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This chapter aims to account for gaps between language as a linguistic system and
comics as a visual semiotic system. It is not uncommon in comics studies to encounter the
claim that comics are a language. While this metaphor is an attractive way of explaining
the nature of comics, it ultimately does a disservice to comics studies because it unneces
sarily limits the theoretical and analytical frameworks available to us. This chapter ex
plores what language is from a linguistic perspective, including sociolinguistic and dis
course perspectives, dialect, language acquisition, and translation studies. It concludes
by calling for scholars to turn away from “the language of comics” as a theoretical frame
work.
Keywords: comic books, dialect, language acquisition, language of comics, linguistics, standard language, transla
tion, visual semiotic
Google’s chief executive, Sundar Pichai, … stood onstage in front of a cheering au
dience and proudly showed a video in which a new Google program, Google Du
plex, made a phone call and scheduled a hair salon appointment. The program
performed these tasks well enough that a human at the other end of the call didn’t
suspect she was talking to a computer.… As Google concedes, the trick to making
Google Duplex work was to limit it to “closed domains,” or highly constrained
types of data, “which are narrow enough to explore extensively.” Google Duplex
can have a human-sounding conversation only “after being deeply trained in such
domains.” Open-ended conversation on a wide range of topics is nowhere in sight.
(Marcus and Davis)
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speech that the humans may not realize their interlocutor is not human. Even though hu
mans have been writing on computers for many decades, most speech communication be
tween machines and humans has occurred only in science fiction. What Google’s feat
shows us is that human language is extraordinarily complex, and despite the extensive re
sources that tech companies bring to the enterprise, we still only communicate orally
with our devices using highly restricted types of speech. In any case, we must remember
that Google Duplex does not produce speech in the same way a human does. It produces
speech based on statistical probabilities and can only succeed in a highly restricted set of
circumstances; it produces a simulacrum of speech, and as good as that speech may be, it
is not the same as human language.
The role of linguistics in comics studies has grown of late, as more linguists from a
(p. 17)
variety of disciplinary approaches are paying more attention to comics and how linguis
tics might serve as a foundational part of comics studies. Shortly before the publication of
the first Superman comic in 1938, scholars were already examining the role of new vo
cabulary (e.g., slang) and other onomastic concerns in comic strips (Tysell). Those early
publications are admittedly rare, but now, in the twenty-first century, scholars from many
countries are approaching comics scholarship with linguistic frameworks in mind.
In his book Comics and Sequential Art, Will Eisner draws a clear parallel between comics
and language:
When one examines a comic book feature as a whole, the deployment of its unique
elements takes on the characteristic of a language. The vocabulary of Sequential
Art has been in continuous development in America.… Comics communicate in a
“language” that relies on a visual experience common to both creator and audi
ence.… In its most economical state, comics employ a series of repetitive images
and recognizable symbols. When these are used again and again to convey similar
ideas, they become a language—a literary form, if you will. And it is this disci
plined application that creates the “grammar” of Sequential Art. (7–8)
Here Eisner sets up a comparison between the elements of comics and the elements of
language, citing the relationship between comics elements as a grammar. Whether this
formulation is meant to be taken literally (comics are language) or metaphorically (comics
resemble a linguistic system) is unclear. In any case, Eisner was followed by another fa
mous comics artist, Scott McCloud, who solidifies the definition: “Words, pictures, and
other icons are the vocabulary of the language called comics” (McCloud 47; emphasis
added).
This chapter will explore the oft-repeated claim that comics are a language. As I have ar
gued briefly in other publications, this claim is compelling because there is a noticeable
degree of similarity between elements of comics and elements of language: “much [has]
been made of the idea of a ‘language of comics’ or ‘grammar of comics’ or ‘vocabulary of
comics,’ and while these phrases were helpful metaphors that point to an organized, sys
tematic approach to analysis, they ultimately interfered with a robust understanding of
how linguistic science can shed light on comics” (Bramlett, “Comics and Linguistics”
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388). I strongly support the use of linguistic theory and analysis in comics studies; after
all, without an examination of “language in comics”—as opposed to “the language of
comics”—we could not remotely achieve a robust theoretical description of comics (Bram
lett, “Comics and Linguistics” 380). However, equating comics with language is incorrect
on at least two counts. First, it overvalues the discipline of linguistics, especially structur
al, formalist, and cognitive linguistics, as an explanatory model for comics studies. Se
cond, comics is far more than the concept of language or linguistic system can explain.
