following examples indicate (examples from Kövecses 2002: 122): “. . . a local branch of the organisation” or even “They selectively pruned the workforce”, an example which clearly indicates that the basis of chainsaw consultant, the conceptual metaphor of reducing a company’s workforce is felling trees, is in no way a novel metaphor, but rather an elaboration of an already existing metaphor which conceptualises employees as leaves on a plant (a tree or a bush), and where pruning the leaves is equal to downsizing the company. The social organizations (companies) are plants metaphor is, in turn, an instantiation of the abstract complex systems metaphor. It should be emphasised that conceptualising the workforce as the trees within the forest is once again a relatively common phenomenon, which is based on the more general people are plants conceptual metaphor.20 In the case of chainsaw consultant, the is conceptualised as the that cuts down the trees. This understanding is motivated underlyingl by a very general conceptual metaphor, namely people are inanimate objects, which is often used when talking about people, since the properties of inanimate objects, such as hard or soft, big or small, tender or tough, are often used for talking about human beings (Kövecses 2002: 126).21 20. For a detailed discussion of the people are plants metaphor, see Lakoff and Turner (1989). This metaphor also motivates common metaphorical linguistic expressions used on a regular basis to talk about people: e.g. “She blossomed into a beautiful woman”. 21. A very good example for the people are inanimate objects is offered by Nick Hornby, a contemporary British novelist, from his novel How to Be Good (2001, London: Penguin Books). The protagonist is feeling depressed and goes to a self-proclaimed healer to try and lift her spirits. The healer, however, is unable to help her, and compares the protagonist to a car with a low battery: “. . . With you . . . it’s like a flat battery in a car. You know, I’m turning the ignition, and it’s just . . . ker-chunk-ker-chunk-ker-chunk” (pp. 212–13). In fact, conceptualising humans as cars provides ample of examples. For instance, a synonymous term for muffin top (see section 5.4.1) is spare tyre, where the body of a person is

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The blended space inherits elements from both domains, by which we have executives cutting down trees with the help of chainsaw consultants. What is very interesting about this blend is that it makes use of the conceptual metonymy instrument for agent of Input 1 to be able to arrive at the compound’s meaning associated with putting the blame of reducing the workforce on the (outside) consultant, and not on the executives of the company: while it is the <executives> of the company who are conceptualised as the , it is the (which stands for the consultant) by which the actual cutting is performed. According to Günter Radden and Zoltán Kövecses (1999: 36–7), metonymy often occurs in the understanding of events, since events are constituted by relations and participants, and part for part metonymies operate on the interaction that takes place between a relation and one of the things participating in the event. For example, the Action ICM involves a number of participants that may be connected to the predicate expressing the action or to each other. As the authors argue, there are specific relationships between an Instrument and the Action, or the Result of an action and the Action, just to name a few. Such a relationship also exists between the Instrument of an action and the Agent (Radden and Kövecses cite the pen as an example, which is often used to refer to ‘the writer’). The same metonymical relationship is exposed in chainsaw consultant, where the Instrument is the and the Agent is the . Through the metonymy of instrument for agent, the chainsaw is understood as the entity that performs the action, instead of the people who cut the trees with the chainsaw. This conceptualisation of events is by no means exceptional. While it is natural to say that “a car hit him”, it would sound very odd to relate the event as “the driver in the car hit him”, even though the driver was in control of the car (and it is not the car but the driver who has to stand charges for hitting somebody). With the help of the cross-space mappings between the source and target domains, the meaning of the compound becomes transparent: the consultant (who corresponds to the chainsaw, that is, the Instrument through the activation of the metonymy) is the one to blame for the reduction of the workforce, not the executives of the company (who correspond to the people cutting down the trees, that is, the Agent through the metonymy).22 conceptualised as the body of a car, and the loose flesh hanging over the waist of a pair of jeans is viewed as the spare tyre of a car — probably due to the round shape of the flesh. An excellent example of a female body conceptualised as a car can be found in a poem by e. e. cummings, she being Brand, where the poet describes having sex with a new lover for the first time as going for the first ride in a brand new car. 22. A chainsaw is a high precision tool that cuts trees efficiently and quickly. These features are carried over into the blended space as well. Consequently, the compound chainsaw consultant implies a degree of ruthlessness in reducing a company’s workforce. Therefore, the blame for re-

Chapter 6. Metaphor-based semantic relation

6.4.7 Bait car The compound bait car (‘a vehicle, monitored by the police, that is used to tempt a car thief into stealing it’) is based upon the highly conventional people are animals conceptual metaphor. The ordinariness of the people are animals conceptual metaphor needs to be stressed: as Lakoff and Turner (1989) point out, much of human behaviour is metaphorically understood in terms of animal behaviour,23 just as people themselves are often described as animals of some kind.24 It is a very interesting feature of these conceptualisations that most animal-related metaphors focus on the negative characteristics of humans, which prompts Kövecses to suggest the “rewriting” of the people are animals metaphor to objectionable people are animals.25 This observation holds for bait car as well, where a negative attribute of the animal in question is emphasised: namely, the general idea that fish are attracted to a bait without realising that the bait is placed on a hook (i.e. their “credulity”). In bait car, the source domain is fishing, while the target domain is catching car thieves. Several mappings link the source with the target domain (see Table 6.3). The table shows that the <policemen> are understood as who are trying to catch the (the ) with the help of a (the Table 6.3 Mappings between the source and target domains of bait car Source domain

Target domain

fish angler bait fish swallowing bait catching fish

car-thief police car car-thief trying to steal car catching car thief

ducing the company’s workforce can be put upon the “heartless” (and ruthless) consultant, thereby lifting the blame from the company executives. 23. Examples include the following: to play possum (‘to avoid trouble by lying low, feigning illness or pretending to be unaware of the facts’), or to eat like a pig (‘to eat a huge quantity of food noisily and greedily’) (all from PDEI). According to the authors, these animal-related words acquire their metaphorical meaning by humans attributing human characteristics to animals (i.e. personifying them), and then these characteristics are reapplied to humans. 24. Examples include the following (from PDEI): guinea-pig ‘someone who allows himself to be used as a subject for experiments in hospitals and laboratories’, rat ‘someone who will betray his cause to further his interests’, a dirty dog (‘an evil character’). See also section 5.1.3. 25. Naturally, there are counter-examples as well to the objectionable humans are animals conceptual metaphor, when for example we say that someone is brave as a lion or beavers away (‘to work hard at a task’) (all examples from PDEI).

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Figure 6.18 The blend analysis of bait car

), whose purpose is to attract the attention of the criminals. When the carthief tries to steal the car, the situation is similar to a fish swallowing the bait: the police catch the criminal (as an angler catches the fish). Possible motivation for the metaphor comes from the conceptualisation of people as fish, as the terms big/small fish — meaning important/unimportant people respectively (source: PDEI). This is then extended to the domain of criminals, where the wrongdoers are understood as fish, and in this case the police are conceptualised as the anglers who wish to catch the criminals.26 Once again, the blend inherits 26. In Hungarian for example, both big fish and small fish are used to refer to people with respect to their importance. However, the expressions have a slightly pejorative tinge to them, implying that such people might be involved in shady businesses.

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the structure of the source domain, i.e. the fishing frame, while certain elements of the frame are filled from the target domain, i.e. catching a thief — see Figure 6.18). The structure of the generic space — the highly schematised scenario of somebody catching something with the help of an instrument — pervades both input spaces and the blend as well. The Instrument in the source domain is the bait at the end of the fishing rod, while in the target domain it is the booby car. The blend inherits this scenario to yield a frame where the police (the angler) catch the car thief (the fish) via the use of a bait car — the Instrument.

6.5. Double-scope blends 6.5.1 Trophy child A very exciting double-scope blend is provided by the compound trophy child (‘a child used to impress other people and enhance the status of the parent or the parents’). The two input spaces are very different in their structure indeed (see Figure 6.19). Input 1 contains a competition frame, where a — through a great amount of <effort> — manages to <win> in a competition and is awarded a . The arrows within the input indicate a source–result relationship; thus the result of the competitor’s effort is winning, the result of winning is receiving a trophy, and the result of receiving a trophy is the competitor’s glory. The raising a child domain serves as the other input space in the blend network. This also contains also a number of elements, such as and <parent>, the <parent’s efforts> and the , as well as <success> and . There are correspondences between a number of elements: the maps onto the <parent>, and the is the <parent’s efforts> at bring up a child. The <winning> in the competition corresponds to the <successful raising of a child>, while the maps onto the itself. In the blended space, the is the <parent>, who competes with other parents. However, it is not the <parent’s effort>, but the that results in winning. The result of winning is that the parent receives a , which in fact is the . The result of the is the . The compound is very sarcastic indeed. Trophies are inanimate objects and are given as a symbol for the outstanding performance of the winner. To win In any case, there are numerous idiomatic expressions in English that are motivated by fish and fishing, the vast majority of them have a negative meaning. See for e.g. the following (from PDEI): a cold fish (‘a cold, unfeeling person’), to drink like a fish (‘to be a hard, habitual drinker’), to rise to the bait (‘to respond to a hint, temptation or provocation in a way that is hoped for’), to swallow hook, line and sinker (‘to believe every detail of a story’).

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Figure 6.19 The blend analysis of trophy child

the trophy, the winner needs to beat all other competitors. However, in the case of trophy child, the child is the one who competes with fellow children to achieve success, not the parent. Thus trophy child highlights the unearned glory of the parent and also puts in focus the ignored efforts of the child.

6.5.2 Toy food A further intriguing example of conceptual integration is offered by the compound toy food (‘a food dish that comes premeasured and premixed and so requires only a minimal amount of preparation’). The meaning of toy food can be analysed with the help of a double-scope blend where one of the input spaces contains the domain of toy, and the other input space is structured by the domain of food (see Figure 6.20). We know quite a lot about toys in general: they are made for children to play with (such as a box of Lego), they are not real (such as a toy gun), they are often miniature versions of real objects (such as a toy train, a doll or a matchbox), and they are an easy challenge for gown-ups (such as a jigsaw puzzle for children as opposed to a thousand-piece puzzle of a Bruegel painting). We also have plenty of information concerning the other input space, the domain of food. For instance, food is a source of nourishment that is taken into the body through the mouth and is needed

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Figure 6.20 The blend network of toy food

for humans to survive. Apart from these over-generalised statements, further characteristics are particular to specific types of food: what it is made out of, how it is prepared, when in the day it is usually eaten, who eats it, etc. There are only a few, very general correspondences between the two input spaces: the in the source domain corresponds to the in the target domain, the maps onto a , and the <main function of toys>, i.e. that they are used for playing with, corresponds to the <main function of food>, i.e. it being a source of nourishment. Food and toy are two concepts that are very different by having different frames and elements, resulting in what Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner (2002) call a “conceptual clash”. Yet this clash is dealt with by giving the overall organisational power of the network to both of the input spaces. Through the composition of various elements from both inputs, what we have in the blended space is food that resembles a toy in the sense that it is very easy to prepare, easy as child’s play in fact, but the other elements from the domain of toy are missing: toy food is in fact real food, it is not a miniature version but has a normal size, and it is not designed for children to play with, but for people in general to consume.27 27. It should be noted, however, that the constituents of toy food could also exemplify a purpose relation, with an overall meaning of ‘food that is used for playing with’, i.e. miniature plastic imitations of real food. However, the context in which the compound is used gives away its meaning instantly, as in the following quote: “Composing a dinner mix with toy foods from the whole world illustrate [sic] a creative aspect of the cosmopolitan culture” (“Research Attitudes and Markets: Life Attitudes to 2006”, M2 Presswire, March 4, 2003. Source: wordspy, italics added).

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6.6. Summary This chapter analysed a special case of metaphor-based creative compounds: those where the relation between the two constituents is metaphorical in the sense that the entity denoted by N2 is understood through the entity denoted by N1. This means that in all such creative compounds the first constituent represents the source domain, while the second constituent represents the target domain of the metaphorical relationship. Such compounds show a remarkable variety of complexity in their analyses, depending on the metaphorical relation between the entities denoted by the participating nouns of the compound. The metaphorical relation can be based upon imagistic resemblances, as in the case of compounds such as barcode hairstyle or shuttle diplomacy. As the analyses have shown, there are semantically more complex compounds as well, where the participating nouns of the compound evoke a blend network. In a single-scope blend such as Seabiscuit candidate, the source and target domains — represented by the two nouns, Seabiscuit and candidate — are linked to one another through systematic mappings, and the meaning of the compound results in an emergent structure, i.e. a unique composition of elements from both domains. However, in the case of toy food or trophy child, where there is a lack of a common generic space, the participating nouns of the compound evoke the input spaces of a creative association based upon a double-scope blend network. It needs to be stressed that the analysis of the blends does involve a degree of subjectivity on the part of the linguist. The various elements and relations that participate in the input spaces and the blend itself might not be exactly the same for everybody. However, with the help of metaphor and blending theory, the chapter aimed to highlight the variety and complexity of meaning within a class of compounds that semanticists such as Downing (1977) and Warren (1978) for instance relegated into one big group (i.e. those based upon resemblance or comparison). Therefore, compounds that are based upon a metaphorical relation between the two participating constituents of the compound represent a natural, although highly creative process of word formation rooted in our ordinary — though largely metaphoric al — conceptual system.

chapter 7

Metonymy-based compounds This chapter focuses on how conceptual metonymy can act upon English noun– noun combinations. The view of metonymy taken here will be that of Günter Radden and Zoltán Kövecses (1999), who argue that metonymy is a conceptual phenomenon; it is a cognitive process; and it operates within an idealised cognitive model (ICM). As George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (1980: 37) claim, metonymy, just like metaphor, is “part of the ordinary, everyday way we think and act as well as talk.” Keeping cognitive salience in mind, metonymy can act upon compounds in five ways: (1) on the modifier; (2) on the profile determinant; (3) on both constituents of the compound; (4) on the compound as a whole; and (5) on the relation between the two constituents of the compound. These five main categories can be further classified into various subtypes, based on the conceptual metonymy acting upon the meaning of the compound. However, the metonymies that participate in the meaning of the compound are mostly established conceptual metonymies that emerge in all sorts of linguistic phenomena (as discussed by Radden and Kövecses 1999), i.e. they are not restricted to noun–noun combinations exclusively. This means that metonymical compounds are the result of creative thought processes rooted in conventional usages of conceptual metonymies.

7.1. Metonymy-based modifier This section will focus on compounds where it is the first constituent that is understood metonymically, i.e. the modifying element serves as a cognitively salient reference point in order to access a target in the same ICM. As Figure 7.1 shows, the

Figure 7.1 Model of a creative compound with a metonymy-based modifying constituent

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compound is made up of two symbolic units, each being composed of a semantic pole (x and y) and a phonological pole ([x] and [y] respectively). The first constituent can be regarded as a unit whose semantic pole is embedded in the ICM. Since x is a part of the ICM, it is related to it through a conceptual metonymy. Thus the meaning of the compound is a combination of the second constituent, which also acts as the profile determinant, and the metonymical understanding of the first constituent.

7.1.1 Office-park dad The defining property for category conceptual metonymy acts upon the creative compound office-park dad (‘a married, suburban father who works in a whitecollar job’), where the first constituent of the expression, office-park, can be understood as the defining property of the category of a certain white-collar job, which is relatively well paid and is located outside of residential areas, in large office complexes. This Office-Park ICM serves as one of the input spaces to a double-scope blend network (Figure 7.2). The other input space is the dad domain, which is distinctly different from the father domain (it is not a mere coincidence that the compound’s profile determinant is dad and not father). The dad input space contains a <man who has children>, and who very possibly lives with his children — this attribute comes from the familial connotation that dad possesses, since dad implies

Figure 7.2 The blend analysis of office-park dad

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that the father and the child(ren) know each other well and are on intimate terms with one another (while father is a more official, less intimate expression). The blend is a combination of the elements from both input spaces: the <whitecollar job> of Input 1 combines with the relation of Input 2, thereby the blend contains a college-educated father. Since a white-collar job is relatively well-paid, the father is able to live in a residential area, as opposed to less green, urban districts. As it has already been explained above, the familial connotation of dad implies that the father and children know each other well — most probably live in the same household. Completion takes place in the blend, which means that the structural properties of the blend can be matched back onto the input spaces (this is indicated by the arrow going from the blend to Input 2) and thus can be matched back onto information in long-term memory. Accordingly, prototypical middleclass fathers who live in residential areas with their children live together with the mother as well: this state of affairs can be considered as a typical image of white, middle-class American families. The compound’s structure follows quite regular compounding patterns of English: the first constituent (office-park) can be considered as a location, while the second constituent (dad) is the entity that is located by the place denoted by the first constituent, thus representing a location–located schema. This schema is often used in regular, non-metonymic compounds which also denote a profession: a spaceman is somebody whose job is to go up into space; while an ambulanceman or ambulancewoman is a person who rides in an ambulance during his/her working hours. In both examples the first constituent denotes the place where the entity denoted by the second constituent is located during work.

