GEORGETOWN
UNIVERSITY
FRENCH DEPARTMENT
GATEWAY TEXT AND WRITING WORKSHOP |
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purpose of this workshop is to make you aware of some fundamental notions
and principles relating to text and writing. Specific strategies will
be introduced in class, in the context of various reading and writing
activities.
Texts, texts, texts everywhere
We spend our lives surrounded by texts that we must
learn how to read in order to function adequately. These texts come in
a great variety of forms, dozens of which we face every day even if our
lives are not particularly text-oriented. There are of course "obvious"
texts in the newspaper we read in the morning and in the books that we
typically use in college. There are also myriad texts that we go through
without even realizing that we are, in fact, reading—that is, processing
with skills and strategies that we have learned. Texts are absolutely
unnatural: human artifacts, constructed with codes that are not built
in our genetic make-up. Indeed, human evolution has been possible only
because, somehow, we have managed to transcend our natural, very limited
abilities to communicate through a series of breakthrough inventions,
including text and language.
It should come as no surprise, then, that education is greatly
concerned with texts, and that much of what gets done in schools and universities
belongs to what I call TITO: Text In - Text Out. Students are taught increasingly
complex skills and strategies to handle increasingly complex texts, first
as readers, then as producers. Quite often, however, the exact relationship
between the In" part and the "out" part remains unclear.
In many instances, students are required to read some text types (such
as novels), but not produce them; on the other hand, they may have to
produce texts of a kind to which they have not been exposed as readers
(such as a French-style explication de texte). Justifying this
relationship—and perhaps improving it—is a crucial, but commonly
overlooked, pedagogical issue. |
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Notice
that text comes before language: this is because a great number of texts
are not linguistic in nature, or only partially linguisitic (fims, paintings,
buildings, comics, songs). Therefore, we must be very careful, in order
to fully understand the importance of texts, not to assume that they are
essentially or predominently linguistic.
What is a text, then? It can be defined as anything
designed to be read, and which can stand on its own because it has a coherent
and complete structure. A text is not just a random assemblage
of elements: in fact, we identify it as a text because its form is rather
specific, without being absolutely unique: as representative of a type
to which several individual texts belong.
Perhaps the best way to understand this principle is
to think of the relationship between a house and a pile of timber. Althouth
the house is made from the timbers, there is no mistaking one for the
other, and not simply because their appearances are quite dissimilar—appearances
can be deceitful. The real difference is, first, that a pile is, by definition,
a non-specific assemblage of items: it has no definite structure
(or else it would not be a pile), and no definite function.
One can move the timbers around, add or take away a few of them without
altering its nature as a pile.
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HOUSE
PILE |
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A
house, on the other hand, has a definite function and a definite
structure that reflects this function. Of course, multiple variations
are possible in the outward appeareance of the house and in is layout,
independently of its structure. The structure itself may vary considerably
depending on the area where the house is erected. The nature of the terrain,
the climate—but also the cultural habits of its dwellers—dictate
choices in design and building materials. A house that is poorly insulated,
poorly laid out, or that collapses is a "bad" house in the sense
that it does not perform well the function for which it was created; however,
it is still a house, not a pile of timber.
In a similar fashion, texts are not images or sounds
or words or sentences thrown together haphazardly: texts have a specific
form that reflects a specific function and, to some extent, characteristics
that reflect cultural traditions and expectations from the indented audience.
Sometimes, efficacy dominates (such as in instructions manuals for mechanical
or electrical equipment); sometimes, cultural factors are dominant: how
can one assess the "efficacy" of a musical composition, for
instance, other than by the emotional impact it can have on its listeners?
And, certainly, listeners from different cultural backgrounds will favor
different scales, keys, tempos and forms. In this sense, the symphony,
the sonata, the étude can definitely be construed as text
types: even though music is supposed to be "the universal language"
and though any human being may derive some pleasure from listening to
them, it does take formal knowledge to understand them, their nuances
and the differences between them. In other words, to read them with expertise.