Scholars must move away from the metaphor of “the language of comics” and acknowl
edge that even though comics can perhaps successfully be categorized as a (visual) semi
otic system, they are not language.
Language is a system of arbitrary signs. Nearly all linguistic elements have no direct or
motivated relationship to what they refer to. This includes lexical items; the Spanish word
oso, the Korean word 곰 (pronounced something like [kom]), and the English word bear all
refer to roughly the same idea: a big, furry, four-legged, toothy creature that lives in the
woods. Each language community has its own way of naming the same kind of animal.
There are some exceptions to this idea that words are arbitrary signs for what they mean.
Some words are pronounced in a way that attempts to mimic a sound in nature (ono
matopoeia), and these words are usually considered to be semiarbitrary because their
pronunciation and their meaning are motivated by a perceived resemblance to what they
refer to. English words such as splash and boom are imitative of sounds in the environ
ment, and speakers can make a wide range of these imitative forms. Comics make free
use of these forms and often create novel forms that readers take great delight in.
Language is a system that depends on systematic rules for the creation and interpreta
tion of written sentences as well as spoken and signed utterances. These rules are often
referred to as grammar and can be defined as two types, deterministic and probabilistic:
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“Some rules are deterministic, that is, they are rules which always apply. For example,
the definite article always comes before the noun (we say the cup, not cup the). Other
rules are probabilistic, that is to say, they state what is most likely or least likely to apply
in particular circumstances” (Carter and McCarthy 5). Even those rules that are often
thought of as deterministic are in some cases probabilistic. When conjugating verbs, Eng
lish speakers put an s on the end of a verb to signal indicative third-person singular
present tense. For many English speakers, this rule is deterministic; however, many Eng
lish dialects around the world allow for the (optional) deletion of this word ending, some
times depending on social circumstances and the identities of the addressees. See the dis
cussion of standard languages and dialects below.
Language is a complex system that uses symbols to represent other things: each word in
a language is a unit that symbolizes something else. In comics—if we exclude the (p. 19)
language in comics—the vast majority of elements are not arbitrary; they don’t symbolize
something else. A drawing of a cat, whether it looks a lot like a cat or only marginally like
a cat, still has a nonarbitrary relationship to the referent cat in the real world or in the
world of the comic that readers are asked to imagine. Under normal circumstances,
artists don’t draw dogs when they mean to draw cats, and dogs can’t substitute for cats
unless the comic has a special allowance for it. George Herriman’s Krazy Kat, Robert
Crumb’s Fritz the Cat, Jim Davis’s Garfield, Patrick McDonnell’s Mooch the Cat, Laura
Howell’s Meebo, and even Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples’s Lying Cat all look like
cats of some sort, even if they are imaginary. The artistic, stylized visual representation of
the creature is nevertheless nonarbitrary.
In visual semiotics, images are described in terms of their logical and meaningful rela
tionship to the objects they refer to outside the text. It is generally agreed that there are
three categories of image:
In this framework, the vast majority of images in comics (i.e., the contents of panels) are
icons. In contrast, the vast majority of words (words represented in the writing system of
the comic) are symbols, and this agrees with the linguistic framework, that language is a
system of arbitrary symbols.