7.1.2 Analysability As it has been already discussed by Ronald W. Langacker (1987), composite expressions show varying degrees of analysability (see section 4.1.1 for a detailed discussion). Analysability is not only an awareness on the speaker’s part towards the complexity of a structure (i.e. the compositionality of a composite structure), but the speaker is also able to identify the separate constituents that make up the composite structure. This section will discuss and analyse metonymical compounds that are formed on the schemas of established compounds. This notion points to the fact that Langacker’s assumption on the distinction between compositionality and analysability is correct: the language user does analyse the constituents of the compound, i.e. tries to isolate the meaning of the separate elements. This “dissection” of meaning is then used to create novel compounds, on the basis of already entrenched schemas.

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7.1.2.1 The “workers” I have found four compounds that are based upon the constructional schema of [[[COLOUR]-[[COLLAR]/[kɔlə]]] [[WORKER]/[wɜːkə]]], where the first constituent is made up of an Adjective + Noun combination. The Adjective has a very important role in the meaning of the compound: it determines the occupational sphere (and even the gender) of the head constituent, thus the four compounds vary only in the colour-term denoted by the adjective of the first constituent, yet this difference gives rise to the variations in the meanings of the compounds themselves: blue-collar worker (‘an employee who performs manual or technical labour, such as in a factory or in technical maintenance trades’), white-collar worker (‘an employee who performs clerical or intellectual work, such as those in clerical, professional, managerial or administrative positions, as opposed to people who do manual work’), pink-collar worker (‘a woman in a low-paid job, especially in an office or restaurant’) and scarlet-collar worker (‘a woman who owns or operates an Internet pornographic site’). The schema, in fact, seems to be so productive that further compounds have been coined which differ only in the colour term of the modifying constituent (source: wordspy): gray-collar workers (‘skilled technicians; employees whose job descriptions combine some white- and blue-collar duties’); black-collar workers (‘miners’); green-collar workers (‘environmentalists’); gold-collar workers (‘professionals or those with in-demand skills’ or ‘employees over 55’); dog-collar workers (‘priests’); open-collar workers (‘people who work at home’); frayed-collar workers (‘workers having trouble making ends meet; the working poor’); and steelcollar workers (‘robots’). The first three of these compounds, that is, blue-collar worker, white-collar worker and pink-collar worker, are considered as established, since all three of them have been located in the LDOCE, while scarlet-collar worker was not. In the case of bluecollar worker and white-collar worker, what we have is a part-whole metonymy operating on the first, modifying constituent, whereby the collar stands for the whole outfit (more precisely, the shirt worn by the employees). According to the Internet source (wikipedia), the origin of both blue-collar and white-collar worker comes from the dress codes found at their respective workplaces. Industrial bluecollar workers formerly and to a large extent still do wear “work clothes”, where the shirts are of a navy blue colour. The clothes are from a durable material and are intended to get dirty while working. However, white-collar workers wore traditional, white, button-down shirts originally. As white shirts are easily soiled, white-collar workers did not do physical labour. While menial jobs did not require formal education, the white-collar ones did: only those were employed in such positions who had a college or university degree. However, what is intriguing about both blue-collar and white-collar worker is that the colour of their shirts is not restricted to blue and white, respectively, instead

Chapter 7. Metonymy-based compounds 145

they have come to represent a category of individuals in the work force. What this implies is that a further metonymy, member of a category for the category (a very common metonymy in creating social stereotypes, as it has been pointed out by Lakoff 1987) acted upon the two constructions as a whole, whereby blue-collar worker and white-collar worker came to stand for the categories of physical and clerical professions, respectively. However, in order to explain the generalisation of the meaning of the two compounds, it can be also argued that the salient property for category conceptual metonymy could just as well have operated on the compounds as wholes, whereby the salience of the shirt colour (blue or white) came to stand for the occupational field (category). It is unclear which of these is the more likely candidate; it might even be the case that both metonymies had a role in the meaning generalisation of the compounds. Analysing pink-collar worker and scarlet-collar worker is a more difficult task, because the origin of these words is less likely to be based upon a historical perspective as in the case of blue-collar worker and white-collar worker. Instead, it is more likely that the formation of these compounds can be traced back to the already existing constructional schema of blue-collar worker and white-collar worker, i.e. [[[COLOUR]-[[COLLAR]/[kɔlə]]] [[WORKER]/[wɜːkə]]] (where colour is represented only by a semantic pole, so that the phonological pole remains empty and can receive [bluː] and [waIt] in the respective compounds). However, in order to coin pink-collar worker and scarlet-collar worker, the constituents of the schema needed to be analysed into [[COLOUR]-[[COLLAR]/[kɔlə]]] and [[WORKER]/[wɜːkə]], and then the first constituent had to be further broken down into [COLOUR] and [[COLLAR]/[kɔlə]], so that the colour terms pink and scarlet could be inserted into the proper slot. It is highly probable that the constructional schema [[[COLOUR]-[[COLLAR]/ [kɔlə]]] [[WORKER]/[wɜːkə]]] already “contained” the member of a category for the category and/or salient property for category conceptual metonymies — which were also “inherited” along with the schema itself when pink-collar worker and scarlet-collar worker were coined. What this means is that the pinkcollar or the scarlet-collar is the salient property that defines the category itself, to mean a woman in a low-paid job or a woman operating an Internet pornographic site, respectively. The part–whole metonymy (collar stands for shirt) that played a role in the meanings of blue-collar worker and white-collar worker does not operate here anymore; the uniform of pink-collar worker and scarlet-collar worker does not play any role at all in the construction of the meaning of the compounds (although it should be noted that waitresses in American movies often wear pink uniforms). Yet if the colour of the shirt does not participate in the meaning of the compounds, what is the role of the two colour terms, pink and scarlet in the overall meanings?

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Figure 7.3 The blend analysis of scarlet-collar woman

The pink colour is associated with femininity on the one hand and babies and little girls on the other. The feminine aspect of pink explains why the compound denotes a job that is held by women, but does not account for the low-income aspect. This might be explained with the word’s other association, i.e. that of babies and little girls: a pink-collar job is simply not considered to be as serious as e.g. a blue-collar or white-collar position, thus it need not be paid well either. The pornographic aspect of the meaning of scarlet-collar worker can be accounted for by the colour term scarlet, since the LDOCE gives the definition of scarlet woman as ‘a woman who has sexual relationships with many different people’. This means then that scarlet is generally associated with sexual favours offered by women. The fact that scarlet-collar worker has the meaning of a woman who op. According to Dmitrij Dobrovol’skij and Elisabeth Piirainen (2005: 241), the various concepts that colours symbolise constitute one of the aspects of cultural knowledge. The concept ‘black’ is a very strong symbol in culture, associated with badness, unhappiness (e.g. black day, ‘a day that has disastrous consequences), evil, pessimistic views, etc. Consider also the traffic lights, red, yellow and green: the meanings of these signs are conventional and were established at the beginning of the 20th century. The main symbolic meaning of green for instance in the Western cultural area is hope, based upon the renewal of vegetation in spring. There are various parallelisms to Christian symbolism; green is the colour of resurrection; in liturgies, the green colour sym-

Chapter 7. Metonymy-based compounds 147

erates a pornographic site on the Internet can only be explained with the help of a double-scope blend network, where one of the input spaces is a woman offering sexual favours, while the other input space contains the domain of operating a pornographic Internet website (see Figure 7.3). There are plenty of correspondences between the two input spaces; the <woman offering sexual favours> in Input 1 corresponds to the <webmaster operating the pornographic website> in Input 2. And the <customer>who pays for the sexual favours in Input 1 corresponds to the . The structure of the compound, however, does not shed light on the website domain of the meaning; i.e. there is no constituent in the compound which can be linked to the domain of Input 2, while the colour term scarlet in the modifying constituent implies some sort of sexual — pornographic — quality of the profession. If, however, the compound is used in an appropriate context, then the domain of Input 2 might be triggered off by some sort of cue, whereby the blended space — and thus the meaning of the compound — can be accessed. See for instance the following quote from The Independent: “Scarlet-collar workers are the feminists of the modern age, say psychologists, free from coercion and the dangers of the traditional, male-dominated business. In the past two years they have moved away from traditional activities such as prostitution and lap-dancing to become the majority of cyberporn owners” (“Women Take Control of Cyberporn” by Cherry Norton, 6 August 2000, source: wordspy, italics by me).

7.1.2.2 Bear jam Bear jam (‘a traffic jam in a park caused by motorists stopping to watch one or more bears’) is a relatively straightforward case. It is based upon the schema of the compound traffic jam, where the second constituent — jam — is analysed to mean ‘the situation in which it is difficult to move’, which is caused by the thing denoted by the modifying element. Thus traffic jam can be described by a cause–effect relationship, where the first constituent, traffic, causes the second constituent, jam. The cause– effect relationship is inherited by bear jam as well, where the watching of bears causes the (traffic) jam. The first constituent of the compound, bear, metonymically stands for the action of watching bears through the conceptual metonymy object for action. This is a part for part metonymy, which acts within the Action ICM. According to Radden and Kövecses (1999: 37–8), Action ICMs involve a variety of participants which may be related to one another or to the predicate expressing the action. In this case the motorists watching the bears are the Agents, while bolises the Holy Spirit. White symbolises ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’, and a host of positive meanings, such as ‘good’, ‘true’, ‘innocent’ — as in the idiom whiter than white (‘very honest, morally beyond reproach’).

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the bears are the Objects. The Action itself is stopping to watch the bears — which is the cause of the traffic jam.

7.1.2.3 Knee-mail This compound can be considered as the epitome of a highly creative example, meaning ‘a prayer, especially one said while kneeling’. For one, it can be regarded as a compound that is formed on the analogy of e-mail, where the first constituent is analysed to mean the type of mail that is denoted by the construction as a whole (i.e. ‘electronic mail’). The first constituent of knee-mail also makes use of the Action ICM, similarly to bear jam. What happens here is that the Instrument (knee) stands metonymically for the Action itself (praying while kneeling), through the conceptual metonymy of instrument for action. It should not go unnoticed that knee-mail rhymes with e-mail, in fact the difference between the two first constituents is only one phoneme. As it has been pointed out in the case of the alliterating compounds of Chapter 5 (belly button and meadow mayonnaise), rhyme and alliteration (the latter often paraphrased as “initial rhyme”) might play a quite significant role in creative compound formation: both devices can be used as a means of cohesion and emphasis. A thorough examination of knee-mail requires the analysis of the second constituent as well. The creativity of this compound lies in the metaphorical nature of mail, which is probably based upon the conduit metaphor, according to which ideas are objects, lingiuistic expressions are containers and communication is sending (Lakoff and Johnson 1980: 10–13). In the case of knee-mail, the prayer is what we send (“mail”) to God (the receiver), who reads our message. The ingenuity of the expression also rests on the fact that the phonological similarity of knee mail to e-mail implies that there are further (conceptual) similarities between the two. E-mails are much faster than surface mail, and they are less prone to get undelivered. Thus the compound knee-mail suggests that the prayer reaches God quickly, i.e. God will definitely hear the prayer that is said to him. In fact, the sign says that “God answers Knee-mail” — thus not only does God listen to our prayers but answers them, too. These implications of knee mail do not sur. Example quotation for bear jam: “Some 700 bear jams were recorded last year and probably not all jams were recorded, said Kerry Gunther, park bear management biologist.” From “Roadside bears the biggest problem in Yellowstone”, The Associated Press, 11 April 2003 (source: wordspy, emphasis as in original). . The expression comes from a sign that was spotted outside the Church of Christ in Mountlake Terrace: “God Answers Knee-mail.” (Source: wordspy) . Moreover, both rhyme and alliteration aid memorability (Wales 1989: 18) — from which it might follow that rhyming or alliterating creative compounds are easier to memorise. Needless to say, further psycholinguistic research needs to be done to investigate this hypothesis.

Chapter 7. Metonymy-based compounds 149

face in the word prayer, which is the more conventional term for sending God a “message”.

7.1.3 Alliteration This section analyses two compounds that have a very particular characteristic in common: their first constituent is a proper noun (one of them is a brand name), and the two constituents of the compound alliterate with one another. It is hypothesised that the proper nouns in the two compounds have been chosen for the simple reason that they alliterate with the profile determinant. This preference for alliteration can be regarded as a further instance of creativity in language: other (non-alliterating) proper names could just as well have been candidates for the modifying element of the compound, yet were discarded on the grounds of phonological — and not semantic — criteria. The two alliterating noun–noun combinations are the following: Hogwarts headache (‘migraine headache caused by the physical stress of reading the 870-page Harry Potter book, The Order of the Phoenix’) and Lexus lane (‘a highway that is normally restricted during rush hour to vehicles carrying multiple passengers, but that can also be used for a fee by single-occupant vehicles’). Hogwarts headache is a relatively straightforward case of metonymy, where the first constituent of the compound stands for the fifth Harry Potter book, The Order of the Phoenix. This is a part–whole metonymy, where the name of the school that the protagonist, Harry Potter goes to, stands for the story itself. According to BBC News, an American doctor diagnosed a number of migraine headaches in children who were reading the 870-page book. In all cases the pain went away one or two days after the patient had finished reading the book. The fifth volume is two hundred pages longer than the fourth one, and according to the article, Dr. Howard Bennett was concerned that “if this escalation continues as Rowling continues the saga, there may be an epidemic of Hogwarts headaches in the years to come.” What is interesting about the compound is the choice of the first constituent: why Hogwarts (which comes up as the setting of the story in all five volumes of the Harry Potter-series) and not Order of the Phoenix headache — which would capture the meaning of the compound more precisely, since the headache is brought on by reading the fifth episode only. The possible reason for the selection of Hogwarts as the first constituent is alliteration, and the phonological consideration seems to have been stronger than the semantic one: a semantically more transparent choice . This hypothesis can be supported (or refuted) by examining a substantially large corpus of proper name — common noun creative compounds, which falls outside the scope of this work. . Source: “Potter ‘gives children headaches’” (source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/entertaiment/3226425.stm (italics added).

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Figure 7.4 The blend analysis of Lexus lane

for the first constituent (such as Order of the Phoenix) was discarded for a constituent that alliterates with headache. The structure of the compound represents a very common schema of English compounding: the first constituent stands metonymically for the cause, while the second constituent is the effect. This cause–effect relationship is captured in nonmetonymical compounds as well, as in hay fever, battle fatigue or cold sore (examples are from Lees 1968). It is remarkable that neither Pamela Downing (1977) nor Beatrice Warren (1978) listed the cause–effect relationship in their taxonomies; the same can be said of Mary Ellen Ryder (1994). Yet this linguistic template (or schema) can be considered as quite common in the formation of new English noun– noun combinations; in fact, both Robert B. Lees (1968) and Judith N. Levi (1978) mention cause as a possible underlying predicate of noun–noun combinations. Lexus lane (see Figure 7.4) requires a slightly more complex analysis than Hogwarts headache. The first constituent of the compound stands metonymically for the ICM of a rich driver. However, there are two conceptual metonymies involved . Note, however, the quote from Dr. Howard Bennett in the paragraph: he uses Hogwarts headache to refer to the possible headaches the future (unwritten) volumes of the Harry Potter saga might cause. Nevertheless, after the publication of the sixth volume of the Harry Potter-saga in 2005, I have not been able to find any allusion to Hogwarts headache. Truth be told, the sixth volume is not as long as the fifth one, therefore reading it might not be as taxing for the children.

Chapter 7. Metonymy-based compounds

here: through the controlled for controller metonymy, Lexus (the vehicle controlled by the driver) stands for the driver (the controller of the vehicle); and by the member of a category for a category conceptual metonymy, Lexus (the brand of an expensive car) stands for any brand of expensive car. With the help of these two metonymies we have an ICM of a driver who is wealthy enough to buy an expensive car — whether it is a Lexus, a BMW or a Mercedes. This ICM serves as one of the inputs. Input 2, however, contains the domain of a restricted lane on a highway, with the elements of <multiple-passenger vehicles>, <singleoccupant vehicles>, and a between the single-occupant vehicles and toll: single-occupant vehicles are to pay a fine in the restricted lane. The <single-occupant vehicle> element of Input 2 corresponds to the <wealthy driver> element of Input 1. The blended space is a combination of elements from both input spaces. The <wealthy driver> and the <single-occupant vehicle> combine to form a <wealthy driver in an expensive car by himself> element in the blended space. The of Input 2 is carried over to the blend as well: the driver has to pay a toll because there are no other passengers in the car. The ironic connotation of the compound is based upon the fact there is no point in creating restricted lanes if the toll does not stop wealthy drivers congesting it. It is rather interesting that the first constituent of the compound is Lexus, even though it could be any other luxury car name. Needless to say, alliteration is behind the selection once again, overriding other possible (and non-alliterating) candidates. The structure of the compound is a representation of a purpose relationship, where the second constituent denotes an entity that is created/established/produced for the purpose of the entity denoted by the first constituent. Such a semantic relationship between the constituents of the compound is by no means special, it can be found in such non-metonymic examples as hairbrush, flowerbed and safety belt (examples are from Lees 1968).