THE
"TI" IN TITO
As soon as you wake up and have breakfast in the morning,
you start dealing with texts: the front of the cereal box, or the side
panel with the nutrition information chart; the label on the jar of jam,
on the milk bottle. Turn on the TV, or the radio; glance at a newspaper
or magazine, and many more texts and text types present themselves. Some
are very short (the label on the jar), some very long (a multi-page "special
report" in the paper); some include non-linguistic images (the ceral
box front, a TV program), others appear to be "purely linguisitic"—although
in fact they are not. Take for instance a news broadcast on the radio:
although it mostly consists of language (people talking), the way in which
it is organized and structured is not linguistic: musical jingles, for
instance, act as markers to let the listener know that the program (or
a portion thereof) is starting or ending, much like tabulations, white
space on the page, lines and other visual organizers of a newspaper article.
Because there exists hundreds of text types, we tend to group
them in categories and sub-categories, with common characteristics and
rules for reading and production. For instance, in Western cultures, we
tend to organize visual texts along a left-to-right axis because our languages
are written this way. For text types whose main purpose is to provide
information, strict organization is favored (from the general to the specific,
or vice-versa). In some cases, such as the nutrition information chart
on the side panel of the cereal box, it is acceptable to do away with
complete sentences, and even syntax: a table (a combination of horizontal
and vertical lines) provides adequate structure.
A magazine article discussing the health benefits of
cereals, however, could not dispense with syntax. Readers would expect
full sentences at the very least; depending on the magazine, they might
also expect a certain level of complexity in the syntax and vocabulary,
and perhaps even a certain "style" (through the use of a certain
register—colloquial, standard or formal—of technical vocabulary,
of rhetorical effects towards drama or humor, etc.). This simple observation
cues us to some fundamental aspects of text: reader expectations
and functional efficacy .
All texts are constructed for a purpose: to inform,
to convince, to discuss, to entertain, to give directions, to describe,
to analyze, etc. Text types are defined by the dominance of one such function
(very few texts have a single function). The particular characteristics
of a given text type are primarily driven by efficacy: it has been determined
that a chart is the most economical way to provide nutrition information
on the label of a food product. Writing full sentences to provide that
same information would require more space than is available, or a font
so small as to be illegible.
In an article discussing the health benefits of cereals,
a series of full sentences alone would not make the piece optimally efficient.
They have to be arranged in a particular way; there has to be an introduction
to let readers know what the article is about, and a conclusion to bring
some sort of closure. The information communicated in these sentences
has to be arranged in a coherent manner. In some publications, it might
be acceptable, or even advisable for the author to provide this information
with some sort of framing: for instance, include some narrative elements
involving cerals, such as testimonials or humorous anecdotes. In a scientific
publication, the necessary inclusion of non-linguistic data (such as figures,
percentages, mathematical formulas, molecular diagrams, etc.) does not
affect the importance of textual features: the data have to be expressed
and communicated clearly; and the author(s) usually have to present them
so as to highlight their significance and import. |
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EXPERT READING
In theory, education, and especially higher education,
should expose students to a great variety of texts, and train them to
become expert readers, or at least competent readers
of complex texts. What does this mean?
To think of a painting, of a building or a city, of
a film as texts, and to endeavor to read them as text means first and
foremost to recognize that they were created and structured so as to be
legible by a certain audience, in a certain context, so as to produce
certain effects. Each individual reader in his/her time and place, may
of course be affected in a way quite different from what was originally
intended: s/he may appreciate a text for other reasons—or not appreciate
it at all. In fact, s/he may even find it illegible. The expert reader
must be able to reconstruct the process through which a text was conceived,
crafted, physically produced, disseminated, read and appreciated in a
precise context (time, place, cultural setting, circumstances
(social, political, institutional, religious) in which author(s) and audience
found themselves, and a precise cotext (other comparable
texts produced in the same context).
In reality, the general tendency in education
has been to focus on developping the students' emotional relationship
to the text, on the premise that this was the only way to make science,
history, literature, art, film, what have you, interesting and relevant
to young people. Unfortunately, this attempt to spark or nurture interest
has led to the belief that close attention to form was inevitably dry,
and that rigorous analysis was always boring. As a result, formal analysis
has been construed as antithetical to developping an emotional rapport
to a text.