Even if we reject the notion that visual representations in comics are nonarbitrary, we
must grapple with how a reader can see a broad range of catlike images and somehow
connect them all to the category of cat. Much of this relates to the context in which and
for which the comic is produced. In discussing the nature of drawn representations in
general, Simon Grennan argues:
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Semiosis of the array of graphic marks … is entirely dependent upon the marks’
relation to material object (paper and ink), perceptual activities, and the actions of
makers and users.… Relationships within the graphic array and between the
graphic array and other organizational principles of environment, resources, ac
tions, and semiosis are recognized as having an aetiological scope that is unique
to each drawing. (28)
Irrespective of the extent to which a depiction (a drawn image) is or is not arbitrary, the
linguistic form of a word, though, is arbitrary. Returning to the English word cat, the form
is pronounced variously as [khat] and [khæt], depending on the dialect of English. The Ox
ford English Dictionary describes the etymology of cat in detail, crossing several major
subfamilies of Indo-European: “The name is common European of unknown origin: found
in Latin and Greek in 1st–4th centuries, and in the modern languages generally, as far
back as records go.” The modern form has its roots in ancient forms in Byzantine Greek,
Latin, Old English, Old High German (and other Germanic languages), as well as in
Celtic, like Old Irish and Gaelic, and also in Old Slavonic. According to the dictionary,
“these forms indicate extensive communication of the word, but do not fix the original
source. History points to Egypt as the earliest home of the domestic cat, and the name is
generally sought in the same quarter; Martial’s attribute (69 BCE) might incline us to a
Slavonic or Germanic origin.”
Even though this example appears to support the claim that the word cat is nonarbitrary
because it appears similar in so many European languages (a result of cross-linguistic
borrowing), a look at the word from non-Indo-European languages shows very different
forms. In Korean, the word for cat is written as 고양이 (pronounced [go-yang-i]). In Man
darin Chinese, the word for cat is pronounced [mao] (ignoring the required tone for cor
rect pronunciation). In Chinese, then, the word for cat is imitative, derived from the hu
man perception of the sound that cats make. From a linguistic perspective, sound effects
are considered semiarbitrary: the linguistic sounds made by the human speaker are con
sidered to reflect the physical properties of the sounds as they occur in nature. While
some words for “cat” may be semiarbitrary (as in Chinese), many words for “cat” are en
tirely arbitrary and do not depend at all on a connection between the linguistic form and
the referent, which demonstrates the difference between the nature of a linguistic sign
and the nature of a depicted representation of the real-world object.
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The answers to the question “What is language?” are complex, multifaceted, and some
times at odds with one another, but some general principles can be identified. A language
is a system of arbitrary symbols, a brain-based abstract system, a system used for com
munication.
Types of Language
Natural Languages
serve indexical functions, meaning that they play a role in creating and maintaining iden
tities of the communities that use them (see Bucholtz for a useful comparison of speech
community and community of practice).
Natural languages also show change over time, whether from internal linguistic forces or
from external social forces. An example of an internal linguistic change in English is the
Great Vowel Shift: “[at] the very time when the orthography of Early Modern English was
stabilizing, the sound patterns of the language were undergoing remarkable displace
ment,” particularly the tense vowels. The examples in Table 2.1 are from Mature Middle
English, Early Modern English, and Late Modern English, and they show changes in the
vowel phoneme, the pronunciation of the word independent of its spelling (Nist 221).
What Table 2.1 does not illustrate is that the English vowel system is continuing to
change and that vowel differences are one of the most important elements in the differ
ences between, for example, British English varieties and North American English vari
eties. One other important gap in the table is that it does not account for dialectal varia
tion within national varieties of English or of social varieties of English related to socioe
conomic class or to ethnicity. More on dialects is discussed below.
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Natural languages are portable, meaning that when people move to different geographic
regions, they take their languages with them. Whether this is a result of colonization/con
quest, immigration for socioeconomic reasons, or displacement due to natural disasters,
diverse speech communities come into contact with one another, meaning that the lan
guages spoken by the communities also come into contact, yielding bilingual communities
in some cases or the creation of new linguistic codes in others. Natural languages may be
living, moribund/dying, dead, or in some cases reawakening. (Readers might consult
www.ethnologue.com for more information on the status of languages.)