7.1.4 A note on Warren’s analyses This section will focus on Warren’s (1978) “incomplete compounds” and “idiosyncratic compounds”. In my view, both types belong to the large, general group . See e.g. the following quote from “Stop and Go”, by Chana R. Scheonberger, in Forbes magazine (13 May 2002): “What’s so unpopular about charging more for a service during a period of peak demand? We accept such pricing by airlines, resorts, movie theatres and phone companies. But the concept offends much of the driving public, who resent ‘Lexus lanes’ for the rich.” Also a quote from “Street Smart”, by Richard Simon, in Los Angeles Times (15 September 1995): “In San Diego County, officials will soon open a ‘Lexus lane’, so called because solo drivers — mostly luxury car owners, critics say — can buy their way into less-congested car-pool lanes.” (Source: http://www. wordspy.com)

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of metonymical compounds, where the modifier stands metonymically for some other entity. Therefore the analysis of incomplete or idiosyncratic compounds is relatively straightforward, as it will be shown below. According to Warren, there are certain noun–noun combinations which are “incomplete”, i.e. combinations that have a member that is not overtly expressed but which she nevertheless assumes to be a part of the compound so as to be able to account for its semantic interpretation (p. 24). Warren is of the opinion that a “middle noun” is left out in such cases. However, in my view, there are no left-out nouns in the so-called incomplete compounds; in fact, these noun–noun combinations are very far from being incomplete. The first noun of the compound, i.e. the modifying constituent, is metonymical; thus it denotes an entity that is cognitively salient. This entity evokes the ICM — and the cognitively less salient target entity. Table 7.1 shows this state of affairs. The first column (N1) gives the first noun of Warren’s incomplete compounds, while the third column (N2) lists the second noun of these constructions. The second column (“middle noun”, not expressed) gives the missing “middle noun” of the compound — as provided by Warren. The last column (ICM) is my addition: it explains what ICM is evoked by N1, through which we are able to access the “missing middle noun”. Therefore the majority of Warren’s incomplete compounds can be accounted for with the help of conceptual Table 7.1 Warren’s (1978) “incomplete compounds” and their corresponding ICMs N1

“middle noun” (not expressed)

N2

ICM

air

plane

field

Container ICM: container (air) for contents (plane)

air

plane

port

Container ICM: container (air) for contents (plane)

fire

wood

box

Causation ICM: effect (fire) for cause (wood)

fire

department

house

Action ICM: object (fire) for agent/institution (department)

license

number

plate

Category-and-Member ICM: generic (license) for specific (number)

oak

wood

chest

Category-and-Member ICM: specific (oak) for generic (wood)

pine

tree

woods Category-and-Member ICM: specific (pine) for generic (tree)

tungsten wire

lamp

Container ICM: material constituting object (tungsten) for object (wire)

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metonymy, relieving the linguist of the job of having to create a separate category for them. In addition, Warren also claimed that minute man (‘man ready at a minute’s notice’) and stage coach (‘coach that goes in stages’) are examples of what she termed as “idiosyncratic compounds” (pp. 240–1). These noun–noun combinations are opaque, since the semantic relation between the two constituents does not turn up in other compounds of the language, thus the language user cannot “fall back” upon already existing patterns. What this implies then is that the meanings of idiosyncratic compounds need to be listed in the lexicon, since the meaning of the parts does not motivate the meaning of the whole. Yet both minute man and stage coach can be easily analysed with the help of the Action ICM. The first constituent in both expressions is metonymical, where both minute and stage stand for events through a part for part conceptual metonymy. In minute man, the temporal expression stands for the action itself — thus the time for action conceptual metonymy acts upon the modifying element of the compound. This metonymy is by no means infrequent; it turns up in language very often (e.g.: to summer in Paris). A similar process happens in stage coach as well: here the modifying element (the destination of the action) stands for the action (of motion). Therefore, the meaning of the compound can be analysed with the help of the destination for motion conceptual metonymy (this metonymy shows up in other linguistic expressions as well, e.g., to porch the newspaper). It is, of course, very questionable whether the language user considers minute man and stage coach analysable (in the Langackerian sense of the word). However, the formation of these compounds might have been motivated by the Action ICM and its conceptual metonymies, which are still traceable in the meanings of the compounds. Whatever is the case, minute man and stage coach are definitely not opaque, nor idiosyncratic: they follow the linguistic pattern that is illustrated in Figure 7.1.

7.2. Metonymy-based profile determinant This section will look at those compound expressions where the profile determinant is metonymical, i.e. it serves as a reference point of cognitive salience by which a target can be accessed within the same ICM. This state of affairs is visible in Figure 7.5: the compound is constituted of two symbolic units, each being composed of a semantic pole (x and y) and a phonological pole ([x] and [y] respectively). The second constituent, i.e. the head element (or profile determinant) is a unit whose semantic pole is embedded in the ICM. Since y is a part of the ICM, it is related to it through a conceptual metonymy. Thus the meaning of the compound is a com-

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Figure 7.5 Model of a creative compound with a metonymy-based profile determinant

bination of the first constituent — the modifying element — and the metonymical nderstanding of the second constituent. u I would like to note that I have not come across a large number of noun–noun combinations of this type in the dictionaries; and there were none in my neologism databases. This does not mean that a metonymical head element is rare, but rather that if there is a conceptual metonymy acting upon the head, then this metonymy will act upon the modifying constituent as well (i.e. the compound as whole will be metonymical) — examples will be discussed later on in section 7.5. I would also like to point out that there are plenty of nominal compounds denoting people where the head element (a body part) evokes the Human Body ICM through the part for whole conceptual metonymy — but in these compounds the modifying constituent is an adjective (and thus the constructions fall outside the scope of this work). Examples include loudmouth, old hand or the often cited redneck among others.

7.2.1 Handwriting This compound (‘the style of someone’s writing’) is an example of a part for part conceptual metonymy. The head element of the compound, writing, is a cognitively salient reference point by which we are able to access (within the domain of writing) a less salient target entity, in this case the result of the action. Therefore, writing is understood through the action for result conceptual metonymy to mean the style of writing that is produced on a sheet of paper. The semantic relation that exists between the modifying element and the profile determinant is that of source–result, where the body part serves as the “source” of writing. This relation has been noted by both Downing (1977) and Warren (1978) as a frequent pattern of English compounding. In fact, Ryder (1994) also mentioned the Body Part–Non-Clothing schema as a quite common linguistic template in English, where the Non-Clothing is operated by or used on the Body Part (e.g. foot pedal, face cream, hand drill, toothbrush).

Chapter 7. Metonymy-based compounds

7.2.2 Gaslight Gaslight (‘a lamp in a house or on the street which gives light from burning gas’) is also an everyday expression, similarly to handwriting. However, while handwriting made use of the Action ICM, gaslight evokes the Production ICM. Production ICMs involve actions in which one of the Participants is a product created by an action. As Radden and Kövecses (1999: 39) argue, the production of objects is a particularly salient type of causal relation. There is a metonymic relation between the Product and the Producer, as in the producer for product conceptual metonymy (for example, Ford for ‘car’), but this metonymy can also be reversed, as in the case of gaslight: light is the Product that evokes the intended target, lamp, through the product for producer metonymy, although it should be borne in mind that according to the LDOCE, gas lamp can be used to refer to the same entity as gaslight. The relation between the two constituents of the compound is material–object, where the modifying element specifies the material that the head element is made out of or operated by. This is a highly productive pattern in English, further examples include steamboat, windmill, air rifle, water-wheel and gas stove (examples are from Lees 1968). It is an interesting question why light is selected as a cognitively salient element, to evoke the less salient target entity (lamp). The answer to this question lies most probably in visual perception. When it is dark and the street lamps are lit, then very often we are not able to see the lamp itself, but we are able to perceive the light that it gives out. Thus the visible (the light) is selected as a cognitively more salient entity than the non-visible (lamppost).

7.3. Double metonymical processing: metonymy-based modifier and profile determinant This section will look at compound expressions where both the head element (the profile determinant) and the modifying constituent are metonymical, i.e. both constituents serve as reference points of cognitive salience by which target elements can be accessed (that belong to the same ICM as the entities denoted by the respective constituents). This state of affairs is represented in Figure 7.6. The compound is constituted of two symbolic units, each being composed of a semantic pole (x and y) and a phonological pole ([x] and [y], respectively). The second constituent, i.e. the head element (or profile determinant) is a unit whose semantic pole is embedded in the ICM. Since y is a part of the ICM, it is related to it through a conceptual metonymy. At the same time, a similar process is involved in the case of the first constituent, the modifier, whose semantic pole is also embedded in an ICM. The

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Figure 7.6 Model of a creative compound with a metonymy-based modifier and profile determinant

s emantic pole x and the ICM are related to each other through a conceptual metonymy. Thus the meaning of the compound is a combination of the metonymical understanding of both constituents.

7.3.1 Gadget-related illnesses What phone neck (‘neck and shoulder pain caused by holding a phone for long periods’), Nintendo thumb (‘pain in the thumb caused by playing with Nintendo for a very long period’), mouse wrist (‘pain in the wrist caused by excessive or improper use of a computer mouse’) and tetwrist (‘pain in the wrist caused by playing too much Tetris’) have in common is that all four compounds denote a pain that is caused by spending too much time on the phone or at the computer. In each case, the semantic pole of the profile determinant (neck, thumb and wrist), is embedded in the Perception ICM. According to Radden and Kövecses (1999: 38), perception plays such an important role in our cognitive world that it merits its own ICM. For example, there goes my knee is understood to mean ‘there goes the pain in my knee’ through the thing perceived for perception conceptual metonymy. This same part for part metonymy is at work in the four compounds under analysis in this section. Neck in phone neck stands metonymically for the pain (perception) that is felt in the neck (thing perceived); thumb in Nintendo thumb stands for the pain perceived in the thumb; and wrist in mouse wrist and tetwrist stands for the pain felt in the wrist. What is very intriguing about these four compounds is that their modifying constituent is also metonymical, that is, the semantic pole of the first noun is also embedded in an ICM. This is the Action ICM: the semantic pole of the modifying constituent in three of the four cases denotes the instrument of an action, through the instrument for action conceptual metonymy. Accordingly, phone in phone neck is the instrument that stands for the action of being on the telephone; Nintendo in

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Nintendo thumb denotes the instrument that stands for the action of playing with Nintendo; while mouse in mouse wrist is the instrument that stands for the action of using the mouse. Tetwrist is the odd-one-out, since in this case tet(ris) denotes the object of the action (the instrument is the computer, as Tetris is a computer game). Nevertheless, the semantic pole of tet(ris) is also embedded in the Action ICM, only here the meaning of the first constituent of the compound is understood through the object for action conceptual metonymy. Interestingly, tetwrist is a special case from a morphological point of view as well, since it is a blend (while the other three are not), composed of Tetris and wrist. The semantic relation between the two elements is the same in all four compounds: the modifying element and the head stand in a cause–effect relationship to one another. Therefore, the (pain in the) neck is the effect of (being on) the phone (for too long); the (pain in the) thumb is caused by (playing too much) Nintendo; the (pain in the) wrist is the result of (using) the mouse (too much); and the (pain in the) wrist is the effect of (playing too much) Tetris. Thus the four compounds analysed in this section represent the same productive linguistic template or schema as Hogwarts headache does for example.

7.4. The compound as a whole is metonymical This section examines noun–noun combinations where the compound as a whole is metonymical. This means that the construction as a whole serves as a reference point of cognitive salience in order to access a target entity of the same ICM. This state of affairs is represented in Figure 7.7. The compound is constituted of two symbolic units, each being composed of a semantic pole (x and y) and a phonological pole ([x] and [y], respectively). This means that the compound consists of two constituents, of which the first noun acts as the modifying element, while the second

Figure 7.7 Model of a creative compound where the meaning as a whole is metonymical

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constituent is the profile determinant. The compound as a whole is a part of an ICM. The entity denoted by the compound is perceived as cognitively salient, and thus the compound is used to access the ICM, through a conceptual metonymy. The compounds that are analysed in this section are all instantiations of the part for whole conceptual metonymy. Thus the compound denotes an entity that is a part of an ICM, and as a cognitively salient reference point, it is used to refer to the whole ICM through a conceptual metonymy. I have not managed to find compounds yet that stand for another entity through the whole for part or part for part conceptual metonymies — but the common occurrence of the part for whole type does not necessarily mean that the other two cannot surface in language at all. The fact that we can access entities through the whole for part and part for part metonymies as well would suggest that there are manifestations of these in English compounding as well — it is an intriguing quest to find such examples.

7.4.1 Humpback and hunchback The two compounds — humpback (‘a large whale with a curved back’) and hunchback (‘an offensive word for someone whose back has a large raised part on it because their spine curves in an unusual way’) — are analysed together, because their semantics is very similar. In both compounds, the first noun (hump and hunch) acts as the modifying element, while back in both cases is the profile determinant, denoting the body part. Thus both compounds denote a slightly unusually shaped body part of a mammal. The entities denoted by humpback and hunchback are cognitively salient, since both strike us as being visually very perceptible. It is not difficult to see that a body part is part of the Body ICM — thus a whale’s back is part of the Whale ICM; while a human being’s back is part of the Human Body ICM. Therefore, the entities denoted by both compounds are parts of an ICM, and since they are cognitively salient, they are used to access the whole ICM through the part for whole conceptual metonymy. There is no need to denote a hunchback as a ‘hunchback man’ or ‘hunchback woman’, because of the Body ICM: there is a very close association between a body part and the body as a whole, and thus the former can easily stand for the latter. As for humpback, according to the dictionary, ‘humpback whale’ is also a possible term to denote the same animal.

7.4.2 Bearskin In bearskin (‘a tall hat made of black fur, worn by some British soldiers for special ceremonies’), the first noun, bear, is the modifying element of the profile determinant, skin. The semantic relation between the two nouns is that of possession: the

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modifying element specifies the entity that possesses the thing denoted by the profile determinant. (It can be argued that skin in itself is metonymical, since it does not only denote the skin of a bear, but the fur that is on the skin.) The compound as a whole belongs to the Bearskin Hat ICM, and accordingly, the material that the head is made out of — bearskin — is selected as the cognitively salient reference point by which the whole is understood. It is no wonder that the material that this hat is made out of is considered as a salient point of reference: the thick, black fur is one of the distinguishing traits of the British footguards who parade in front of Buckingham Palace. Therefore, the entity denoted by the compound bearskin (‘the skin of a bear’) stands for the hat made out of bearskin. This part for whole conceptualisation is achieved through the material constituting an object for the object conceptual metonymy (Radden and Kövecses 1999: 32); just as in the case of wood, standing for ‘forest’. Such a conceptual metonymy, which also operates in the meaning of bearskin, is based upon the Constitution ICM, whereby the matter or substance that constitutes a thing can stand for the thing itself — since cognitively there is a very close association between an entity and what it is made out of.

7.4.3 Glue sniffing The meaning of this compound (‘the habit of breathing in gases from glues or similar substances in order to produce an artificial state of excitement’) is based upon the Event ICM. First of all, the first noun, glue, is the modifying element of the profile determinant, sniffing. The modifying element semantically denotes the object, while the profile determinant specifies the activity. The compound as a whole belongs to the complex event of Inhaling Glue ICM, which is composed of an Agent, who inhales the toxic gases; the Action of inhaling the gases; and an Object, which is the drug that is taken (the toxic gases). (It is a further point of interest that glue can be considered to be metonymical, since it is the gases from the glue that are in fact sniffed.) Within this complex event — since inhaling the toxic gases from glue can be construed as an event — the Action is conceptualised as being the cognitively most salient reference point, by which the whole ICM can be accessed. The selection of the Action as the cognitively salient reference point can be also observed in the expression ‘to take drugs’, where the Action stands for the whole event. In the case of glue sniffing, the compound denotes one stage of the activity of inhaling gases from glue to reach a drugged state. The compound stands for one stage of the whole Action of inhaling gases from glue (obtaining glue — putting it into a plastic bag — sniffing the glue — inhaling the glue — becoming intoxicated), through the subevent for main event conceptual metonymy. Most probably, the action of glue sniffing is considered to be the most central — and therefore cognitively salient — subevent of the ICM.

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7.5. Metonymy-based relation between the two constituents of the compound The last section in this chapter on metonymical compounds will focus on how metonymy can operate between the two constituents. As Radden and Kövecses (1999) claim, metonymy can act upon either a whole ICM and its parts; or on the parts of an ICM. Accordingly, the present section will give an account of how the whole–part, the part–whole and the part–part relationships surface in English noun–noun compounding. As it will be shown below, such metonymical relationships between the parts of a compound are by no means special; there are plenty of English noun–noun combinations that exemplify any one of these relationships.