Now, a vast majority of professors believe that genuine
appreciation of the text(s) being studied is the ultimate goal of education;
good professors know that appreciation and expertise in reading are complementary,
and that one should not be sacrificed to the other because ultimately,
one depends on the other.
One of the main purposes of the "Gateway sequence"
in French studies at GU is to make sure that all of our students are exposed
to a variety of texts, and that they are given a palette of strategies
to approach these texts as expert readers.
By texts we mean novels, newspaper articles, short stories,
scholarly papers, poems, plays, but also films, comics, maps, posters,
photographs, paintings, buildings... Beyond their extreme diversity, all
these materials can be studied in a systematic manner, which essentially
sets apart "common" reading and the expert reading of a scholarly
approach. You'll notice that some of these materials belong to what is
often refered to as "popular culture": one of the principles
behind a scholarly approach is that complexity is in the eye of the beholder:
it can be found in virtually any text type, no matter how "simple"
or "lowbrow" it may seem. The ordinary reader thinks that the
stuff found on a cereal box or a detective story is self-evident and simple,
whereas a 1000-page novel by Proust, an philosophical essay by Derrida
or a renaissance sonnet are complex. The expert reader, while remaining
aware of the differences between these various texts, knows that all of
them are, in fact, complex; s/he also knows why they are complex, and
why some are more interesting, or valuable, or esthetically superior to
others.
This isn't to say that for each text, or type of text,
there is one, authorized reading method that we are trying
to teach you. In fact, you will probably see differences among faculty
members in the way they deal with various texts. What truly matters is
that you learn the fundamental principles through which you should approach
any text.
Another aspect of the Gateway sequence is the acquisition
of fundamental principles of composing a text of your own. In most college
curricula, this is known as "writing" or "advanced writing"—but
in fact there is no such thing as "writing" or "better
writing" in the abstract: there is only writing a certain type of
text, and "improving" means making your text more efficient
in fulfilling whatever function(s) are ascribed to the text type at hand. |
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The
great variety of texts to which one is exposed should not induce us
to believe that each one requires completely different skills and strategies
(in fact, we need to be cautious of any approach that works particularly
well with one particular text type, but not so well, or not at all,
with others). What matters is that we ask ourselves the "right"
questions, which are simply those that allow us to go beyond "naive"
reading and superficial impressions.
The safest way to proceed is to observe three separate stages:
describe, analyze, interpret and evaluate. Although, initially, this
order needs to be respected, the process will eventually involve going
back and forth between these three operations. Any hypothesis on meaning
(interpretation) requires to be supported by precise factual observations
on the text itself (description), and on the way the text is supposed
to function in actual reading (analysis), that is, in a precise context
(time, place, readership)
a) Description
means formulating factual observations on the text, so as to obtain
a solid basis for analysis and interpretation. Some questions need
to be asked, even if no definitive answers can be found at first:
* Are we dealing with a complete text? A portion or excerpt? If it
is an excerpt or a portion, who decided on it? The author? Someone
else? Accidental circumstances? (Aristotle's Poetics) For what purpose,
if any?
* What text type is it? How can one tell? What type characteristics
seem particularly obvious? Does it belong to a known genre?
* What seem to be the primary functions of this text: express an opinion
or feeling, entertain, move, provoke, shock, inform, present, supprot
or contradict a thesis, amuse?
* Is there an explicit narrator, or other device that embodies a point
of view within the text? (If there's a narrator, is it omniscient
or participant?) From what point of view is this text constructed?
Who created it? Who is the intended receptor (audience)?
* Are there any characters? Are they human? Anthropomorphic? (an animal,
an object, a city, nature can be characters) Is the readers' attention
drawn to a specific character, a "hero" (who may have positive
or negative traits)?
* What are the linguistic characteristics of this text (if any)? Isolated
words, full sentences, groups of words or sentences? Is the language
used closer to oral or written speech? What register(s) is/are used
(formal/standard/colloquial)? Is the vocabulary abstract or concrete?
