East-West Station

What do you make of this little diagram without any context, I wonder?

For your information, it’s taken from a 1966 academic article called ‘Cultural Thought Patterns in Intercultural Education’ by an American professor called Robert B Kaplan and is better known in linguistics’ circles as Kaplan’s doodles. It aims to show (in a rough and ready way) how five different cultures approach the task of writing an essay - or presenting an argument perhaps - and he came up with it after teaching international students for a while at the University of Southern California.

As you can guess, it shows the English style as being straight to the point, Semitic writers tending to use parallel structures, Orientals circling around the point, Romance writers straying from the path somewhat, and Russians going off on unconnected tangents, hence the broken lines.

Hmmmm, as you can also doubtless guess it’s pretty controversial and was heavily critiqued in academic journals. But where I think it is useful is as a pedagogical tool for raising awareness about how different cultures might approach the the task of writing essays, or arguing a case.

In Hungary, about eight years ago, I used to teach English for Academic Purposes (EAP) at a place called The Central European University in Budapest, which had a fair mix of nationalities from that neck of the woods, such as Russians, Hungarians, Romanians, Serbs, Croats, Mongolians, Czechs, Polish etc etc. I worked part-time at the university’s Writing Centre, popularly known as the WC, (staffed by toilet attendants from Britain, Ireland, and the US) and our main task was to help these easterners to write research papers in English. Some students had absolutely superb English but even a few of these, together with those who were struggling with the language, still had a problem writing English style papers.

Yes, even if they were word perfect in English and knew their topic inside out they still had issues, and probably the main problem was the organisation of ideas. So, we used to use Kapan’s doodles early on in our course to kick off discussions about how students were accustomed to writing esays.

The Russians were often none-too-happy with this depiction of their “cultural thought patterns” and indeed it does kind of come across as something out of American Cold War propaganda…remember it was published in 1966. On one memorable occasion, one of my Russian students pondered the handout for a while and then gave his considered opinion:

“Zis is bollshit…is zat direct enough?”

And here is a more academic style refutation

In Kubota’s words (1992, p.20), Contrastive Rhetoric tends to “construct a homogenous representation of the ‘Other’ while legitimating a certain kind of rhetoric as a canon”. Other scholars have also criticised contrastive rhetoric for its reductionist, deterministic, prescriptive, and essentialist orientation (e.g. Leki, 1997).

Well, it is is a complex and controversial notion but nonetheless, to ground it in my experience at The Central European University, the issue was that some of our students -we thought- would either beat about the bush too much, or sometimes never even really make their point clear at all. Some stronger students would tend to include too much stuff in their essays (showing off their wide reading a bit too much perhaps) and end up losing the thread for much of the middle of the paper. The weaker ones would string together rather random points and often conclude with a vague exhortation such as “this is an important issue and it needs more study!” To which it was tempting to respond, “Yes it does, and you should have done it.”

Not that these are not issues for students from English speaking cultures of course!

In any case, Kaplan was one of the pioneers of a field of study now known as Contrastive Rhetoric, which can be considered as a hypothesis claiming that the logic expressed through the organization of a certain written text is culture-specific. I guess most people would agree that different cultures express themselves in different ways and it’s an interesting endeavour to compare cultural texts, but it does, inevitably, lead to some clumsy generalizations…which I am about to indulge in in this post, so apologies in advance for that.

Quite a bit of later work in Contrastive Rhetoric involved itself with Chinese, Japanese, and Korean writers…mostly student writers. A lot of East Asians have been doing stints in “Anglo-American” universities for a while now and so a fair bit of research has been done on them. Perhaps the best known researcher of “Oriental Writing” is a Dead White European Male called John Hinds, about whom I offer the following.

Hinds has shown that writers in different languages use certain textual structures to
achieve coherence. He has described how Japanese, Chinese, Thai, and Korean
writers prefer to use a quasi-inductive style rather than an explicit inductive or
deductive style. He argues that there is an Oriental writing style, which cannot be
classified as either deductive or inductive. This style involves ‘delayed introduction of
purpose’ with the topic or thesis statement implied, not stated. Hinds’s argument for
quasi-inductive style is related to his (1987) assertion that Japanese is a reader responsible language as opposed to English which is a writer-responsible language.
Hinds claims that readers in Japanese, Chinese, Thai, and Korean languages are
expected to think for themselves, to consider the observations made, and draw their
own conclusions. In English, however, it is usually the writer’s responsibility to
convince readers by explicitly presenting the idea in a way that they will be able to
follow.