7.5.1 whole–part Compounds of this type have a modifying element and a profile determinant, where the latter constituent is the head of the construction as a whole not just from a syntactic, but from a semantic point of view as well. Therefore, compounds that exhibit a whole for part metonymical relationship are “endocentric”. The role of the modifying element is to specify the ICM of which the profile determinant is a part. Both Downing (1977) and Warren (1978) made note of this semantic pattern. Downing listed duckfoot as a possible example, while Warren (1978) gave spoonhandle. In both cases, the compounds are endocentric, since they are hyponyms of the head element (foot and duck, respectively). The modifying element specifies the ICM of which the thing denoted by the profile determinant belongs to: accordingly, a duckfoot is part of a duck; while a spoonhandle is a part of a spoon. There are plenty of further examples in English: bookcover, doorknob, windowpane, TV-screen, shoelace, lambskin, party leader, eyelid, etc. It is no wonder that this type of semantic pattern is so prolific: as Radden and Kövecses (1999: 30) argue, “. . . physical objects . . . are typically conceived of as forming a gestalt with well-delineated boundaries and as internally composed of various parts”. In fact, Langacker (1991b) claims that the level of specificity or schematicity (i.e. how detailed we view an entity) is a type of construal of events. We have a certain hierarchical organisation of things about the world around us, and this allows us to form noun–noun combinations such as fingertip or fingernail for example, but rules out the formation of structures such as *bodytip or *bodynail to express the same notions respectively, because the role of the first element of the compound is to evoke the immediate scope of the second element.

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7.5.2 part–whole The part–whole semantic pattern in English noun–noun compounding is just as common as the whole for part metonymical relationship. In this type, the compound also consists of a modifying element and a profile determinant, where the latter element acts as the head of the construction from both a syntactic and a semantic point of view. Therefore, these kinds of compounds are also “endocentric”. Accordingly, both Downing (1977) and Warren (1978) made note of such compounds: this kind of semantic relationship can be observed in a construction such as pendulum clock or file cabinet, for instance. The profile determinant of the respective compounds (clock and cabinet) specifies the group of entities to which the compound as a whole belongs. Thus, pendulum clock is a kind of clock; file cabinet is a kind of cabinet. The ICM that the entity denoted by the compound belongs to is spelled out by the profile determinant; the modifying element serves as a cognitively salient reference point by which the entity denoted by the profile determinant is distinguished. Accordingly, in the case of file cabinet, we have a Cabinet ICM, and the cognitively salient point of this cabinet is that it contains files. This special feature distinguishes file cabinet from all the other kinds of cabinet: glass cabinet, drinks cabinet, etc. The close association that we have of parts and the whole makes it possible that a part of an entity can be used to distinguish among entities. This semantic pattern also shows up in compounds such as student group, keyboard, fibreglass, etc.

7.5.3 part–part In this type of compound, both the modifying element and the profile determinant denote entities that are parts of an ICM. What happens in these compounds is that the parts of the ICM (denoted by the component nouns) together stand for the whole. Lamppost, for instance, is a compound where both constituent nouns denote things which are parts of the Lamppost ICM (see Figure 7.8): a lamppost can be considered to be constituted of a long post on which there is a light-giving object, i.e. the lamp.

Figure 7.8 part–part conceptualisation of lamppost

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A similar state of affairs can be observed in flagpole, where the Flagpole ICM is constituted of a flag and a pole as well, and both parts are equally important for a flagpole to be called a flagpole. Evidence for considering both lamppost and flagpole as a part–part kind of compound is that theoretically postlamp and poleflag could also be used to denote the same objects.

7.6. Summary This chapter looked at the various ways conceptual metonymy affects the semantics of compounds and wished to show that there is systematicity in the way language users employ conceptual metonymy in the formation of creative compounds in English. Accordingly, it has been claimed that metonymy acts upon English noun– noun combinations in five major ways: (1) the modifying constituent is used as a cognitively salient reference point to access a target entity of the same ICM (as in office-park dad); (2) the profile determinant is used as a cognitively salient reference point to evoke a target entity of the same ICM (gaslight for example); (3) both constituent nouns of the compound denote entities which are used as reference points to evoke respective ICMs (as in tetwrist); (4) the compound as a whole is considered as a reference point by which we can access the ICM (hunchback for instance); and (5) between the two constituents of the compound (as in lamppost). In the analyses of the compounds it has been also shown that the participating metonymies are mostly established ones that emerge in all sorts of linguistic (and non-linguistic) phenomena, that is, they are not restricted to noun–noun combinations exclusively. This implies that metonymical creative compounds — just as metaphorical creative compounds — are the result of thought processes rooted in the conventional usages of conceptual metonymy.

chapter 8

Metaphor- and metonymy-based compounds This chapter focuses on creative compounds whose meanings are based upon both metaphor and metonymy. The idea that metaphor and metonymy can act simultaneously upon the meaning of a noun–noun combination is not new; Beatrice Warren (1992) for instance discusses a couple of compounds where “metaphors within metonymies” and “metonymies within metaphors” are at work. In her view, hammerhead (‘a stubborn person’) is an example of the former, where the hammer refers metaphorically to something hard, and the compound as a whole is a part for whole metonymy (the head is used to refer to the whole person). Warren (1992) also claims that the compound jellybean (‘a stupid person’) is a further example of a metaphor in a metonymy. She argues that the motivation for this construction is based on the metonymy that somebody has something that is like a jellybean in that it “contains fluff and is egg-shaped” (p. 95). There are numerous idiomatic expressions in English which have a similar meaning as jellybean, for example be bone-headed from the neck up or be soft-headed, which have got to do with the head (Benczes 2002a). It is probable that jellybean also refers to the head of a stupid person, as a jellybean does not contain anything solid inside (the similarity is based on the conception that a stupid person does not have too many ideas in the head), and a head that is like a jellybean might imply that somebody lacks the usual intellectual properties. Clockwork orange (‘a person made into an automaton’) is a metonymy within a metaphor: the hero of the novel Clockwork Orange is in a metonymical relationship with the text itself (place for person), and there is also a metaphor at work, by which a person is likened to a machine. Reference should also be made to Louis Goossens (1995), who created the term “metaphtonymy” to refer to the process when both metaphor and metonymy act upon an idiomatic expression. For example, to beat one’s breasts (‘to make an open noisy show of sorrow that may be partly pretence’) represents a case of metaphor from metonymy: the metonymic basis is the religious practice of beating one’s breast while one confesses one’s sins publicly. This image is then mapped through metaphor onto non-religious situations as well. Goossens also identified a metonymy within metaphor pattern, where there is a “built-in metonymy” (p. 169) in the metaphor: in shoot one’s mouth off (‘talk foolishly about what one does not know about or should not talk about’), the source domain of firearms is mapped onto the target domain of unthoughtful linguistic action. Mouth, at the same time, metonymically stands for a person’s speech faculty.

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Dirk Geeraerts (2002) analysed the interaction of metaphor and metonymy in composite expressions, such as idioms and compounds. He claims that there are plenty of compounds that are neither purely metaphorical, nor purely metonymical, but involve both types of meaning extension. According to Geeraerts, such cases can be classified into three main categories: metaphor and metonymy can occur in a compound expression (1) consecutively; (2) in parallel; and (3) interchangeably. An example of the first category is schapenkop (“sheep’s head”, i.e. ‘dumb person’), where the analysis of the compound’s meaning involves two steps: first, “sheep’s head” is metaphorically extended towards the reading ‘a human head like that of a sheep, a stupid head’, and second, a metonymical step leads to ‘a person with a head like that of a sheep, a stupid person’. The compound droogkloot (“dry testicle”, i.e. ‘boring person, bore’) exemplifies the second case, when metaphor and metonymy act upon the meaning in parallel. The compositional, literal reading “dry testicle” metonymically stands for “a person with dry testicles”. This reading, however, serves as the input for a further metaphorical extension, leading to the boring person sense. Badmuts (“swimming cap”, i.e. ‘bald person’) represents the third category, i.e. the interchangeability of metaphor and metonymy. According to Geeraerts, the compound can be analysed in two ways: either “swimming cap” leads metonymically to ‘a person who looks as if he was wearing a swimming cap, a bald person’, or “swimming cap” is metaphorised as ‘a head that looks as if it is covered by a swimming cap, a bald head’, and from there metonymically extended to ‘a baldheaded person’. As the author points out, the semantic explanation can go either way, there is no principle by which one line of analysis can be favoured over the other. I cannot agree more. It is very difficult — if not impossible — to decide even in cases such as schapenkop which process acts upon the compound first, metaphor or metonymy — therefore forming categories on the basis of the metaphorical and metonymical sequence is pointless. Moreover, as badmuts also shows, whichever line of analysis we choose, the result is the same; and that is what counts. For these reasons I recommend an approach which concentrates on the various ways metaphor and metonymy can act upon the various parts of the compound expression, and not on the possible sequence of the cognitive processes involved. Therefore, in this chapter I wish to go beyond the analyses proposed by Warren (1992), Goossens (1995) and Geeraerts (2002), and show that conceptual metaphor and conceptual metonymy can act upon the meaning of noun–noun compounds in a remarkable variety of ways. I claim that there are distinct patterns of creative compounds that are based upon conceptual metaphor and metonymy; these patterns seem to be productive. I have identified four such patterns, whereby conceptual metaphor and metonymy act simultaneously upon the compound in the following ways: (1) metaphor-based semantic relationship between the constituents

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of the compound and metonymy-based modifier; (2) metaphor-based semantic relationship between the constituents of the compound and metonymy-based profile determinant; (3) metonymy-based modifier and metaphor-based profile determinant; and (4) metaphor-based modifier and metonymy-based profile determinant. Once again I would like to stress that these four main categories yield various subtypes, based on the type of conceptual metaphor and metonymy participating in the meaning of the compound.

8.1. Metaphor-based semantic relationship between the constituents of the compound and metonymy-based modifier This section will discuss compounds where, apart from a metaphorical relationship between N1 and N2, a metonymy is also involved. Thus the meaning of the compound is based upon the activation of both metaphor and metonymy, since there is a metaphor that provides the understanding of N2 in the terms of N1 on the one hand, and a metonymy that is activated by the concept denoted by N1 on the other hand. Figure 8.1 shows the structure of these constructions. There are two concepts, x and y, which have corresponding phonological poles, [x] and [y] respectively. Similarly to the compounds discussed so far in Chapter 7, there is a perceived similarity between the two concepts denoted by the two constituents of the compound, which provides the basis of the meaning of the whole. Moreover, there is a metonymy acting upon the meaning of the compound as well. The first constituent can be regarded as a unit whose semantic pole is embedded in an ICM. Since x is a part of the ICM, it is related to it through a conceptual metonymy.

Figure 8.1 Model of a creative compound with a metaphor-based relationship between the two constituents and a metonymy-based modifier

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8.1.1 Sign metonymies: form for concept According to Günter Radden and Zoltán Kövecses (1999: 24), the pairing of a concept with a form gives rise to the Sign ICM. The authors provide the example of the word form dollar or the dollar sign $, which are linked with the ‘currency denomination for dollar’. This relationship is based upon the rule that the form metonymically stands for the concept it denotes, which is expressed in the following metonymy: form for concept. As Radden and Kövecses argue, the very nature of language is based upon this metonymic principle, which is described by George Lakoff and Mark Turner (1989: 108) as words stand for the concept they express: “[s]ince we have no other means of expressing and communicating our concepts than by using forms, language as well as other communication systems are of necessity metonymic. It is also for this reason that we fail to notice the metonymic character of language” (ibid.). Alpha geek (‘the person with the most technological prowess in an office or a department’) and alpha girl (‘the dominant member in a group of girls’) exemplify typical cases of the Sign metonymy. First of all, we have a human being, a girl and a geek, who are likened to the first letter of the Greek alphabet. The meaning of the whole denotes girls and geeks who are the first in their group; this “prime position” is represented by the concept of the letter alpha. How is the concept of primariness linked to the letter α? It is this metonymy, form for concept, which is at work in the first constituent of alpha geek and alpha girl: the form α stands for the concept it expresses — namely it being the first letter in the Greek alphabet. This concept of primariness is the shared similarity that exists between alpha and geek on the one hand, and alpha and girl on the other hand. However, there is a slight difference in meaning between the two alphas: in the former compound, it denotes the highest level of technological knowledge, while in the latter expression it is used to denote the quality of having the greatest influence and popularity within a group. How can alpha be used in these compounds while meaning different — though related things? According to Ronald W. Langacker (1991b), semantic relationships are based on the identification of an appropriate active zone of the elaborated concept. This means that it is less probable for alpha geek to mean, for example, ‘the most popular IT person in an office’ because the meaning of geek brings into focus the frame of a person who is an expert with computers (according to the CCED, geek means “[somebody] who is skilled with computers and who seems more interested in them than in people”). Thus the active zone of geek is technological prowess (and not popularity) — this quality is emphasised by alpha. In the case of alpha girl, however, the profile determinant has a more general meaning, and denotes a young female. Since the frame of girl is so general, alpha (denoting ‘primariness’) cannot bring

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into focus any sort of quality as in alpha geek for instance. The meaning negotiation between the two constituents of the compound results in the meaning of ‘a girl who is the first among other girls’.

8.1.2 Concept metonymies As Radden and Kövecses (1999) argue, concept metonymies involve a shift from ConceptA to ConceptB, where the two concepts are part of the same ICM and are related to each other in some specific way. The two major types of metonymy-producing relationships can be subsumed under two general conceptual configurations: (1) whole ICM and its parts (e.g. part of a thing for a whole thing, as in England for ‘Great Britain’); and (2) parts of an ICM (e.g. place for product made there, as in champagne).

8.1.2.1 member of a category for the category There are numerous compound expressions where one entity (denoted by N2) is compared to another entity (N1) that is an instantiation of the member of a category for the category metonymy. As stated by Radden and Kövecses (1999: 34), a category and its members form the Category-and-Member ICM, which can be analysed as an instance of the whole-part configuration, more precisely as an instance of the part for whole metonymy. Macarena page (‘a webpage capitalising on a current fad, they are usually full of fluff and have a short life expectancy’) can be taken to represent a copula relation between the two constituents of the compound, namely a (web)page that is like the macarena song and dance. The macarena was a song (coupled with a dance involving a few special steps) that was extremely popular a couple of years ago. However, the popularity did not last for long, because the whole fad disappeared just as quickly as it came. Although a macarena page does not contain any information on the macarena, it nevertheless is a webpage that contains information on a current fad that probably will not last for long, but is very popular at the moment. Thus macarena stands for any fad that has a short time span but enjoys enormous popularity, which means that a member of a category for the category metonymy is at work, where macarena is a member of the category of highly popular, though shortlived fads. A further example of the member of a category for the category metonymy is provided by casino culture (‘a culture in which low-percentage money-making schemes — such as high-tech stocks, day trading, lotteries and domain name speculation — become mainstream investment vehicles’). In this compound we have a culture that is understood to work like a casino, where earning lots of money quickly, without putting much work into it is considered the norm. Nevertheless,

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the meaning of the compound has a much wider scope, it is not limited to money that is made in a casino — and this is where the metonymy comes into the picture. Casino metonymically stands for any kind of money-making scheme that is done fast, with little effort and which requires a lot of luck. This kind of money-making includes activities such as playing the lottery or stock trading, that is, any activity that is able to bring in a lot of money relatively quickly. Yet the question can be raised why casino is chosen to stand in the modifying position, instead of having a construction such as lottery culture or day-trading culture for example. There are two main reasons for the selection of casino. First, a casino is probably one of the best examples of a place where money can be earned very quickly, and it is a concept that is understood by many. Day-trading and domain name speculation are less known ways of making money quickly than going into a casino (and being very lucky). However, this does not explain why casino culture is preferred over lottery culture, since lottery tickets are just as common phenomena as casinos. The preference for casino lies in the fact that casino alliterates with culture — while lottery does not. Such a phonological consideration might play a considerable role in the selection of the modifying constituent in English noun–noun compounds, as it has been already argued in the discussion of belly button or Lexus lane among others. As it has been already discussed in section 3.4, metonymy is also used in the way we conceptualise category structure, such as social stereotypes, where a member of a category stands for the whole category. Politicians are especially prone to create demographic labels before elections in order to refer to particular electoral groups. See, for instance, the expression school-gate mum, which was coined by the British Labour Party before the 2005 general elections, when the party launched a campaign to target an electoral group of young, married women with children who were viewed as vital to winning the election. According to the Evening Standard, the campaign was heavily influenced by American political strategists, “who found the party that could win over so-called ‘soccer moms’ would clinch elections” (Paul Waugh, “Blair uses soap star in appeal to mothers”, Evening Standard, 15 April 2005, p. 7). The term soccer mom emerged in US politics in 1996, to refer to a white suburban woman who is married with children, but in the mid-term elections of 1998, soccer mom gave way to waitress mom, a married woman with children working in a low-income job. However, in the 2004 presidential election campaign, the latest coinage was security mom — a woman with children who is particularly concerned about terrorism and security issues (Macmillan English Dictionary Magazine, Issue 25, December 2004). Waitress mom (‘a woman who is married, has children, works in a low-income job, and has little formal education’) is a compound that can be regarded as a type of metonymical construction of the member of a category for the category con-

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ceptual metonymy. The mother, denoted by the second constituent, is likened to a waitress, which is the first constituent of the compound. However, the concept of waitress metonymically stands for the whole social class of married women working in low-income jobs. Why is waitress selected to stand in the place of the modifying element, as opposed to e.g. hairdresser, secretary or saleswoman? The answer lies in what George Lakoff (1987: 79, after Rosch 1978) calls “prototype effect”: a subcategory or a member of a subcategory is selected to comprehend the category as a whole because it possesses all the prototypical attributes of the category. This does not mean that all waitresses are married, have children and are badly paid, but rather that our culture takes the waitress as a social stereotype of her category (mothers who work in a badly paid job and have little formal education). According to Lakoff (ibid.), “[s]ocial stereotypes are cases of metonymy — where a subcategory has a socially recognized status as standing for the category as a whole, usually for the purpose of making quick judgments about other people”. However, the meaning of waitress mom would never have arisen without a further social stereotype: that of the housewife mother (Lakoff 1987: 77–84). Lakoff claims that the category of mother has a central, prototypical case, with a mother who is married to the father of her natural child and stays at home all day with her children. Thus the expression of working mother does not simply mean a mother who happens to be working, but the category of working mother is defined in contrast to the stereotypical housewife mother. As Lakoff argues, the stereotypical view is that mothers who do not stay at home all day with their children cannot properly care for them and bring them up. There is also the stereotypical image of work, which is something that is done away from home, and housework and child-rearing do not count. This stereotype is fought against with the bumper sticker “Every mother is a working mother” (ibid., p. 80). Thus, similarly to working mother, waitress mom is also defined on the background of the housewife mother stereotype, as a less prototypical member of the mother category, as she does not stay at home with her children but goes out to work instead. However, similarly to the housewife mother, waitress mom also functions as a stereotype, that of the category of lowpaid, under-educated working mothers.