Artificial Languages
An artificial language is a linguistic system that has been created, often by just one per
son, usually to serve a narrow range of purposes. Perhaps the most famous artificial lan
guage in the European language tradition is Esperanto, created by Ludwick Lazarus Za
menhof in the late nineteenth century to function as a common linguistic system to
(p. 22) bridge the multilingual environment of Europe (Malmkjær, “Artificial Languages”
40). In this sense, artificial languages are intended to function similarly to a natural lan
guage lingua franca, “a language known to, and used for communication between, groups
who do not speak each other’s language,” such as Swahili in Tanzania, Kenya, and Ugan
da (Malmkjær, “Bilingualism” 64). There is a range of opinions about the utility or even
wisdom of attempting to create a linguistic system as a means of communication, yet the
Universal Esperanto Association (based in the Netherlands) claims to have members in
120 countries (“What Is UEA?”).
Fiction writers have long been interested in the construction of linguistic codes in order
to create the sense of cross-linguistic, cross-cultural, and sometimes alien communica
tion. J. R. R. Tolkien may be the most famous example of a writer who creates a vast lin
guistic system for the characters who populate his fictional worlds. In his case, the most
complete system he created is known as Quenya, a language spoken by elves in the fic
tional world of Middle Earth. The language has a robust vocabulary and syntactic system
and a highly refined pronunciation system. In comics and science-fiction fandoms, artifi
cial languages are often referred to as con-langs (short for “constructed languages”), and
these famously include Klingon. Other comics that incorporate elements of artificial lan
guages include John Layman and Rob Guillory’s Chew, Vaughan and Staples’s Saga, and
Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s All-Star Superman.
Comics are neither a natural nor an artificial language. If comics were a language, then
humans would be able to “speak” them. (See more below on modes such as sign language
and writing systems.) However, comics are not used as a natural language or as an artifi
cial language as a system of communication with other humans.
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Children go through the process of acquiring languages, and under normal circum
stances, children learn to speak their home languages through social interaction with
caregivers, siblings, and friends. Children who are born deaf or who are born into deaf
families may learn to speak, but they may also learn sign language as their home lan
guage. All normally developing children acquire their home languages, but they acquire
them in the modes of speech or of sign or both:
(p. 23)
[C]hildren learn their first languages because human brains are designed for the
rapid acquisition of linguistic systems through social interaction. In other words,
even though the brain is hardwired for language, without meaningful social rela
tionships, language acquisition cannot take place. Research has long shown that
children acquire language in stages, meaning that children learn certain sounds
earlier than other sounds; e.g. English [m] is almost always acquired before [l] or
[w]. Likewise, children progress through stages of syntax, beginning with one-
word utterances, progressing to multi-word utterances, and over time exhibit
fuller control over longer utterances. (Bramlett, “Comics and Linguistics” 386)
The mode that children do not acquire naturally is writing. They must be taught how to
read and write, so the mode of writing, although a fully expressive mode of linguistic
communication on a par with speech and sign, must be understood on its own terms as a
cultural artifact apart from linguistic systems that can be acquired by children through
social interaction.
If comics were a language, then children would grow up acquiring the skills of compre
hending and producing comics naturally, without formal instruction, using comics to ac
complish communicative needs such as expressing emotion, arguing with playmates, re
questing food or toys or blankets, among countless others. Instead, children learn how to
read comics by relying on their linguistic reading skills and skills with interpreting visual
semiotic systems. Of course, even if children can “read” the visuals of the comics, unless
they have been taught how to decode the written linguistic symbols, they do not have full
access to the array of semiotics on the comics page.
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Although rare, there are some comics that attempt to represent all three modes of com
munication. One is an occasional comic strip, That Deaf Guy, by Matt Daigle, sometimes
coauthored with Kay Daigle. The strip is lighthearted in its attempts to educate readers
about the experiences of deaf people and their families (see Figure 2.1).