Ah yes, those inscrutable Orientals! Not like us straight talking Anglo chaps, what?

Actually, Hinds was a serious academic and was careful to hedge his assertions and to back up his claims with a fair amount of samples. Hinds also used to write about the influence of the traditional four-part Chinese style essay, called a ‘qi-cheng-zhuan-he’ (‘beginning’, ‘development’, ‘turn’ and ‘conclusion’) essay. This was copied by the Japanese (surprise, surprise) and is known over there as ‘ki-shoo-ten-ketsu’.

I can’t say I’ve come across this very often, but here’s an interesting opinion from a Japanese guy, Paul Kei Matsuda, who moved to the US to become a writing teacher

I tried to argue that ki-shoo-ten-ketsu was not just a fantasy created by ethnocentric native-English-speaking readers, as some people seemed to be arguing. In fact, I was explicitly taught to use it by one of my elementary school teachers, my parents, and some of the popular writing handbooks in Japan. This organizational scheme was also apparent, I thought, in some student texts that I encountered in my work as a tutor.

The bit that tends to puzzle westerner academics, apparently, is the third part, the “turn”. This “turn” is often seen by them as a diversion from the main point, rather than a development of it.

And if that wasn’t enough, there is also something known as ‘ba gu wen’, “the eight-legged essay” and as I have never encountered one of these exotic sounding creatures I shall have to borrow this explanation

In Kaplan’s book (1972), he argued that the indirectness of oriental writing was largely
due to the influence of the Chinese ‘eight-legged essay’, which was actually a
traditional essay form used as a standard device in civil service examinations
hundreds of years ago. The origin of the ‘eight-legged’ essay ba gu wen can be traced
back to the Bei Song Dynasty (960—1127AD) in China. It was not until the Ming
dynasty (1368—1644AD) that the rules for the composition of the eight-legged essay
were explicitly laid down (Tu, 1974). The eight legs, or ba gu, refers to the
rhetorically parallel paragraphs (legs) of the four central parts of the essay—-the qi gu,
the xiao gu, the zhong gu and the hou gu. The required style of the parallel legs of the
eight-legged essay was, “as one falls another one rises” (yi fan yi zheng) (Tang, 1980).
This structure was extremely complex. The ability to write a good eight-legged essay
took scholars several years to master.

Cripes! I’m glad I didn’t have to do any of those at school…but as it turns out, neither, it seems, do Chinese students these days either

(Kirkpatrick, 1997), finds that Mainland Chinese students do not have to learn traditional Chinese text styles (eight-legged essays or even qi-cheng-zhuan-he) in order to enter university. In fact, eight-legged essays have been not been used for quite some time and have very little influence on contemporary writing. As for qi-cheng-zhuan-he, this model is not focused on in the Chinese school curriculum either. Chinese students do not have to master any contemporary style that could be classified as intrinsically Chinese. Furthermore, they are encouraged to be inventive and original in their writings. After a survey of contemporary Chinese textbooks on composition, Kirkpatrick (1997) concludes that the prescriptive advice given in these texts reflects a contemporary ‘Anglo-American’ rhetorical style more than a traditional ‘Chinese’ style.

And I must say that this clicks with my experience too. Having taught writing in both Japanese and Chinese universities now, I can’t say I have had many encounters with exotic essay forms. Although I have had to read a fair amount of drivel and dross over the years, it is not that much different from the kind of problematic writing I got from the non-asian students I taught in Hungary.

However, many studies do suggest that there are significant Oriental-Occidental differences

Among the contrastive rhetorical studies that have found their ways into composition
studies, Matalene’s (1985) ‘Contrastive Rhetoric: An American Writing Teacher in
China’ has become something of a classic. In her article, Matalene uses parts of
English compositions written by Chinese students and translations of various Chinese
texts to explain the characteristics of Chinese rhetoric. Unlike Kaplan, Matalene does
not dwell just on formal aspects of rhetoric (i.e., the forms that paragraphs take), but
discusses Chinese writers’ reliance on memorization and manipulation of set phrases
and textual forms to emphasize group values over individualistic goals. She found that
Chinese students could not use English rhetorical devices effectively to establish
arguments. Usually they would use narrations and statements that seemed
unconnected in the eyes of Western readers. She concluded that Chinese rhetoric
lacked argumentative coherence because of its reliance on references to history,
tradition, and authorities.