8.1.2.2 defining property for category An interesting example is provided by big hair house (‘a house that has a garish style and is overly large compared to its lot size and to the surrounding houses’). In this compound, a house is being understood as a big hair-do — at first it is difficult to see what is the basis for this comparison. However, according to the source (wordspy), the phrase is used mostly in Texas, where big hair refers to a “bouffant hairstyle, especially one in which long hair has been sprayed, permed, or back-combed to make it stand away from the head and give it volume”. The hairstyle itself was once regard-

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ed as an emblem of rich, powerful or glamorous women, but is now criticised as being garish and very “1980s”. Once again I would like to refer to Radden and Kövecses (1999: 35–6), who claim that if categories are defined by a set of properties, then these properties are necessarily a part of the category. Just as a category can evoke one of its defining (or otherwise essential) property, so can a defining or essential property metonymically stand for the category it defines. As an example for the latter case (defining property for category), the authors provide the example of blacks to refer to ‘black people’. The same metonymy is at work in the case of big hair: the bouffant hairstyle to which the construction refers is viewed (in Texas) as a defining property of a certain class of people, namely rich, powerful and glamorous women. However, big hair-dos are not fashionable anymore, in fact, they are quite the opposite to the minimalist style of the noughties, thus anybody who sports a “big hair” these days is considered untrendy, even “garish” and tasteless. Therefore big hair houses are just like the people whom the first constituent metonymically refers to: large, pompous but very tasteless buildings, which do not fit into their environment.

8.1.2.3 producer for product This metonymy is an instantiation of the Production ICM (Radden and Kövecses 1999: 39–40), which involves actions in which one of the participants is a product created by the action. The producer for product, or more specifically the artist for his work is at play in picasso porn (‘the scrambled signal of a pornographic cable channel as seen by a nonsubscriber’). What we have is porn (denoted by N2) that is like the work of Picasso (denoted by N1): the nonsubscriber sees only very scrambled images of naked women that resemble the work of the cubist artist. As Radden and Kövecses argue (ibid.), it is the very close association that exists between an artist and his work in our culture that provides the immediate understanding of the metonymical character of N1. The shape of paintings — usually rectangular — is similar to the shape of a television set; the frame of the painting maps onto the television box, while the painting that is contained on the canvas (in between the

Figure 8.2 Mappings between the source and target domains of picasso porn

Chapter 8. Metaphor- and metonymy-based compounds

frames) corresponds to the television screen. These mappings imply that there is an image metaphor involved between the source domain of a painting and the target domain of a television set (see Figure 8.2). A very relevant question to ask about picasso porn is why it is Picasso who is selected to metonymically stand for his work, why not some other cubist or expressionist painter, such as Braque, Matisse or Kandinksy? I believe that there are two main reasons for choosing Picasso. First, he was the artist who established abstract painting in the form of cubism, and became famous for depicting quite a few women on his canvas within this new style of painting which greatly distorted the original shapes and figures. The name of Picasso is thus intricately linked with painting distorted women (and it should not be overlooked that it is his Les Demoiselles d’Avignon which can be considered to be one of his most well-known paintings), more than Kandinsky for example. Second, Picasso alliterates with porn — which is further evidence for the significant role that phonological considerations play in the formation of creative compounds.

8.2. Metaphor-based semantic relationship between the constituents of the compound and metonymy-based profile determinant This section focuses on creative compounds where there is a metaphorical relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant; at the same time there is also a conceptual metonymy acting upon the head element (see Figure 8.3). I believe that it is this type of creative compounding pattern that underlies the infamous hammerhead (‘a stubborn person’) example. What happens here is that the profile determinant, head, stands in a metaphorical relationship to the modifier, hammer. Thus we have a head that is like a hammer: hard, clumsy and unyielding. At the same time, head metonymically stands for the person via a part for whole conceptualisation, more specifically head for the person. This latter metonymy underlies several compounds and idiomatic expressions in English, such as hothead (‘a person who is easily aroused to anger’) or heads will roll (‘those responsible for the blunder will be dismissed’). . Hammerhead emerges in both Mary Ellen Ryder’s (1994) and Warren’s (1992) writings, although they use it to refer to two different entities. In Ryder’s case, it means ‘a type of shark’, while in Warren’s usage it denotes ‘a stubborn person’. In this work I will use Warren’s definition of the compound. . All the examples are from PDEI. Ferenc Bakos (1985) examined the metaphorical entrenchment of head in a set of compound nouns referring to names of institutions taken from the Hungarian Defining Dictionary, which contained fő- in the initial part of the construction and then looked at the foreign equivalent of these terms in ten different Indo-European languages. As it

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Figure 8.3 Model of a creative compound with a metaphor-based relationship between the two constituents and a metonymy-based profile determinant

It is important to note that the sequence of the metaphor and the metonymy acting upon the compound is definitely relevant to the meaning of the expression: hammerhead cannot be analysed by taking the metonymy first, as that would yield hammer person — a compound that could theoretically mean a person who prefers to work with a hammer, as opposed to working with a drill for example (as in the following comment: “Oh, I’m a hammer person when it comes to DIY”), where the modifier indicates the task, activity or interest with which the referent of the head noun is involved. Both Pamela Downing (1977) and Beatrice Warren (1978) included this type of relationship in their respective lists of frequently used semantic relations among noun–noun combinations (see section 2.5.2). A very similar line of analysis can be given for snakehead (‘a smuggler, particularly one from China, who specialises in getting people into another country without going through normal immigration channels’). Once again, there is a conceptual metonymy, head for the person, acting upon the profile determinant of the compound expression, through which head stands for a person. There is also a conceptual metaphor acting between the two constituents of the compound whereby the qualities of a snake are mapped onto Chinese smuggler. For instance, the shape of the eyes of the snake is mapped onto the almond-shape eyes of a Chinese person. Moreover, the quiet and clandestine movements of the reptile correspond to the secretive movements of a smuggler: just as it is difficult to detect the quiet movement of a snake, it is equally hard to trace illegal immigration, since a smuggler will choose itineraries which are out of the way of official control. The compound’s very turned out, when the 192 compounds were translated into the various languages, the initial főbecame head in the various languages (with the central meaning as the main part of the body) in 35 cases (e.g.: the counterpart of the Hungarian főhadiszállás is headquarters in English), which amounted to the second largest group (only monolexemic terms were able to surpass the popularity of head compounds).

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pejorative connotation arises from our folk understanding of snakes (also based upon the biblical depiction of the Serpent), namely that they cannot be trusted and are treacherous animals. See for instance the meanings of the following idiomatic expressions (taken from PDEI): a snake in the grass (‘a hidden, treacherous enemy’) and to cherish a snake in one’s bosom (‘to have one’s kindness repaid with spite or ingratitude’).

8.2.1 An image metaphor: bell-bottoms Bell-bottoms (‘trousers that are very wide at the bottom of the leg’) is based upon an image metaphor (see Figure 8.4): as it has already been elaborated on in section 6.1, such metaphors superimpose the schematic structure of the source domain onto the target domain. In the case of bell-bottoms, the shape of a bell is mapped onto the shape of the bottom part of a pair of trousers. The profile determinant of the compound, bottoms, serves as a metonymical reference point by which the complete garment, i.e. the pair of trousers can be accessed through the part for whole conceptual metonymy. I would like to emphasise that the analysis presented here does not wish to take a stand on the sequence of metaphorical and metonymical processing: for instance, bell-bottoms can just as well be accounted for by claiming that metonymy acts upon the whole compound, i.e. ‘the bell-shaped bottoms’ metonymically stand for ‘a pair of trousers which has bell-shaped bottoms’. Whichever line of approach is chosen, conceptual metaphor and metonymy take centre stage in the semantics of the construction.

8.3. Metonymy-based modifier and metaphor based profile determinant This section discusses compound expressions that have a metaphorical profile determinant and whose modifying element is based upon some sort of conceptual

Figure 8.4 Mappings between the source and target domains of bell-bottoms

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metonymy. Alpha geek and alpha girl have already been analysed in section 8.1.1, where it has been shown that the meaning of the first constituent is understood via the form for concept metonymy, where the form (in this case the letter “α”) stands for the concept it denotes — that is, it being the first letter of the Greek alphabet. It is this concept of “primariness” that is understood by the word alpha in these constructions. Alpha pup (‘market research jargon for the kid who is deemed by his or her peers to be the “coolest” in their school, neighbourhood or town’) is more similar in meaning to alpha girl than alpha geek, where the expression denotes ‘a girl who is the first among other girls’. In both alpha girl and alpha pup, the profile determinant has a general meaning, and thus alpha (denoting ‘primariness’) cannot bring into focus any sort of quality as in alpha geek for instance. The meaning negotiation between the two constituents of alpha and pup results in the meaning of a kid who is the “coolest” of all, i.e. the child with the largest influence in his/her group. The metaphorical profile determinants of the alpha pup can be accounted for by the everyday conceptualisation of humans as animals, based upon The Great Chain of Being metaphor system. In the case of alpha pup, humans are understood as dogs, with the “help” of the people are dogs conceptual metaphor (which can be considered as a submetaphor of the more general people are animals conceptual metaphor). Once again it needs to be emphasised that puppy does turn up in a number of English idioms, denoting a young person. See for instance puppy fat — ‘plumpness that the boy or girl will shed when reaching maturity’ and puppy love — ‘the love of a very young, immature person’, both of which are analysed in section 5.1.3. In the case of gutter bunny (‘mountain biker slang for a person who commutes to work on a bicycle’), the modifier is rooted in our cultural knowledge of cycling in the city. In urban neighbourhoods, the edges of the roads are created so as to form gutters where the water can collect and flow away. If there is no cycle path, then cyclists use the side of the road for travelling (where the gutter is located). All this information is packed into gutter, which serves as a reference point to access the Cycling in the City ICM (which is of course different to the Cycling in the Countryside ICM, where there are no gutters for instance). The metaphorical profile determinant, bunny, activates mappings between a person who cycles to work and a rabbit. In my opinion, the quality of swiftness that we associate with rabbits (as opposed to the slowness of a tortoise) is mapped onto the cyclist: once again it is a part of our cultural knowledge (and part of the Cycling in the City ICM) that getting about with a bicycle in a city is very often a much faster means of travel than doing so with a car or public transportation. As a last note I wish to add that the constituents of gutter bunny exhibit a location schema (i.e. a location–located semantic structure), similarly to plenty of other compounds of English (such as belly button for instance).

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8.3.1 Constraining in action: firedog According to Mary Ellen Ryder (1994: 84), a process that is called “constraining” affects the language user when a new compound is formed, which means that already existing compound patterns influence the structure of a novel construction. Ryder illustrates this with an example from the dog domain. Ryder proposes that if a new type of dog is bred by Georgians that looks like a cat, to be used for hunting squirrels, then it is more probable that this dog would be called a squirrel hound (on the pattern of bulldog), as opposed to Georgian hound (on the pattern of German shepherd) and cat hound (on the pattern of mule deer). The reason for the selection of squirrel hound over the others is that the speaker is influenced by the most common type of linguistic template used for the naming of dogs — in this case what they are used for (as opposed to where they have been bred or what other animal they resemble). As it will be shown below, the same happens in firedog (‘one of a pair of iron supports for burning logs in a fireplace’): the language user is influenced by compounds denoting dogs which have dog in the profile determinant position. Firedog exemplifies a creative compound where the profile determinant, dog, is understood metaphorically, and the modifier fire is used in a metonymical sense. As Figure 8.5 shows, the compound can be best analysed by a single-scope blend, where the two input spaces correspond to the source and target domain of a conceptual metaphor, and the blended space inherits the structure of one of the inputs. Here, the input space which acts as the source domain contains the domain of watchdog, while the other input space contains the domain of iron rods before a fireplace; the latter serves as the target domain. The two inputs are linked by a conceptual metaphor, whereby we conceptualise the iron rods before the fireplace as a watchdog guarding over the fire. This conceptualisation is made possible by the overarching generic space of protection/guard that maps onto both input spaces and the blend: the iron supports guard the logs in a fireplace from falling out; this guarding function is brought in connection with a dog, which is often used to guard a house, a property, sheep, etc. Thus it is the similarity between the function of a dog and the iron supports that give rise to the compound’s metaphorical profile determinant. However, why is fire chosen in the compound as the modifying element, instead of e.g. iron as in irondog, or log as in logdog (and the list could probably go on)? The answer lies once again in the basis of the perceived similarity between a dog and the iron supports, i.e. the guarding function. The modifying element is selected with this similarity in the background, and it helps the language user to work out the meaning of the construction. According to Ryder (1994), this is based upon the analogy of other, non-metaphorical noun–noun combinations denoting dogs, where the modifier clarifies the function of the dog: e.g. a sheepdog is a dog that is

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Figure 8.5 The blend analysis of firedog

used for guarding sheep, while a watchdog is a dog used for guarding property. On the basis of this pattern, a firedog can only denote ‘a “dog” that guards fires’. Irondog, however, is not a very good candidate for denoting the iron supports used before a fireplace, because the modifying element concentrates on the material from which the object is made out of, and does not hint at its function (and thereby the similarity that the metaphorical profile determinant is based on). Logdog would seem to be a much better choice, because the iron supports guard the logs from falling out, and even though the guarding function does surface in logdog (‘a “dog” that guards logs’), firedog is nevertheless chosen over logdog for a number of reasons. For one, logdog does not hint at the purpose of the logs, namely to have a fire. Secondly, fire has a cognitively richer meaning than log: as Radden and Kövecses (1999: 32) argue, a substance such as fire is characterised by being

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unbounded. However, fire may be metonymically conceived of as an object, and is then construed as a bounded entity that can be constituted of logs for example. In this case, the conceptual metonymy object for material constituting the object is at work, where fire stands for the burning logs. Moreover, a further metonymy could be at work in the modifying fire element of the compound, namely contents for container (Radden and Kövecses 1999: 41), where the fire (i.e. the content) stands for the fireplace (the container). At the same time, the language user might also be influenced by compounds that have fire in the modifying position: such as fire brigade, fire department, fire door, fireman, fire house, fire truck, etc. As Ryder (1994) argues, there are certain “core words” that participate in a large number of compounds and which are restricted to either a modifier position (such as sea as in sea bed, seahorse, seaman, seafood, etc.) or a head position (e.g. house as in greenhouse, doghouse, tree house, guest house, etc.). There are core words that possess “absolute cue reliability”: this means that the core word contributes the same meaning regardless of what it paired with (e.g. box). Fire can also be considered as a core word, used in both a modifier position (as above) and a head position (cf. camp fire, forest fire). When used in the modifier position, fire compounds denote an entity whose role is to prevent or fight fires (as in fire brigade or fireman) — this linguistic template might have influenced the selection of fire before dog in firedog, to mean an object that prevents the spread of fire.