Is there any technical or regional vocabulary? Any slang? How can
the style be described? Are there any prominent rhetorical effects?
* What are the non-linguistic characteristics of this text? From what
elements is it composed (visual, concrete, sounds)?
2) Analysis means showing how the text works—much
like one takes apart a watch to study the clockwork. How does it manage
to reach its goals, to fulfill its function(s), to have an effect
upon the receptor.
* What effect(s) is/are predictably indiced by the features we identified
in the descriptive stage. Is the reader "brough into" the
text? If so, how? Does the author play with (or toy with) the reader?
Does the author seek to deliberately mislead the reader, in order
to create surprise? To influence the reader or manipulate him? How
is suspense generated and maintained? Is the reader required to draw
his own conclusion? To make inferences? Is the author seeking to preserve
some ambiguity? Is he being didactic?
* If the text is fiction, is there a "reality effect" whereby
the reader is induced to forget that he is dealing with a work of
fiction (for instance through the accumulation of technical details:
names, places, dates, etc.)
> Explaining how a text works may be facilitated by a contrario
reasoning, or by considering alternatives: it is easier to understand
how a feature of the text produces a certain effect if one envisions
what might have occured if another solution had been chosen. This
is a good way to test whether a given feature of the text holds particular
significance at a deep level of meaning.
> Beware of explaining how a text works simply by assuming "intentions"
from the author, as if s/he was in full control. It often happens
that authors unwillingly and unwittingly reveal themselves through
their work, or provoke reactions from readers that they had not anticipated
(especially when there is sizable distance—chronological, geographical,
cultural—between the author and the eventual audience).
3) Interpretation means eventually proposing hypotheses,
possible meanings of the text. When the descriptive and analytical
work has be done carefully, it becomes obvious that the meaning of
a text, although it can never be established definitively (because
various readers will ascribe different meanings), can be framed according
to certain objective parameters, which sets it apart from opinion.
Holding and expressing an opinion is a priviledge to which every citizen
of a free society is intitled. Opinion, which does not have to be
justified, and can be totally unsupported and arbitrary, has no authority
or scientific value. Interpretation has to be justified and supported:
it may be tentative, inconclusive or debatable, but it cannot be arbitrary
or incoherent.
When reaching the stage of interpretation, it is always useful to
get back to one's initial impressions: are they confirmed? Modified?
Radically altered? Why? Such verifications often help bring to light
devices and strategies in the text that had gone unoticed at first.
4) A final stage is evaluation, which may or may
not match individual appreciation. An expert reader must be able to
recognize and explain the value of a text independently from his/her
own opinion or preference. This may be defined in terms of practical,
informative, emotional, esthetic value that a text has (or may have)
for certain readers, but it can also be expressed as a relative value:
why is a text better than another? One easy way out is to adopt a
relativistic stance: value is subjective and there can be no text
that in all circumstances, and for every reader, is demonstrably better
than another. True as this may be from a strictly philosophical point
of view, the fact is that human beings do approach texts with a normative
bias rooted in a particular context; a reader's task is, first, to
establish why a given text was valued in a certain way (positive or
negative) in a given context, and, possibly, decide on the relevance
of this valuation in other contexts. A second task is to provide a
different valuation—with its own justifications and criteria—for
a different context.
While
interpretation and evaluation may remain "open"—that is,
formulated as a series of supported hypotheses rather than as definitive
conclusions—they can never be arbitrary or purely subjective, nor
can they be reduced to a "message" that the author wishes to
transmit to readers. As any reader, you are still expected to form an
opinion, to find a text limpid or obscure, rich or superficial, captivating
or boring, pleasant or unpleasant; but as an expert reader, you are expected
to be able to complement this opinion with an interpretation and an evaluation
based on systematic description and analysis, and on factual knowledge
about the conception, the crafting, the physical production, dissemination,
and reception of a text in a given context and cotext. |
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THE
"TO" IN TITO
From the point of view of production, we mostly ask
you to produce linguistic texts: essays, commentaries, summaries, dissertations,
exposés, reviews.