My guess is that there must be a generation gap here because the overwhelming majority of my students write clearly argued and coherent essays that use quotation in familiar ways. Although it’s also probably because I teach English majors who have learnt writing from American composition textbooks, or at least textbooks that are influenced by American composition.

Anyway, it’s not really that surprising that English majors are influenced by English language culture, but maybe it does hint towards the wider issue that what with our wired-up-world and the global village and all that, modern students, journalists, and other opinionated types are tending to think, talk, and write in similar ways.

The main exception to this, in my limited experience of course, has been the essays I’ve had to mark from Saudi, Omani and Jordanian students…Muslim Arab students in other words. Now they really do create flowery and winding pathways for their prose and my best guess is that it’s to do with their religious (medieval) worldview and constant references to and deference to The Koran, and their duty to memorise huge chunks of it. But that’s a WHOLE other topic there.

I’d like to end with the suggestion that a significant section of literate people around the world these days are not only tending to hold similar sets of opinions but are also expressing those written opinions in similar ways…with easy to follow points, clear paragraphs, and unconvoluted prose. Does that sound like most of the blogs and papers you read?

Is that the way you think?

A few recent readings have got me thinking again about Chinglish.

First off there was a particularly choice example of the kind of comical translation catastrophe we’ve all come to know and love in China. PeerSee are good at spotting these, and this one’s a classic

And, as they say,

Blue whales are reputed to have the largest penises in the animal kingdom. Just knowing this causes performance anxiety for them. Sometimes you need to call in a professional.

Then there was a recent Guardian Education article which had this opening gambit

“I this essay focus on big developings in the colloquialisms of the Englishes,” begins a submission from one of your students. You might admire the linguistic verve and try to focus on the substance of the argument, but what about when it comes to grading?

According to an important report released today by Demos, ‘As You Like It: Catching up in an age of Global English’, any negative response you might have to this student’s use of the English language would be an indicator of a much bigger problem: a deep-rooted ‘linguistic imperialism’ that will ultimately lead to the UK’s economic decline and shrinking role in the world. The made-up example here is actually a typical piece of what’s known as Chinglish - a variety of English affected by the very different sentence structure and rules of grammar used in Chinese languages that is used to one extent or another by millions of Chinese speakers of English.

And finally there was this analyis of Peter Hessler’s latest book, Oracle Bones

He might just be the only Western writer ever to squeeze literary effect from the mangled English produced by his ex-students - carefully deployed, these extracts offer windows into the dreams and pressure points of the upcountry soul. Best of the lot is William Jefferson Foster: his English is hot, crude and spiky like Sichuan beef stew.

Different samples, different issues. A good laugh, an academic Aunt Sally argument, and a fair observation that literature should be concerned with rendering and not judging.

As for my offering, well, I was recently asked to check a popular Chinese published English idioms book. It’s basically a sound book, but I was asked to proofread for anything that might sound outdated, unnatural, or outright wrong.

Correcting the grammar is easy enough, but some of the stylistic infelicities are puzzling and left me wondering what, if anything to do. What, for example, would you make of the following dialogue?

A: Is your mother all right?
B: She’s feeling better now. Thank you for taking my mom to the hospital.
A: It’s a pleasure.

I felt a little linguistically queasy after reading that one. “It’s a pleasure” taking your mother to hospital…well, I don’t think a native speaker would say it, but is there any point correcting it?

then this

A: He must have quarreled with his wife very often.
B: Why? How can you draw such a conclusion?
A: Because he’s very easily agitated in our company.
B: He’s a neighbour of mine. I’m under the impression that he and his wife live a very happy life.

This dialogue is close to the kind of thing that inspired Ionesco to write “The Bald Prima Donna”, a play he wrote after learning English from textbooks full of stilted dialogues. But it does have a certain kind of antiquated charm to it. I can imagine a couple of Victorian mathemeticians conducting this exchange, and why correct that? I would like to encourage old-fashioned polysyllabic courtesy.

Same goes for this one

A: Can you oblige me with an umbrella?
B: I’m sorry, but I don’t have one myself.
A: Thanks anyway.

Yes, please oblige me…haven’t heard that for a while and it needs to be revived. 1 billion speakers should do it.

Volt amikor eleg jol beszeltem magyarul, de kezdtem elfelejteni. Hat, nem is nagy meglepetes az, mert itt Dalianban nem talalkoztam magyarokkal es ugy erzem magam hogy nem is fogok. Na, az a kerdesem hogy van-e egy magyar beszelo olvaso, talan kinaban, aki segitenni fog. Szeretnek ujra magyarul beszelni, szoval nyugaton irjatok valamit nekem.