8.3.2 A double-scope blend: the analysis of lunch lid An exciting feature of the creative compound lunch lid (‘a moratorium, established by the White House, on newsworthy announcements and events during journalists’ lunch break’) is that the meaning of the expression is motivated by the conduit metaphor (Lakoff and Johnson 1980), which in turn is structured by the following conceptual metaphors: ideas are objects; linguistic expressions are containers; communication is sending. This folk understanding of communi. It is a very intriguing property of fire that when it is in the head position, it has absolute cue reliability. However, when in the modifier position, the picture is more complex: a firescreen is a screen that is put before a fire to protect people from getting burnt; a firefly has a tail that shines in the dark; a firebug is a person who likes to start fires deliberately; while a fire cracker is a small firework that explodes loudly (all examples from LDOCE). . Based on psycholinguistic evidence, Christina L. Gagné and Thomas L. Spalding (2006) claim that it is easier to combine two concepts when the required relation is highly frequent for the modifying element. In fact, the authors point out that “relation ability is based on the modifier’s past usage, not on the head noun” (p. 159), that is, the core reliability of the modifier should be stronger than that of the head noun.

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Figure 8.6 The blend analysis of lunch lid

cation constitutes Input 1 of the blend network (Figure 8.6). The other input space contains the white house domain, with elements such as <White House officials>, <journalists>, and <press release>. There are mappings between the two input spaces: the within the container of Input 1 map onto important of Input 2; while the press release itself can be conceptualised as a variation on the conduit metaphor: the news items (objects) are sent by the White House officials to the crowd of journalists. The blended space contains a container full of news items (objects), but unlike the image of Input 1, here the container is closed; it has a lid on it. What happens here is that the blend inherits the conduit metaphor of Input 1, but it further elaborates this metaphor: if the container is closed with a lid, communication cannot take place, therefore, no news items are announced by White House staff to the journalists. The modifier has a very important role in the meaning of the compound: it specifies the time (i.e. lunchtime) when the “lid” is put on the “container”. This specification is done, however, by a further conceptual metonymy — activity for time of activity — that acts upon the modifier element, whereby lunch (the activity) stands for lunchtime (time of activity). . Such a semantic relation between the two constituents of a noun–noun combination — whereby the modifier specifies the time of action that is denoted by the head element — is very com-

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Two points should be raised concerning the selection of the profile determinant of the compound. Lid serves as a conceptual reference point, by which we are able to access the whole entity (i.e. the container image of the conduit metaphor). As Langacker (1993) argues, a reference point needs to be cognitively salient. The salience of lid lies in the fact that communication stops by putting the “lid” onto the container — thus the “lid” has a very important role in stopping the flow of communication from White House staff. In addition, a further play on words might be affected here, since lunch involves eating something that has been cooked in a pot, and pots usually have lids on them. Therefore, there could be a further parallel between the image of journalists eating food that has been cooked in a pot and the image of news items as objects located in a container.

8.4. Metaphor-based modifier and metonymy-based profile determinant Acidhead (‘an LSD user’) represents a compound where the modifier is metaphorbased, while the profile determinant is metonymy-based. The compound can be paraphrased as ‘a head that is full of acid’, where the lsd is acid conceptual metaphor provides the understanding of acid as the drug in question. The compound evokes an image of a head full of acid — this containment schema can be accounted for by the head is a container conceptual metaphor, which is very prevalent in English and underlies numerous idiomatic expressions. For instance, Réka Benczes (2002a) analyses idioms that contain the word head in them and shows that basic metaphors such as the head is a container and ideas are physical objects motivate idioms such as have rocks in one’s head and need to have one’s head examined. In fact, the image of a head full of acid also suggests that there is no place left in the container/head for other “objects”, such as ideas. Therefore, somebody who uses LSD on a regular basis runs the danger of losing the ability to think rational thoughts. Needless to say, the metonymical profile determinant provides access to LSD addict through the head for the person conceptual metonymy. The question can of course be raised why head is used as the reference point in order to access the whole person, instead of some other body part. I believe that two strong arguments can be put forward in favour of head. First, the head for the person conceptual metonymy is highly conventional and crops up often in English, both in compounds and in idiomatic expressions (see section 8.2). Second, the effects of LSD — which is a hallucinogenic drug — are felt primarily in the head. mon in English, examples include summer vacation (‘a vacation that takes place in the summer’) or Sunday paper (‘a newspaper that is published on Sunday’).

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It is quite interesting about the semantics of the compound that, although the meaning of the overall expression is somebody who is addicted to LSD and uses it regularly, neither acid nor head implies this habituality. This, I believe, can be accounted for by a further conceptual metonymy acting upon the compound as a whole (although bearing in mind that the aspect of habituality applies in general to compound formation). Being on LSD can be construed with the help of the Event ICM (Radden and Kövecses 1999: 32), which can be metaphorically viewed as containing subparts, or rather subevents. In the case of acidhead, the habitual state of being under the influence of LSD stands for the present state (even if the person denoted by the compound is not taking drugs at a given moment). Therefore, a part for whole metonymy — habitual for present — accounts for the aspect of regularity that is implied by the compound.

8.5. Summary This chapter focused on the various ways conceptual metaphor and conceptual metonymy act upon the meaning of noun–noun combinations. Although both Warren (1992) and Goossens (1995) have noticed that the meaning of compounds can be based upon both metaphor and metonymy, their analyses were restricted to a couple of examples. Geeraerts (2002) did attempt to systematise metaphorical and metonymical compounds (it should be emphasised that his analyses were based upon Dutch — not English — examples), but he concentrated on the sequence by which metaphor and metonymy is activated in the meaning of the compound expression. The problem with this line of analysis is that it is often very difficult to decide which process acts upon the meaning of the compound first — metaphor or metonymy? In this chapter I wished to go further than previous analyses on the subject and systematically map the various patterns by which creative compounds are formed in English on the basis of both metaphor and metonymy. My results show that conceptual metaphor and metonymy do not act upon compounds in an ad hoc manner, but there is an inventory of linguistic patterns, based upon which part of the compound is activated by conceptual metaphor or conceptual metonymy. Consequently, I have identified four major patterns. I wish to emphasise that my analyses in general do not wish to take a stand on the sequence of metaphor and metonymy acting upon the meaning of the noun–noun combination: as I have pointed out in acidhead for instance, there are several ways of proceeding with the analysis (although there are exceptions: in the case of hammerhead the sequence of metaphor and metonymy influences the meaning of the expression). Nevertheless, whichever line of enquiry is chosen, the meaning of such compounds can be explained. This

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implies that a cognitive linguistic framework can in fact provide an account of a class of compounds that have been mostly regarded as peripheral members of the English language (and therefore excluded from linguistic discussions).

chapter 9

A brief overview and the wider perspective Ever since Leonard Bloomfield (1933), noun–noun combinations have been classified traditionally into two major semantic groups: endocentric compounds, which represent a sub-classification of the entities expressed by the head noun (thus apple tree is an endocentric compound because it is a type of tree); and exocentric or headless constructions (such as hammerhead to denote ‘a stubborn person’), where the compound is not a hyponym of the head element. However, as it has been pointed out in Chapter 2, the term “exocentric” has been used to apply to different sets of linguistic data. Descriptivists such as Otto Jespersen (1954) or Hans Marchand (1960) included only metonymical compounds under this term, while others, such as Robert B. Lees (1968) and Judith N. Levi (1978) for instance, also considered metaphor-based compounds as exocentric linguistic material. Moreover, analyses that have been conducted on English noun–noun compounds are based upon endocentric compounds only; exocentric compounds have been either completely ignored (e.g. Ryder 1994) or treated only marginally (see e.g. Adams 1973, Levi 1978 or Selkirk 1982), on the grounds that they are exceptional cases, which fail to abide by normal compound formation rules. There is no general consensus in either the transformationalist/generativist, or the cognitive linguistic literature on how to proceed with the analysis of the semantics of exocentric compounds. Although cognitive linguists have proposed a number of approaches in the analysis of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds, their analyses are based upon a very limited number of examples (see for instance Coulson 2000, Fauconnier and Turner 2002, Geeraerts 2002, Goossens 1995, Sweetser 1999). Based on the above, no systematic analysis on the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds has been conducted previously, in order to uncover the regularities behind the cognitive processes that yield metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds; and the products of these processes, that is, the compounds themselves. The ambiguous usage of the term “exocentric compounds” prompted me to discard it completely. The present study examined the possible cognitive processes that underlie noun–noun combinations whose meanings are influenced by metaphor and metonymy. I did not wish to restrict the activation of metaphor and metonymy to the head constituent only: it has also been investigated how metaphor and metonymy can act upon other parts of the compound: the modifier, the relation between the two constituents of the compound and the compound as a whole.

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From the theoretical claim that metaphor- and/or metonymy-based compounds can be systematically analysed on the basis of which part of the compound is activated by conceptual metaphor and/or metonymy, it follows that semantic transparency is not considered as a property of the entire multimorphemic expression, but is viewed instead as the property of individual constituents. This latter assumption is backed up by psycholinguistic evidence: in a series of experiments, Gary Libben et al. (2003) have shown that both constituents of a noun–noun compound show priming effects, regardless of the degree of transparency involved, or the status (and position) of the constituent in question. Therefore, the present study set out to explore whether the semantics of metaphorical and/or metonymical noun– noun combinations can be systematically analysed within a theoretical framework, where systematicity pertains to regularities in both the cognitive processes and the products of these processes.

9.1. The results: systematic creativity As it has been demonstrated throughout this book, the main difference between endocentric compounds such as apple tree and exocentric compounds such as hammerhead is not transparency of meaning, but creativity: the latter represents a type of nominal construction that has been coined by a more imaginative, associative and creative word formation process, based on conceptual metaphor and metonymy. Such compounds are not unanalysable, nor semantically opaque: in fact, they can be analysed within a cognitive linguistic framework, by the combined application of metaphor, metonymy, blending, profile determinacy and schema theory. Therefore, the term creative compound has been proposed for metaphorical and/or metonymical noun–noun combinations. The assumption that semantic transparency is not considered as a property of the entire multimorphemic expression, but is regarded rather as the property of individual constituents, directly promotes a connectionist approach to the mental architecture, according to which — as discussed by Libben (2006) and Sydney M. Lamb (1998) — the mind relies on a parallel system in the understanding of combinations, accessing both the individual constituents and the unit as a whole. Hence novel words will be processed in terms of their constituents, while already existing words will vary to the degree to which they are processed by their constituents and as a whole, depending on their frequency or degree of lexicalisation. The connectionist approach ties in with blending theory (based upon the idea of a conceptual integration network), which has been made use of extensively in the individual analyses of creative compounds. The analyses have shown that metaphor and metonymy can be employed in sys-

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tematic ways to create noun–noun combinations. In the case of metaphor-based creative compounds, four major types have been identified: (1) those with a metaphorical modifier, as in hen party (‘a party to which only women are invited’); (2) those with a metaphorical profile determinant, as in belly button (‘navel’); (3) those with a metaphorical modifier and profile determinant, as in flame sandwich (‘a note that consists of a negative statement surrounded by two positive statements’); and (4) those with a metaphorical relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant, as in sandwich generation (‘people who must care for both their children and their parents’). In the case of metonymy-based creative compounds, five major groups have been identified: (1) those with a metonymical modifier, as in Hogwarts headache (‘headache caused by reading the fifth, 870-page Harry Potter volume’); (2) those with a metonymical profile determinant, as in handwriting (‘the style of one’s writing’); (3) those with a metonymical modifier and profile determinant, as in phone neck (‘neck and shoulder pain caused by holding the phone for too long’); (4) the compound as a whole is metonymical, as in humpback (‘a large whale with a curved back’); and (5) those with a metonymical relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant, as in windowpane. As for metaphor and metonymy-based creative compounds, four types have been uncovered: (1) metonymical modifier and metaphorical profile determinant, as in gutter bunny (‘person who commutes to work on a bicycle’); (2) metaphorical modifier and metonymical profile determinant, as in acidhead (‘an LSD user’); (3) metaphorical relationship between modifier and profile determinant and the modifier is metonymical, as in alpha girl (‘the dominant member in a group of girls’); (4) metaphorical relationship between modifier and profile determinant and the profile determinant is metonymical, as in hammerhead (‘a stubborn person’).

9.2. Alternative construal and motivation One of the questions that can be raised with regard to creative compounds is why do people coin them at all? A very plausible explanation lies in the fact that metaphorical and metonymical thinking is a natural ability of humans. A number of cognitive linguists, such as William Croft and Alan Cruse (2004), Ronald W. Langacker (1987) and Leonard Talmy (1988), have emphasised that both metaphor and metonymy can be considered as various kinds of construal operations, that is, mental processes that we employ for interpreting or conceptualising the world around us in a particular way. This construal can happen in a number of ways, since any given object, event or situation might be interpreted alternatively. In the case of metaphor, for instance, we are making judgments and comparisons by understanding

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one thing in terms of another: as Langacker (2000: 208) argues, “the source domain serves as a background for structuring and understanding the target domain” (emphasis as in original). It can hardly go unnoticed that many of the compounds that have been analysed in Part Two, such as meadow mayonnaise, knee-mail or muffin top to name but a few — are of a humorous character. This feature goes hand-in-hand with the fundamental notion of construal itself: as Geert Brône and Kurt Feyaerts (2003) point out, it is exactly through construal operations such as metonymy and metaphor by which we are able to create a humorous effect, by creating distorted reference-point constructions (in the case of metonymy) and the association of incompatible domains (in the case of metaphor). Construal, however, can be affected by the immediate context. As Sydney M. Lamb (1998: 190) underlines, a speaker’s choice of a lexeme or the choice of one among a set of appropriate conceptualisations is influenced by the context. Lamb cites the following example: “Are you ready to zoom to the camera store?” (emphasis as in original). There are plenty of alternatives in English to represent the action described by zoom, all of which — as the author indicates — would seem to be a more likely choice (such as go, go over, get going, etc.). According to Lamb, the reason for the selection of zoom over all the other possibilities is that the concept of camera or camera store influences the activation of connections within the semantic network to other concepts related to cameras, such as zoom lens. From zoom lens a further connection is made to zoom — and as this concept is already being activated (due to the connection from camera (store) to zoom lens to zoom), “it wins out in the competition among lexemes” to express the desired motion (ibid.). The immediate textual context can also be extended to the cultural context (that is, culture-based knowledge such as allusions to books, movies, etc.), as exemplified by Seabiscuit candidate for instance, where the movie Seabiscuit prompted the conceptualisation or construal of the presidential candidate as the horse which — defying all expectations — managed to win the race. As a next step, the cultural context can be expanded to the social context. For instance, culture-based social interaction within a given community, including all aspects of social experiences and behaviour — as cited by Dmitrij Dobrovol’skij and Elisabeth Piirainen (2005: 214–15) — can be subsumed under my usage of “social context”. The social context can also influence the coinage of creative compounds, such as euphemisms exemplified by lunch lid, or compounds based on social stereotypes, such as hen party or stag party. Both hen and stag are social stereotypes, evoked to categorise social groups (the social stereotypes of talkative women or the macho-like attitude of men), and even though some of these stereotypes might not be influential anymore, nevertheless they might have played a certain role at one point in history and have left their mark accordingly on figurative language.

Chapter 9. A brief overview and the wider perspective 187

Apart from the immediate, the cultural and the social context, a further influencing factor behind the coinage of creative compounds is that they “have a positive mnemonic effect” (Bauer 1983: 142). As Laurie Bauer explains, a metaphor-based compound is a “more successful strategy for word-formation” (ibid.) than borrowing for instance, because the motivation and imagery that such a compound evokes will make it easier to memorise. As it has been pointed out in the preceding chapters, a number of creative compounds exhibited alliteration (such as belly button or Lexus lane) or rhyme (knee-mail, for instance, which rhymes with e-mail). It is suggested here that neither alliteration, nor rhyme is accidental in creative compounds, as both devices aid memorability (Wales 1989), thus further strengthening the “positive mnemonic effect” alluded to by Bauer. The example of knee-mail focuses our attention on a further influencing factor with regard to the emergence of creative compounds: analogy. According to Lamb (1998), we make extensive use of already existing forms when creating new ones — that is, our creative ability in language is also based on analogy: “[t]he analogical principle can account for much of the ability of people to interpret and form new combinations; they simply make appropriate substitutions in previously learned combinations used as exemplars” (p. 265). It is this analogy-based “substitution” that motivates many of the creative compounds encountered within this work as well, such as e-mail motivating knee-mail, or blue-collar worker influencing the coinage of scarlet-collar worker. Such word-formation processes based on analogy are natural — as Lamb emphasises, this ability of ours “appears to be innate and universal” (ibid.).