"Writing" and "writing better" only
means "writing texts" and "writing better texts"—"better"
meaning "more efficacious," even when efficacy depends on
esthetic qualities.
However, once can formulate the generic qualities of a "good"
text
1. a good text is organized according to a structure
that is clear, coherent et efficacious (whatever it is); this structure
is adequately manifested in layout (titles, paragraphs, tabs) and discourse
markers, esp. to materialize transitions (adverbs and adverbial phrases,
for instance).
2. text type and functions (descriptive,
narrative, expressive, argumentative, injunctive, etc.) should appear
obvious to the reader. The register (formal, standard colloquial) must
be adapted to the type and functions. In French, especially, it is important
to not use spoken style in writing, except in quotes.
3. syntax (sentence construction) makes use of various
formal ressources: independent clauses, subordinate clauses, relative
clauses, gerund and infinitive clause, etc. Punctuation should be used
judiciously, not by default or at random: very specific rules govern
the use of commas, em-dashes and parentheses. Unless a very peculiar
stylistic effect is attempted, accumulation of simple sentences (single-clause
sentences) should be avoided.
4. vocabulary must be both varied and precise. There
are no unnecessary reiterations and repetitions. Words are used in their
strict definition, not in the loose usage of everyday colloquial speech.
5. in the best of circumstances, there is evidence of stylistic awareness
in the choice of words, in the use of discursive (rhetorical) devices,
in the achievement of a particular rythm in the text.
6. morphology (gender/number agreement, verb endings,
prepositional constructions, contractions...) is flawless, except perhaps
in the deliberate recourse to colloquial speech for effect. Spelling
is also flawless.
Notice
that, for the most part, this description is based on the positive qualities
of a text, not on the absence of errors or flaws—except for morphology
and spelling, where there is no choice: in these categories a form is
either correct or faulty, and none is "better" or "worse"
than another. In all other categories, however, the absence of errors
or flaws is not per se a positive quality: a text with perfect spelling,
morphology, syntax, vocabulary and even some stylistic effects is not
necessarily good as a text, if it does not possess specific qualities
of structure, organization and efficacy. It may just be a string of
perfectly crafted sentences, just as a heap of very fine, flawless timber
does not a house make.
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Thus
the writing process has at least two components. One is obtaining raw
materials of good quality (words, sentences)—what we might call
the "mechanics" of writing. Systematic and judicious use of
a monolingual dictionnary and grammar reference book will help you achieve
this without too much difficulty. Such tools, efficient as they may be
when used correctly, are not sufficient, however, because they often do
not indicate precisely usage: in other words, they may not always confirm
that a sentence you have created, while "correct," is actually
sanctionned in native speech. Only reading samples of native speech will
provide you with reliable confirmation.
As a result, we need to go back to the TITO principle:
your writing will improve significantly, beyond elimination of errors,
only to the extent that you read a significant amount of texts that can
serve as models, and even provide materials that you can recycle. This
is not plagiarism: it is the best way to learn how to write, in your own
language or in a foreign language.
Finally, a reality that we must all face is the nature
of writing as a process. While it is possible to produce an adequate text
on a first draft, it isn't common, even for experience writers. With few
exceptions, writing means drafting, self-evaluating, recasting, rewriting,
seeking outside evaluation, rewriting, etc.. A good text, maybe an excellent
text comes from a certain amount of labor: 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration.
When writing in a foreign language, it is tempting to
try and skip ahead by crafting a text in one's native language—with
a certain confidence that it is at least adequate, perhaps even good—and
then attempt to transpose it to the other language. This is by far the
absolute worst way to proceed for a variety of reasons: first because
text rules vary from a language to another, from a culture to another,
and you cannot expect that the right formula for composing any given type
of text will be the same. It almost never is. Second, because translation—real
translation—requires native or near-native command of both languages
involved. If your knowledge of one of the languages is limited, as it
is in your case, the most likely result will be confusion and frustration.
Every semester, such attempts at translation provide a great deal of entertainment
to professors faced with nonsensical prose that sometimes happens to be
amusing. But unless you are trying for absurd comedy or surrealistic poetry,
it is not advisable to write this way! |
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