In this comic strip, the reader sees a wife and a husband sitting at a table in a restaurant,
with a server standing by them. In panel 1, the wife and the husband are signing to each
other, but the server doesn’t understand what they’re doing. In the second panel, when
the wife explains (through both speech and sign language) that her husband is deaf, the
server does her best to help them, and in the third panel, she gives them menus in
Braille. (p. 24) Daigle’s gentle humor reminds readers of the complex and overlapping
modes of language that people encounter in their daily lives. It also demonstrates that in
everyday social interaction, speech and sign are the primary modes of linguistic commu
nication, the importance of written communication notwithstanding. Strictly speaking,
Daigle’s comic strips show evidence of bilingualism. English is a language, but American
Sign Language (ASL) is a language in its own right, independent of spoken/written Eng
lish. Hearing adults who learn ASL go through the process of learning it just as any adult
learns a foreign language.
The reason comics cannot be considered a language is that children do not “acquire”
comics. Parents or caregivers do not use comics to communicate with their children about
meal times, bath times, nap times, or play times. Comics are not language because people
do not “speak” comics, nor do they “sign” comics. The closest that comics come to being
a language is that they are similar to the mode of writing. Like writing, comics might be
considered “planned discourse.” It takes time to create even a single comic panel, let
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alone a comic strip or comic book or graphic memoir. But the comparison stops there—
writing is planned discourse, but it is based on an abstract system of arbitrary linguistic
forms. Likewise, comics are planned, but they involve far more than a linguistic system.
1. The simple past tense may be expressed with the full past participle form.
Simple past in standard dialect: I went down there.
Simple past in other dialects: I had went down there.
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These two patterns show differences between standard dialects and vernacular dialects
and are found in a large number of English-speaking communities around the world.
These kinds of patterns are shown in regional dialects but are also found in dialects that
are based on socioeconomic class status (e.g., working class) or on ethnic identity.
One reason comics cannot be language is that communities are not defined by a particu
lar variety of comics, and the converse of this is also true, that a particular variety of
comics is not produced by a community that coheres because of regional or social identi
ty. If comics were language, then there would be an identifiable set of features (similar to
verb patterns) associated with the “dialect” of the comic. While some may argue that
“Western” comics and “Eastern” comics could be described as different (p. 26) “lan
guages,” the fact is that “Western” and “Eastern” comics have far more in common than
do “Western” and “Eastern” linguistic systems. A monolingual English speaker who reads
a Japanese comic book (manga) has a far greater chance of understanding the story of
that comic than of understanding any single linguistic utterance spoken or written in the
Japanese language.
A test of this idea—whether comics are language—can be carried out by comparing two
versions of the same comic or translations. Translation is the arduous and time-consum
ing process of getting the meaning of one text put correctly and appropriately into anoth
er language: “translation is the recreation of a text in one language as another text in an
other language. A translated text … will show a high degree of similarity with its source
text,” even though “changes are a normal part of the translation process” (Evans 320).
Rarely are translations simple word-for-word substitutions; instead, the translator must
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consider the entirety of the text and make choices that render a similar message in the
target language. When comics are translated into other languages, there may be a few
changes made to the images, but the panels, the order of panels, and the “content” of the
panels is normally stable. It is the linguistic code that changes.
Consider Figures 2.2 and 2.3. Figure 2.2 is taken from the English-language version of
Ronin by Frank Miller, and Figure 2.3 is taken from the Swedish-language translation.
Both of these images are from the first page of the comic book. The dialogue from each of
the excerpts is rendered in Table 2.2. Aside from the obvious differences in linguistic
codes, careful readers will notice a number of differences between the original English
and the translated Swedish:
• In panel 1, the priest in English uses two hyphens to indicate a slight pause, but in
Swedish, he uses three ellipses. That same choice can be seen in panel 3, after the
priest says “It’s” in English and “Så” in Swedish.