9.3. The wider perspective There are several benefits of using the term “creative compound” to refer to metaphorical and metonymical compounds. One, the expression highlights the imaginative, associative processes that are required to employ online when coming across a metaphorical and/or metonymical compound. Second, it blurs the semantic distinction between endocentric and exocentric compounds: as it has been pointed out, even traditionally endocentric compounds such as armchair or handwriting are creative compounds — the former has a metaphorical modifier, while the latter exhibits a metonymical profile determinant. Therefore, creative compounding subsumes both endocentric and exocentric constructions. However, while traditionally endocentric constructions such as armchair and handwriting are creative compounds, just as a traditionally exocentric one such as hammerhead, there is a difference in the degree of creativity in these three compounds. Leaving aside the fact that all three expressions are lexicalised to various

188 Creative compounding in English

degrees, a noun–noun combination such as hammerhead can be considered to be more creative than armchair or handwriting in the sense that a greater effort is required from the listener to understand its meaning: we need to employ both conceptual metaphor and metonymy consecutively (and in the right order as well). Such a claim is in agreement with Langacker’s view (2000: 16), who maintains that composite structures such as noun–noun compounds are never consistently or fully predictable: “Rather than constituting a composite structure, the component structures correspond to certain facets of it, offering some degree of motivation for expressing the composite conception in the manner chosen” (ibid., italics as in original). What this means then is that even the most transparent, semantically endocentric noun–noun combination requires a certain amount of creative processing from the listener in order to access the composite meaning of the construction. Going back to schema theory once again, according to Langacker (2000a: 18–19) grammatical rules are none other than the schematic representations of symbolically complex constructions, which can be described as constructional schemas. Constructional schemas are able to capture the commonalities of specific expressions at any linguistic level; therefore there are more specific constructional schemas based upon only a couple of similar expressions, such as [N + lid], as in the cases of jar lid or coffin lid. At the same time there are more abstract schemas as well, such as [X Y], which is a schematic representation of all compounds formed from two components. Therefore, endocentric and exocentric noun–noun compounds are based upon the same constructional schema ([N + N]), but as Langacker points out, even constructional schemas are grouped around prototypes. Within this complex network, the constructional schemas represent various degrees of abstraction, and are linked to one another through relations such as elaboration (ranging from more general to more specific constructional schemas) and extension (ranging from nonmetaphorical schemas to metaphorical/metonymical schemas). By applying this idea to the results of the present study we arrive at Figure 9.1, which shows the relationship between elaboration and extension on the one hand, and creative compounds on the other. The vertical axis represents various degrees of elaboration of constructional schemas: a verbal compound such as to badmouth, an adjectival compound such as user-friendly or a nominal compound such as spoilsport are all based upon a highly generalised [X + Y] schema. As we go higher up on the vertical axis, the [X + N] schema is more specific — and more elaborated — than the [X + Y] schema, since it specifies that the profile determinant must be a noun. . Langacker (p. 15) illustrates his point with the compound pencil sharpener: although it denotes ‘something that sharpens pencils’, pencil sharpener is understood as a very specific kind of physical object, with various properties which are not subsumed under the individual meaning of either pencil or sharpener (that it is relatively small, is used for sharpening one pencil at a time, etc.).

Chapter 9. A brief overview and the wider perspective 189

Even more elaborated is the [N + N] constructional schema, which designates that both constituents of the compound must belong to the category of nouns. A semantically endocentric compound, such as armchair, and a semantically exocentric compound such as hammerhead are on the same degree of elaboration: both constructions can be characterised by the [N + N] schema. However, they represent different degrees of extension, as it is represented on the horizontal axis in Figure 9.1. Armchair, with its metaphorical modifier, is extended to a lesser degree compared to hammerhead, where there is an activation of both conceptual metaphor and metonymy regarding the modifier and the profile determinant respectively. The notion of degree of extension therefore is synonymous with the concept of degree of creativity among creative compounds: the more extended a compound, the more imaginative, associative thinking is required from the listener to arrive at the compound’s meaning. Accordingly, creative extension can be correlated with transparency of meaning. Metaphorical and/or metonymical compounds represent various levels of semantic transparency, depending on which constituent is affected by metaphor or metonymy. As Libben et al. (2003) have demonstrated, the semantic complexity of a compound does affect processing times. According to the results obtained from the psycholinguistic experiments, the processing of a compound with a non-transparent head, such as such jailbird or fleabag, took longer than the processing of those compound expressions where the modifier was non-transparent (and the head transparent), as in godchild for instance. In other words, the creative extension of jailbird or fleabag is greater than that of godchild, even though all three represent the same degree of elaboration. Further psycholinguistic data would be required to fine-tune the axis of extension, and place the various types of creative compounds according to the degree

Figure 9.1 The elaboration–extension relationship of creative noun–noun compounds

190 Creative compounding in English

of their transparency and interpretability. Nevertheless, based on the results mentioned above, it can be hypothesised that a compound with a metaphorical or metonymical profile determiner would fall higher up on the axis of extension than a compound with a metaphorical or metonymical modifier. It is also very possible that creative compounds with a metaphorical relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant, as in sandwich generation, represent creative extension to a lesser degree, since children learn to coin these at a relatively young age (Nicoladis 2006). However, it should be borne in mind that even further distinctions of extension (and transparency) can be established even within one single class of creative compounds, if further factors, such as lexicalisation or frequency effects, are also considered, not to mention the importance of context — be it textual, cultural or social. Although some questions still remain open, much has been uncovered about metaphorical and metonymical noun–noun compounds, a pretty large and heterogeneous group of words that have eluded linguistic investigation and detailed analysis for so long. We now know that metaphor and metonymy is employed in a systematic way in the creation (and use) of noun–noun compounds and that the semantic relationships between the modifier and head constituents of creative compounds are the same ones as those between the modifier and head nouns of endocentric compounds (for example, belly button represents a location schema, more specifically a location–located relationship, just as endocentric compounds such as fridge magnet or wall painting). It has been argued throughout this book that creative compounds are based upon productive patterns, similarly to endocentric compounds; and that the systematicity of creative compounds can be based upon which part of the compound is activated by conceptual metaphor and/or metonymy: the modifier; the profile determinant; or the relationship between the modifier and the profile determinant. The analyses of the compounds have also shown that the participating metaphors and metonymies are mostly established ones that emerge in all sorts of linguistic (and non-linguistic) phenomena, that is, they are not restricted to noun–noun combinations exclusively. This implies that creative compounds are the result of thought processes rooted in the conventional usages of conceptual metaphor and metonymy. . It is a well-known fact in psycholinguistics that a high-frequency word such as car is recognised more quickly than a low-frequency word such as doe. This phenomenon is referred to as the word frequency effect.

Appendix Compound

Source

Definition

Section

acidhead airfield airport

LDOCE Warren (1978) Warren (1978)

8.4 7.1.4 7.1.4

alpha geek

wordspy

an LSD user a place where planes can fly from a place where planes begin and stop flying the person with the most technological prowess in an office or department

alpha girl alpha pup

wordspy wordspy

armchair

LDOCE

bait car

wordspy

bandit sign

wordspy

bar-code hairstyle

wordspy

beanpole beanpole family

LDOCE wordspy

bear jam

wordspy

bearskin

LDOCE

bell-bottoms

CCED

belly button big-box store

LDOCE wordspy

big hair house

wordspy

birdcage

wordspy

the dominant member in a group of girls market research jargon for the kid who is deemed by his or her peers to be the “coolest” in their school, neighbourhood or town a comfortable chair with sides that you can rest your arms on a vehicle, monitored by the police, that is used to tempt a car thief into stealing it an illegal commercial sign posted in a public area a style in which a man’s last few strands of hair are combed across the top of his head, thus resembling a bar-code pattern a very tall, thin person a family whose living members come from many generations, but with few members in each generation a traffic jam in a park caused by motorists stopping to watch one or more bears a tall hat made of black fur, worn by some British soldiers for special ceremonies trousers that are very wide at the bottom of the leg navel a large-format store, typically one that has a plain, box-like exterior and at least 100,000 square feet of retail space a house that has a garish style and that is overly large compared to its lot size and to the surrounding houses the airspace in the immediate vicinity of an airport

8.1.1 8.1.1 8.3

5.1.2 6.4.7 6.3 6.1 6.1.1 6.1 7.1.2.2 7.4.2 8.2.1 5.2.1 6.1 8.1.2.2 6.4.3

192 Creative compounding in English

Compound

Source

Definition

Section

blue-collar worker

wikipedia

7.1.2.1

casino culture

wordspy

cereal box

wordspy

chainsaw consultant

wordspy

chicken hawk

wordspy

fire box

Warren (1978)

firedog

LDOCE

firehouse flame sandwich

Warren (1978) wordspy

gas light

LDOCE

glue sniffing

LDOCE

gutter bunny

wordspy

hammerhead handwriting heartland

LDOCE LDOCE LDOCE

hen party

PDEI

Hogwarts headache

http://news.bbc. co.uk/

humpback hunchback

CCED LDOCE

an employee who performs manual or technical labour, such as in a factory or in technical maintenance trades a culture in which low-percentage money-making schemes — such as hightech stocks, day-trading, lotteries and domain name speculation — become mainstream investment vehicles substandard head protection, particularly a poor quality hockey helmet a consultant hired specifically to reduce employee headcount, thus allowing the company’s top executives to remain blameless a person who now advocates war but who once took special measures to avoid military service a big box for keeping logs in, to make a fire one of a pair of iron supports for burning logs in a fireplace a small fire station a note that consists of a negative comment surrounded by two positive comments a lamp in a house or on the street which gives light from burning gas the habit of breathing in gases from glues or similar substances in order to produce an artificial state of excitement mountain biker slang for a person who commutes to work on a bicycle a stubborn person the style of someone’s writing the central part of a country or area of land a party to which only women or girls are invited migraine headache caused by the physical stress of reading the 870-page Harry Potter book, The Order of the Phoenix a large whale with a curved back an offensive word for someone whose back has a large raised part on it because their spine curves in an unusual way

8.1.2.1

6.4.3 6.4.6

5.3.1 7.1.4 8.3.1 7.1.4 5.3.2 7.2.2 7.4.3 8.3 8.2 7.2.1 5.1.1 5.1.3 7.1.3

7.4.1 7.4.1

Appendix 193

Compound

Source

jackpot justice

wordspy

jailbird knee-mail lamppost Lexus lane

license plate lunch lid

macarena page minute man meadow mayonnaise monster country monster home mouse wrist muffin top nanny car nanny state Nintendo thumb oak chest

Definition

the practice of awarding huge monetary settlements to plaintiffs in court cases CCED person serving a prison sentence wordspy a prayer, especially one said while kneeling LDOCE a tall pole supporting a lamp that lights a street or public area wordspy a highway that is normally restricted during rush hour to vehicles carrying multiple passengers, but that can also be used for a fee by single-occupant vehicles Warren (1978) one of the signs with numbers on it at the front and back of the car wordspy and a moratorium, established by the White Macmillan House, on newsworthy announcements English Dictionary and events during journalists’ Magazine, Issue 24 lunchbreak. When White House staffers (November 2004) announce that “the lunch lid is on”, correspondents know they can leave the press room and not be in danger of missing something important wordspy a web page capitalising on a current fad, they are usually full of fluff and have a short life expectancy Warren (1978) a man ready at a minute’s notice Országh “tehénlepény” (=cowpat) wordspy a large and populous country, especially one that wields enormous economic, cultural and political power wordspy an extremely large house, especially one in which the size doesn’t fit in with the surrounding architecture or terrain wordspy pain in the wrist caused by excessive or improper use of a computer mouse Grazia, UK Edition, roll of spare flesh which cascades over 14 February 2005, the top of low-slung jeans p. 42 wordspy a car that uses computer technology to prevent the driver from making unsafe actions or decisions CCED a government that tries to protect its citizens too much and makes them rely on the state too much wordspy pain in the thumb caused by playing with Nintendo for a very long period Warren (1978) a large, strong box made from oak wood, used for storing things in

Section 6.4.5 5.2.1 7.1.2.3 7.5.3 7.1.3

7.1.4 8.3.2

8.1.2.1 7.1.4 5.2.1 6.2 6.2 7.3.1 6.1.1 6.4.4 6.4.4 7.3.1 7.1.4

194 Creative compounding in English

Compound

Source

Definition

Section

office-park dad

picasso porn

wordspy

pine woods pink-collar worker

Warren (1978) LDOCE

puppy fat

PDEI

puppy love

PDEI

sandwich generation

wordspy and Hargraves (2004)

scarlet-collar worker

wordspy

Seabiscuit candidate

wordspy

shuttle diplomacy

CCED

snakehead

wordspy

stag party stage coach submarine sandwich

PDEI Warren (1978) CCED

tetwrist

wordspy

toy food

wordspy

trophy child

wordspy and Hargraves (2004)

tungsten lamp

Warren (1978)

waitress mom

wordspy

a married, suburban father who works in a white-collar job neck and shoulder pain caused by holding a phone for long periods the scrambled signal of a pornographic cable channel as seen by a nonsubscriber a forest of pine trees a woman in a low-paid job, especially in an office or restaurant plumpness that the boy or girl will shed on reaching maturity the love of a very young, immature person people who must care for both their children and their parents; people who have finished raising their children and now must take care of their aging parents a woman who owns or operates an Internet pornographic site a political candidate who comes from behind to win an election the movement of diplomats between countries whose leaders refuse to talk directly to each other, in order to try to settle the argument between them a smuggler, particularly one from China, who specialises in getting people into another country without going through normal immigration channels a social gathering for men only coach that goes in stages a long soft bread roll filled with a combination of things such as meat, cheese, eggs and salad pain in the wrist caused by playing too much Tetris a food dish that comes premeasured and premixed and so requires only a minimal amount of preparation a child used to impress other people and enhance the status of the parent or the parents a lamp that uses the metal tungsten for giving light a woman who is married, has children, works in a low-income job, and has little formal education

7.1.1

phone neck

wordspy and Hargraves (2004) wordspy

7.3.1 8.1.2.3 7.1.4 7.1.2.1 5.1.3 5.1.3 6.4.1

7.1.2.1 6.4.2 6.1.2

8.2

5.1.3 7.1.4 6.1 7.3.1 6.5.2 6.5.1 7.1.4 8.1.2.1

Appendix 195

Compound

Source

Definition

Section

white-collar worker

wikipedia

zombie computer

wordspy

an employee who performs clerical 7.1.2.1 or intellectual work, such as those in clerical, professional, managerial or administrative positions, as opposed to people who do manual work a computer containing a hidden software 6.2 program that enables the machine to be controlled remotely, usually to perform an attack on another computer

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General index A active zone 64–6, 166 Adams 19–20, 37–8, 109 Algeo 2 Allan 18, 70 alliteration 101, 148–51, 187 analogy 38, 61, 79, 96, 187 predictive 124–5 analysability 74–5, 77, 143–9 Aronoff 20–21 B Baron 92 Bauer 9, 10, 15, 17, 30–31, 187 Beard 22, 31 Bencze 48, 49 Benczes 94, 179 blend double-scope 57, 137–9, 140, 142–3, 147, 177–9 mirror network 55–6 multiple-scope network 57 single-scope 56–7, 58, 96–101, 119–37, 140, 175 simplex 54–5, 56 blending 2, 3, 41, 45, 53–9, 61–4, 68, 80, 184 Bloomfield 2, 16–7, 23, 69–70 Bolinger 24 Botha 22–6, 38, 89 Brekle 30 Brône and Feyaerts 186 C categorisation 41, 46, 54 cause–effect 4, 123, 147, 150, 151, 157 Chomsky 7 compositionality 2, 39, 41, 69, 70, 72–4, 77, 82, 84, 143 partial 73, 74

compound adjective–noun 20, 63–7 appositional 18, 20, 46, 103 bahuvrihi 18, 19, 20, 29, 35, 71 copula 18, 33, 107, 108 creative see creative compound darkened 3, 75, 76 definition of 7–8 deictic 31, 59 derivational 20 dvanda 33 endocentric 3, 4, 6, 8, 16, 27, 28, 29, 39, 71, 113, 183, 184, 187, 189, 190 established 10, 17, 35–6, 59, 91, 93, 101, 119, 143, 144 exocentric 3, 6, 8–9, 12, 15, 16–7, 18–9, 27, 28, 29–30, 37, 38, 39, 59, 71–2, 78, 82, 84, 113, 183, 184, 187, 189 headless 2, 78, 183 idiomatic 12, 22–6, 28, 34, 69, 79, 81–2 idiosyncratic 34, 151–3 incomplete 151–3 left-headed 9 lexicalised 17, 30, 31, 72, 83–4 metaphorical 3–6, 12, 19, 20, 22, 23–6, 28, 35, 41, 69, 77, 89, 90–90, 96, 127, 180, 183, 187, 189 metonymical 3–6, 12, 35, 41, 77, 139, 143, 152, 160, 180, 183, 187, 189 novel 31, 32, 36, 59–60, 70, 74, 75, 82, 90, 101, 114, 175 partially transparent 76 resemblance 107 semi-idiomatic 22, 31 transparent 28, 70, 72, 75, 84, 134, 188

conceptual integration network 53, 58, 67, 85, 184 see also blending conceptual metaphor 1, 4, 5, 12, 41, 44, 48–51, 56–8, 67, 73, 89– 91, 94, 96–9, 103–5, 108, 116, 121, 125, 127, 131, 133, 135, 164, 165, 172–5, 179, 180, 184, 188– 90 conceptual metaphor and metonymy 1, 41, 44, 67, 164, 165, 173, 180, 184, 188–90 conceptual metonymy 51, 92, 115, 134, 141, 142, 145, 147, 148, 151–9, 162, 164, 165, 168, 171–3, 177–80 connectionist approach 83, 85, 184 constraining 175 construal 44, 64, 160, 185–6 constructional schema 46–7, 111, 112, 144, 145, 188, 189 container–contained 101 context 1, 8, 11, 17, 27, 28, 35, 38, 58, 59, 60, 65, 66, 67, 113, 114, 123, 127, 139, 147, 186, 187, 190 cultural 186, 187 immediate 2, 8, 59, 66, 127, 186, 187 social 186, 187 textual 186 Coulson 27, 61–3 creative compound 11, 12, 34, 41, 58, 64, 85, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190 definition of 5–7 metaphor-based 90, 91, 96, 101, 102, 105, 111, 115, 121, 127, 123, 140 metonymy-based 141, 142, 148, 149, 154, 156, 157, 162