Ok?

What was that all about? Any guesses? (Which language?)

It’s a rum old world where the Mandarin (world’s most spoken mother tongue) for “umm” “ah” “hmm” “well” “erm” “er” happens to sound exactly like what is perhaps the worst insult in English (world’s most spoken language) for a big and understandably touchy community.

The Pinyin is “nei ge” but when spoken it sounds exactly like “nigger”.

In some (prissy/politically correct) circles “nigger” is simply referred to as “the N-word.” In some circles it’s used as a greeting/term of endearment. In any case, it’s not a word I would ever use lightly - I mean in banter - because it just has too much baggage, and because I’m a Sussex countryside boy who’s lived in Hungary and Asia and so hasn’t really got any black friends, perhaps.

I was reminded of the whole issue this during my debate classes last week. My students, who are good at English and by and large did a great job of debating difficult topics, would often fill in their nervous pauses with “nigger,nigger’ or sometimes just “nigger’. I told them it sounded weird and tried to discourage them from saying it when speaking English.

When I first heard this Putonghua “vocal filler”, I really couldn’t believe it. First off, it’s two syllables for Christ’s sake. To my mind, fillers should be an economical one syllable: Hungarian “Haht”, French “hein”, “ben”, “Errrrrrr” (shrug shoulders), German “doch”. Though there are doubtless some languages where the main vocal filler is five syllables or something. Anyone know? But also it’s just such an unfortunate coincidence that one of the most common words in Mandarin should cause a cringe for most anglophone listeners.

My Chinese wife knows this and tries her best not to use “nei ge” when speaking Mandarin in England. On one occasion in a “Chinese circle” in Brighton she got quite uncomfortable when a white British girl kept on using it. “Doesn’t she know she shouldn’t say that in England?” she asked me later. Too sensitive? Perhaps, and I told her I thought so, but at least she’s trying not to offend people.

And I can’t help wondering whether it has as yet caused offense in America. Some Chinese yakking away near a group of black people who keep on overhearing the word “nigger” and decide to do something about it? Total incomprehension and indignation on the part of the Chinese; conflict ensues…perhaps. A silly scenario, but that, or something similar, does not seem so implausible to me.

And “the N-word” can cause real trouble, even when embedded in another word! One notorious example is when “David Howard, a white city official in Washington, D.C., resigned from his job in January 1999, when he used niggardly in a fiscal sense while talking with black colleagues, who took offense at his use of the word.” (Wiki)

It’s still a loaded word then, and I hope the Putonghua filler doesn’t cause trouble. I also hope that if any disputes do occur over this, the parties concerned will later check out this post and see that no offense was meant.

Hah! And I also hope to be made President of North Korea when Kim Jong-il pops his platform clogs.

K

As a loosely connected postscript, here’s a Jackie Chan anecdote from

http://www.disenchanted.com/dis/humanity/wassup.html

Everybody I know shares the same favorite moment from the movie Rush Hour starring Chris Tucker (who’s as black as the ace of spades) and Jackie Chan (a slanty-eyed type). Tucker’s character has entered a bar and is passing out some friendly greets to his brothers, slapping palms and using the phrase “whaassup, mah nigger?” Later in the scene, Jackie’s character—who is fresh off the plane from Hong Kong and new to this American jive—attempts to perform a common maneuver practiced by mankind for millennia: imitate someone else’s culture to fit in better. He flashes a silly grin at the bartender, says “what’s up, my nigger?”, and almost gets a barstool broken across his teeth.

One of my courses at Dalian University of Foreign Languages is called “Academic Writing” and in one recent essay, about blogs and blogging, a student wrote that many bloggers “unbosom themselves” when writing their blogs. I laughed to myself and corrected this to “vent”/”unburden themselves”.

But no! My student picked me up on this and showed me her dictionary. There it was: “to unbosom oneself (v).” Hmmm, crappy electronic dictionaries, I thought to myself and made a mental note to look at a “proper paper dictionary”. It was still there. Well, it’s a codified word I can’t deny. So how many people use it? How many”google” hits does it garner?

The phrase “to unbosom myself” gets 200 and has been uttered by such worthies as Jefferson, Mark Twain, and Daniel Defoe. “He unbosomed himself” gets 506 hits, mostly from 19th century novels it seems.

But still and all, it sounds silly. I mean, dear reader, do you really want to unbosom yourself?

Would you correct my student?