(p. 27) • In panel 1, the English samurai is bolded and italicized, but the
(p. 28)
Swedish samuraj is bolded, italicized, and enlarged. In most cases, when a word in
English is bolded and italicized, the Swedish adds enlargement to the list of typograph
ical features. The exception here is found in panel 3; when the priest says “all” in Eng
lish but “allt” in Swedish, the “allt” is not italicized or bolded or enlarged.
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Panel 1
Priest: MM. Still, why should I MM. Fast vad har jag att
fear—with such a valiant, frukta… med en tapper, väl
freshly-trained samurai at tränad samuraj vid min si
my side? da?
Panel 2
Samu I live for the day when I Jag lever för dagen jag får
rai: may die in your service, my dö i er tjänst, ers nåd.
lord.
Panel 3
Priest: Is that all you can think Är det allt du kan tänka på,
about, boy? It’s — pojke? Så …
Statue It’s only right, Lord Ozaki Så passande, ers Nåd Oza
1: … ki …
Panel 4
Statue … that words of honor and … att ord om ära och plikt
1: duty … …
Likewise, there are two important similarities to notice in the speech balloons. In panel 1,
the priest says “MM” in both English and Swedish. In panel 4, whenever the statues use
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ellipses in English, they also use ellipses in Swedish. Clearly, the translator did not think
that English and Swedish were different enough to warrant changing those two elements.
While much can be said about the linguistic translation of the conversation into Swedish,
what is abundantly clear from the two images is that there has been no translation of non
linguistic elements. That is to say, while the text has been translated, the visuals have not.
Comics cannot be a language, because, if they were, then even the visuals would need to
be translated. Perhaps the panels would have to look different; perhaps the gutters would
need to shift to accommodate systematic differences. Instead, this is strong evidence that
comics might be considered a visual semiotic system but not a language.
Another example of translation in comics is called for here. As Evans argues, trans
(p. 29)
lation must account for the linguistic aspect of the text, and the scholarship on transla
tion focuses on a range of features: proper names, onomatopoeia, linguistically expressed
humor (e.g., puns) (Evans 322). In translating Japanese comics to English, certain linguis
tic choices are made in order to add to the sense of “authenticity” in the translation
(324). For example, the right-to-left reading format may be maintained; Japanese ono
matopoeia may be maintained with footnotes; and Japanese honorifics may be main
tained, keeping word endings such as -san, -kun, and -chan attached to the names, which
indicate social relationships based on age and familiarity (322).
Figure 2.4 is taken from Afro Samurai by Takashi Okazaki. It comes from one of the fight
scenes between the central character, Afro, and an enemy samurai. In these two panels,
Afro is rolling across the ground to escape from his enemy, while a figure sits against the
wall in the background, uninvolved in the fight. The top panel should be read first, indi
cating that the action of rolling away moves from right to left. In the top panel, Afro is
shown holding his sword (the curved object to the left of the rolling figure). There (p. 30)
are two additional wavy “haywire” lines extending from Afro’s head toward the right edge
of the panel. Those are actually the tail ends of the white headband that Afro is wearing
(Bramlett, “Linguistic Codes” 185).
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The Japanese sound effects are written in katakana, which is often used for loanwords but
is also used for sound effects. The sound is pronounced something like [goro]. The first
character (the open square) is a syllable pronounced [go] and the second is [ro]. The sec
ond panel says “goro goro goro goro,” the repetition indicating an ongoing sound, like
thunder or big rocks falling. In this instance, the sound effect in Japanese is not translat
ed into English. Instead, the Japanese sound effect is maintained, perhaps for authentici
ty, and an English sound effect is added for the translation. The two linguistic codes exist
in the same panel, side by side, resulting in more of a bilingual text than a translated text.
To be clear, in Afro Samurai, dialogue in speech balloons is always in English, or, on occa
sion, a Japanese word is printed using the English alphabet for readability.