204 Creative compounding in English

creative compound (cont.) metaphor- and metonymybased 163, 164, 165, 171, 172, 175, 177, 180 creativity 6, 7, 24, 77, 84, 96, 103, 105, 148, 149, 184, 187, 189 Cruse 70 cultural model 51 D deep structure 21, 24–6 deletable predicate 26, 27, 62 derivational rule 28 Dirven and Verspoor 3, 72, 75–6 Dobrovol’skij and Piirainen 6, 92, 95, 146 Downing 31–2, 33, 69, 79, 107, 160, 161, 172 Dressler 11, 107 E elaboration 50, 53, 57, 65, 133, 188–9 encyclopaedic knowledge 20, 27, 51 endocentricity 8, 82 see also compound, endocentric extension 35, 51, 90, 125, 164, 188– 90 Evans and Tyler 125 exocentricity 8, 16, 23, 37, 75, 82 see also compound, exocentric extension 51, 164, 188, 189, 190 F Fabb 70–2 Faber and Márquez Linares 89– 90 Fauconnier 53 Fauconnier and Turner 53–8, 63–4, 139 Fillmore 80 frame 45, 53–8, 62, 64–6, 80, 119, 122, 128, 137, 139, 166, 170, 171 Fraser 77, 80 Frege’s principle 69

G Geeraerts 164, 180 generalisation 75–6, 115, 145 Gibbs 59, 81, 95 Goossens 163 Grady, Oakley and Coulson 58 Great Chain of Being, The 93, 94, 174 Győri 49, 81 H Hargraves 119 Haser 41 Hatcher 18, 22, 23 head 2, 5, 8, 15, 16–7, 26–9, 33–4, 45–6, 59, 71, 78, 91, 96, 101–4, 111–3, 123, 144, 153–5, 157, 160– 61, 164, 172, 177, 178, 183, 190 non-transparent 6, 189 transparent 5, 6, 189 see also compound, leftheaded; profile determinant headedness 8, 15, 29 see also profile determinacy Henkel 43 I ICM 51, 141–2, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155–6, 157–8, 160, 161, 162, 165, 167 Action 134, 147, 148, 152, 153, 155, 156–7 Bearskin Hat 159 Body 158 Cabinet 161 Causation 152 Category-and-Member 152, 167 Container 126, 152 Constitution 159 Cycling in the City 174 Event 159, 180 Flagpole 162 Human Body 154, 158 Inhaling Glue 159 Lamppost 161 Office-Park 142 Perception 156

Production 155, 170 Sign 166 Whale 158 idealised cognitive model 51, 141 see also ICM idiom 25, 34–5, 39, 69, 77–80, 81, 92, 95, 147, 164, 174, 179 idiomaticity 69, 78, 80, 82 see also idiom image metaphor 108–9, 112, 114, 171, 173 image schema 50, 115–7 Indurkhya 124 instance 45, 60–61 J Jespersen 17–8, 20 Johnson 50 K Katamba 38–9, 78 Kiefer 71 Kooij 21, 84, 79–82 Kövecses 49, 50, 57, 92, 94, 98, 104, 121, 123, 125, 132, 135 L Lakoff 43, 51, 52, 78, 145, 169 Lakoff and Johnson 45, 47, 49– 50, 72–3, 89, 105, 108, 118, 141 Lakoff and Tuner 93, 94, 108, 135, 166 Lamb 7, 83–4, 186, 187 Langacker 43–7, 51–2, 65, 67, 72– 5, 82, 85, 100–1, 111, 130, 143, 160, 166, 179, 186, 188 Lees 21–2, 24, 50 Levi 26–8, 29, 150, 183 lexicalisation 11, 28, 31, 83, 85, 93, 114, 184, 190 see also compound, lexicalised lexicon 22, 26, 28, 30, 43, 70, 77, 78, 82, 83, 108, 153 Li 30, 79 Libben 82–3, 85 Libben, Gibson, Yoon and Sandra 5, 6, 85, 184, 189 linguistic template 60, 68, 96, 101, 150, 154, 157, 175, 177

location–located 4, 91, 101, 143, 174, 190 M Malkiel 38 Marchand 18–9, 21–2 Matthews 70, 78 member–group 96 mental space 41, 45, 53, 55, 64, 67 see also blending; conceptual integration network metaphor 1–7, 12, 27, 28, 31, 35, 36, 41, 45–51, 56–8, 64, 67, 69, 72–7, 84, 89–127, 131–6, 140, 141, 148, 163–5, 171–80, 183– 90 metaphor-based compound 108, 183, 187 see also compound, metaphorical; creative compound, metaphorbased; creative compound, metaphor- and metonymybased metonymy 1–7, 12, 17, 31, 35–8, 41, 45, 50–2, 64, 67, 70, 76, 77, 84, 92, 115, 131, 134, 141–74, 177– 80, 183–90 metonymy-based compound 5, 12, 163, 184 see also compound, metonymical; creative compound, metonymybased; creative compound, metaphor- and metonymybased modifier 2, 5, 8, 11, 12, 27, 33–6, 46, 47, 59, 72, 78, 91, 95, 96, 101–5, 110–12, 114, 115, 127, 141, 152, 155, 156, 165, 171–9, 183–90 non-transparent 5–6 transparent 5 modifying element 26, 94, 102, 104, 141, 147, 149, 153–5, 157– 61, 169, 173, 175, 176 motivation 44, 67, 73, 78, 83, 92, 95–6, 114, 136, 163, 185, 187, 188

General index 205

N neologism 9, 10–11, 115 see also compound, novel O opacity 28, 53, 70 origin–entity 101 P part–whole 4, 32, 33, 92, 145, 149, 160, 161 particularisation 35–6 Pelyvás 42, 44 personification 118–9, 128 Pinker 15 Plag 7 Plag, Torsello and Cosi 8 predictability 70, 72 processing time 6, 189 profile determinacy 3, 4, 113, 184 profile determinant 4, 12, 46, 47, 59, 90, 96, 100–2, 105, 112–15, 124, 125, 127, 141, 142, 149, 153–6, 158–62, 165, 166, 171–6, 179, 185, 187–90 profiling 47, 64, 66, 68, 114 prototype 41, 45, 52, 65, 70, 116, 188 prototype effect 169 purpose–object 91, 92 R Radden and Kövecses 52, 134, 141, 147, 155, 156, 160, 166, 167, 170, 176 Radden and Panther 92 Reddy 73 relative clause 26–7 remotivation 83–4 rhyme 101, 148, 187 Right-Hand Head Rule 8, 9, 15, 29 Rohrer 76 Ronneberger-Sibold 71 Rorty 42 Rosch 52 Ryder 3, 36, 38, 58–61, 101, 113, 154, 171, 175, 177

S salience 51, 52, 60, 141, 145, 153, 155, 157, 179 schema 3, 4, 36, 45–6, 50, 59–61, 68, 74, 79, 101, 113, 116, 143–5, 147, 150, 154, 157, 174, 179, 184, 188–90 see also constructional schema; image schema Selkirk 28–9 similarity 7, 24, 35, 36, 37, 55, 70, 89, 97, 99, 100, 109, 120, 124, 127, 148, 163, 165, 166, 175, 176 social stereotype 52, 95, 145, 168–9, 186 source–result 32, 33, 137, 154 Sweetser 58–9, 64–7, 68, 81 symbolic unit 45–6, 60, 102, 142, 153, 155, 157 T Taylor 26, 45–6, 51, 52, 60–61, 69, 84 Tolcsvai Nagy 92 transparency 3, 5–6, 28, 69–70, 71, 72, 75, 82, 83, 84, 85, 184, 189, 190 see also compound, transparent U underlying predicate 150 see also deletable predicate underlying relative clause 27 underlying sentence 21, 80 underlying verb 30 Ungerer and Schmid 116 V valence relation 45 W Warren 31, 32–7, 89, 107, 151–3, 160, 161, 163, 171, 172, 180

Metaphor and metonymy index A abstract complex systems metaphor 132, 133 activity for time of activity 178 anger is a hot fluid in a container 57 argument is fire 103, 104 artist for his work 170 B building block metaphor 73, 75 business is boxing 56 C cause for effect 115 centre of an entity is the heart 91 communication is sending 72, 117, 148, 177 company is a forest 133 conduit metaphor 72, 73, 117, 148, 177–9 container for contents 152 container metaphor 57, 72 contents for container 177 controlled for controller 151 cowardly person is a chicken 103 D death is harvesting 57 defining property for category 142, 169, 170 E effect for cause 152 F form for concept 166, 174

G generic for specific 152 H habitual for present 180 head for the person 171, 172, 179 head is a container 179 human lifetime is the life cycle of a plant 57 I ideas are food 105 ideas are objects 117, 148, 177 ideas are physical objects 179 instrument for action 131, 148, 156 instrument for agent 134 internet is a highway 76 L linguistic expressions are containers 117, 177 love is a journey 48, 116 lsd is acid 179 M material constituting object for object 152 meadow with cowpat is a dish with mayonnaise topping 99 member of a category for the category 145, 167, 168 O object for agent/ institution 152 object for action 92, 147, 157 object for material constituting the

object 177 objectionable people are animals 135 P part for part 134, 147, 153, 154, 156, 158 part for whole 50, 154, 158–63, 167, 171, 173, 180 people are animals 93, 94, 103, 135, 174 people are dogs 94, 174 place for person 163 place for product made there 167 presidential election is a horse race 121 prisoner is a caged bird 97 producer for product 50, 155, 170 R reducing a company’s workforce is felling trees 133 S salient property for category 145 social organizations are plants 133 specific for generic 152 U u.s. politics is sport 121 upper body is an upper garment 98 W whole for part 50, 158, 160

In the series Human Cognitive Processing the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 20 Aurnague, Michel, Maya Hickmann and Laure Vieu (eds.): The Categorization of Spatial Entities in Language and Cognition. Expected January 2007 19 Benczes, Réka: Creative Compounding in English. The Semantics of Metaphorical and Metonymical Noun-Noun Combinations. 2006. xvi, 206 pp. 18 Gonzalez-Marquez, Monica, Irene Mittelberg, Seana Coulson and Michael J. Spivey (eds.): Methods in Cognitive Linguistics. xxviii, 446 pp. + index. Expected December 2006 17 Langlotz, Andreas: Idiomatic Creativity. A cognitive-linguistic model of idiom-representation and idiom-variation in English. 2006. xii, 326 pp. 16 Tsur, Reuven: ‘Kubla Khan’ – Poetic Structure, Hypnotic Quality and Cognitive Style. A study in mental, vocal and critical performance. 2006. xii, 252 pp. 15 Luchjenbroers, June (ed.): Cognitive Linguistics Investigations. Across languages, fields and philosophical boundaries. 2006. xiii, 334 pp. 14 Itkonen, Esa: Analogy as Structure and Process. Approaches in linguistics, cognitive psychology and philosophy of science. 2005. xiv, 249 pp. 13 Prandi, Michele: The Building Blocks of Meaning. Ideas for a philosophical grammar. 2004. xviii, 521 pp. 12 Evans, Vyvyan: The Structure of Time. Language, meaning and temporal cognition. 2004. x, 286 pp. 11 Shelley, Cameron: Multiple Analogies in Science and Philosophy. 2003. xvi, 168 pp. 10 Skousen, Royal, Deryle Lonsdale and Dilworth B. Parkinson (eds.): Analogical Modeling. An exemplar-based approach to language. 2002. x, 417 pp. 9 Graumann, Carl Friedrich and Werner Kallmeyer (eds.): Perspective and Perspectivation in Discourse. 2002. vi, 401 pp. 8 Sanders, Ted J.M., Joost Schilperoord and Wilbert Spooren (eds.): Text Representation. Linguistic and psycholinguistic aspects. 2001. viii, 364 pp. 7 Schlesinger, Izchak M., Tamar Keren-Portnoy and Tamar Parush: The Structure of Arguments. 2001. xx, 264 pp. 6 Fortescue, Michael: Pattern and Process. A Whiteheadian perspective on linguistics. 2001. viii, 312 pp. 5 Nuyts, Jan: Epistemic Modality, Language, and Conceptualization. A cognitive-pragmatic perspective. 2001. xx, 429 pp. 4 Panther, Klaus-Uwe and Günter Radden (eds.): Metonymy in Language and Thought. 1999. vii, 410 pp. 3 Fuchs, Catherine and Stéphane Robert (eds.): Language Diversity and Cognitive Representations. 1999. x, 229 pp. 2 Cooper, David L.: Linguistic Attractors. The cognitive dynamics of language acquisition and change. 1999. xv, 375 pp. 1 Yu, Ning: The Contemporary Theory of Metaphor. A perspective from Chinese. 1998. x, 278 pp.

Pharmaceutical Compounding and Dispensing

Pharmaceutical Compounding and Dispensing

Introducing English Semantics

Introducing English Semantics

Combinations in the middlegame: theory and exercises

Combinations in the middlegame: theory and exercises

Combinations: The Heart of Chess

Combinations: The Heart of Chess

Creative Teaching: English in the Early Years and Primary Classroom

Creative Teaching: English in the Early Years and Primary Classroom

Creative Teaching: English in the Early Years and Primary Classroom

Creative Teaching: English in the Early Years and Primary Classroom

The Oxford handbook of compounding (draft)

The Oxford handbook of compounding (draft)

The Art of Teaching Secondary English: Innovative and Creative Approaches

The Art of Teaching Secondary English: Innovative and Creative Approaches

An Introduction to English Semantics and Pragmatics

An Introduction to English Semantics and Pragmatics

Anthology of Chess Combinations

Anthology of Chess Combinations

Rubber Compounding - Chemistry and Applications

Rubber Compounding - Chemistry and Applications

Rubber Compounding: Chemistry and Applications

Rubber Compounding: Chemistry and Applications

Secret Combinations

Secret Combinations

Bbi Combinatory Dictionary of English: A Guide to Word Combinations

Bbi Combinatory Dictionary of English: A Guide to Word Combinations

The Oxford handbook of compounding (draft)

The Oxford handbook of compounding (draft)

The Semantics Of Science

The Semantics Of Science

The Semantics Of Science

The Semantics Of Science

Combinations of Intelligent Methods and Applications

Combinations of Intelligent Methods and Applications

Combinations of complex dynamical systems

Combinations of complex dynamical systems

Combinations of Complex Dynamical Systems

Combinations of Complex Dynamical Systems

Combinations of complex dynamical systems

Combinations of complex dynamical systems

Play Chess Combinations and Sacrifices

Play Chess Combinations and Sacrifices

Parts and Wholes in Semantics

Parts and Wholes in Semantics

Pharmaceutical Compounding and Dispensing, Second Edition

Pharmaceutical Compounding and Dispensing, Second Edition

The Big Book of Font Combinations

The Big Book of Font Combinations

Numerous Meanings, Volume 15: The Meaning of English Cardinals and the Legacy of Paul Grice (Current Research in the Semantics Pragmatics Interface) (Current ... in the Semantics Pragmatics Interface)

Numerous Meanings, Volume 15: The Meaning of English Cardinals and the Legacy of Paul Grice (Current Research in the Semantics Pragmatics Interface) (Current ... in the Semantics Pragmatics Interface)

The Semantics of Polysemy: Reading Meaning in English and Warlpiri (Cognitive Linguistics Research) (Cognitive Linguistic Research)

The Semantics of Polysemy: Reading Meaning in English and Warlpiri (Cognitive Linguistics Research) (Cognitive Linguistic Research)

Tal's Winning Chess Combinations

Tal's Winning Chess Combinations

The Syntax and Semantics of Infinitary Languages

The Syntax and Semantics of Infinitary Languages

The Syntax and Semantics of Discourse Markers

The Syntax and Semantics of Discourse Markers

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