As a whole, the English-language translation of Afro Samurai reads more like a Western
comic: it reads from left to right, and the Japanese sound effects are maintained but Eng
lish sound effects are found in the same panels rather than in footnotes. In contrast, Sum
mit of the Gods by Yumemakura Baku and Jirô Taniguchi is an example of a manga whose
right-to-left page order is maintained but whose Japanese language in the speech bal
loons have been translated into English. In the edition I have, the reader is advised on the
“last” page of the book: “This book has been published in its original Japanese format
reading from right to left.” In other words, the novice reader may have some difficulty
reading from “back to front,” especially since the language in the speech balloons is read
from left to right in English style.1
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Speakers use language to recognize a variety of relationships, particularly when those re
lationships are characterized by degrees of social distance and power dynamics. When
trying to use politeness, “a speaker is attempting to create an implicated context … that
matches the one assumed by the addressee” (Grundy 146). In other words, speakers who
try to use appropriate politeness strategies are using “language choice to create a con
text intended to match the addressee’s notion of how he or she should be ad
dressed” (145). In some cases, using politeness means using terms of address associated
with a person’s title (medical doctor, judge in a court of law, university professor), while
in other cases, it means joking around with friends by using ritualized insults. Speakers
often adjust their use of politeness strategies depending on whether they believe they are
participating in an encounter on equal footing with their interlocutor or they believe they
are engaging in an unequal encounter. Normally, humans don’t produce comics to show
politeness.
The central guiding principle of speech act theory is that while utterances communicate
meaning, they also perform social action. Utterances, which are produced in specific so
cial contexts by identifiable actors who have intentions, communicate three aspects of
meaning. The first is the locution or the nonambiguous denotative meaning of the expres
sion; the second is the illocution, or the performance of an act by uttering a sentence; and
the third is the perlocution, or potential effect that the utterance might have (Grundy 51).
In context, then, the speaker produces an utterance with the hope or expectation that an
interlocutor will respond in a certain way. This is the heart of the idea of speech as social
action.
One example of a speech act may suffice here (from Grundy 55). A speaker may produce
the locution “I’m going on holiday next week,” and the addressee understands the propo
sitional content to be that the speaker will not be at work, may leave town, and may plan
to have fun with family or friends. But the addressee must also decode the pragmatic
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meaning (illocution) and respond in some way (perlocution). If the addressee is an em
ployee of the local newspaper, then the utterance may mean that newspaper delivery
should be suspended. If, instead, the speaker is addressing her coworker, then the
coworker may understand the meaning to be “You have to work extra next week because
I won’t be here.”
People engaged in conversation with one another produce utterances that have proposi
tional content (semantic meaning) but also accomplish social action. Speakers can make
requests, make apologies, make promises, or offer opinions about the state of political af
fairs on the city council. But comics do not serve these functions.
The Internet has had a major impact on the types and amount of communication that peo
ple engage in. In the twenty-first century, many people write as much in a day as they
speak, especially if their jobs require email as a primary communicative means between
employees or between businesses. Nevertheless, speech is far faster than any kind of
writing, and, as indicated above, when children acquire their home languages, they do so
through speech or sign language, not writing.
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As Bateman and Wildfeuer point out, linguistic modes (speech, sign language, and writ
ing) are not the same as a semiotic mode, and they develop their framework in line with
the sociosemiotic approach for multimodal analysis developed by Gunther Kress and his
colleagues (Bateman and Wildfeuer 182). Their work examines comics precisely because
“comics are a … combination of both iconic and conventionalized semiotic materi
al” (190), concluding that “different semiotic modes will in general have their discourse
semantics filled in differently with, at the very least, differing repertoires of discourse re
lations” (205). In other words, they argue that their theoretical framework of a discourse-
semantic approach will allow them to analyze any medium or genre—including film—so
long as they identify enough specific and distinctive characteristics of each category.
Comics are a visual semiotic system, relying on an incalculably rich set of visual
(p. 33)
and linguistic resources. In this respect, scholars such as Groensteen may take issue with
the idea that the semiotic system consists of “a mixture of text and images,” arguing for
the primacy of the visual (3). There is much to be said for Groensteen’s approach, be
cause, if for no other reason, when comics are translated from one language to another, it
is primarily the linguistic codes that are translated, not the visual codes, translations of
manga notwithstanding. While Groensteen makes the claim that we should not try to base
a theoretical framework of comics on the “signifying units” of comics, it is necessarily the
case that visual elements in comics do in fact signify, and those meanings and relations
must be accounted for. Scholars such as Bateman and his colleagues are beginning to
draw on “discourse semantics” for ways of understanding how these “signifying units”
function to create the comic as a whole. Further, other scholars continue to resist the no
tion that comics can be equated to a lexicogrammatical system. Grennan extends the idea
of “discourse” or “context” and attempts to account for the process and outcome of the
act of drawing—the act of depicting—including creators, narrative, and audiences. (It
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should be noted here that Grennan does indeed engage in significant “translation” of vi
sual elements of comics.) Other scholars combine principles of corpus linguistics and mul
timodality research to show systematicity in comic-book layouts (p. 34) regarding panels,
tiers, and pages. In particular, this kind of research demonstrates “how functionally-moti
vated communicative decisions may be related predictively to a restricted space of layout
compositional strategies when those layout compositional strategies are described at an
appropriate level of abstraction” (Veloso et al.). In other words, some scholars are indeed
finding important patterns in the “signifying units” of comics.
Works Cited
Abel, Jessica. La Perdida. Pantheon, 2006.
Baku, Yumemakura, and Jiro Taniguchi. The Summit of the Gods. English ed., translated
by Kumar Sivasubramanian, Fanfare/Ponent Mon, 2009.
Bateman, John, and Janina Wildfeuer. “A Multimodal Discourse Theory of Visual Narra
tive.” Journal of Pragmatics, vol. 74, 2014, pp. 180–208.
Bramlett, Frank. “Comics and Linguistics.” The Routledge Companion to Comics, edited
by Frank Bramlett et al., Routledge, 2016, pp. 380–389.
Carter, Ronald, and Michael McCarthy. Cambridge Grammar of English. Cambridge UP,
2006.
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Reserved. Under the terms of the licence agreement, an individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a title in
Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).
Eisner, Will. Comics and Sequential Art. Expanded edition: print and computer. Tamarac,
FL: Poorhouse Press, 1985.
Groensteen, Thierry. The System of Comics. Translated by Bart Beaty and Nick Nyugen,
University Press of Mississippi, 2007.
Harrison, Claire. “Visual Social Semiotics: Understanding How Still Images Make Mean
ing.” Technical Communication, vol. 50, no. 1, 2003, pp. 46–60.
Lyovin, Anatole V. An Introduction to the Languages of the World. Oxford UP, 1997.
Marcus, Gary, and Ernest Davis. “A.I. Is Harder Than You Think.” New York Times, 18
May 2018, p. A21.
McCloud, Scott. Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. Harper Perennial, 1994.
Meesters, Gert. “To and Fro Dutch Dutch: Diachronic Language Variation in Flemish
Comics.” Linguistics and the Study of Comics, edited by Frank Bramlett, Palgrave, 2012,
pp. 163–182.
Miller, Frank. Ronin. 1983. Swedish translation by Eddie Wingeståhl, DC Comics, 1992.
Page 21 of 22
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Reserved. Under the terms of the licence agreement, an individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a title in
Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).
Okazaki, Takashi. Afro Samurai, vol. 1. Translated by Greg Moore, Tor/Seven Seas, 2008.
Tysell, Helen. “The English of the Comic Cartoons.” American Speech, vol. 10, 1935, pp.
43–55.
Wolfram, Walt, and Natalie Schilling-Estes. American English. 2nd ed., Blackwell, 2006.
Dictionaries Consulted
The University of Chicago Spanish Dictionary. 5th ed., Pocket Books, 2002.
Notes:
(1.) I would like to express my gratitude to Andréa Gilroy, David Brothers, and Taylor
Crouch for their advice on translating Japanese sound effects. Any errors are mine.
Frank Bramlett
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