Handbook of Narratology

Narratologia
Contributions to Narrative Theory

Edited by ´ ´ Fotis Jannidis, Matıas Martınez, John Pier Wolf Schmid (executive editor) Editorial Board Catherine Emmott, Monika Fludernik ´ ´ ´ Jose Angel Garcıa Landa, Peter Hühn, Manfred Jahn Andreas Kablitz, Uri Margolin, Jan Christoph Meister Ansgar Nünning, Marie-Laure Ryan Jean-Marie Schaeffer, Michael Scheffel Sabine Schlickers, Jörg Schönert

19


Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

Handbook of Narratology
Edited by Peter Hühn, John Pier Wolf Schmid, Jörg Schönert


Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

Printed on acid-free paper which falls within the guidelines of the ANSI to ensure permanence and durability. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Handbook of narratology / edited by Peter Hühn … [et al.]. p. cm. (Narratologia) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-3-11-018947-6 (alk. paper) 1. Discourse analysis, Narrative. 2. Narration (Rhetoric) I. Hühn, Peter, 1939 P302.7H34 2009 808 dc22 2009026536

ISBN 978-3-11-018947-6 ISSN 1612-8427
Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. Copyright 2009 by Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, 10785 Berlin All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Printed in Germany Cover design: Christopher Schneider, Laufen Printing and binding: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen

Contents
Preface ...................................................................................... Author ....................................................................................... Jörg Schönert Character .................................................................................. Fotis Jannidis Cognitive Narratology .............................................................. David Herman Coherence ................................................................................. Michael Toolan Conversational Narration/Oral Narration ................................. Monika Fludernik Dialogism ................................................................................. David Shepherd Event and Eventfulness ............................................................. Peter Hühn Fictional vs. Factual Narration ................................................. Jean-Marie Schaeffer Focalization .............................................................................. Burkhard Niederhoff Heteroglossia ............................................................................ Valerij Tjupa IX 1 14 30 44 63 74 80 98 115 124

VI

Contents

Identity and Narration ............................................................... Michael Bamberg Illusion (Aesthetic) ................................................................... Werner Wolf Implied Author ......................................................................... Wolf Schmid Mediacy and Narrative Mediation ............................................ Jan Alber & Monika Fludernik Metalepsis ................................................................................. John Pier Metanarration and Metafiction ................................................. Birgit Neumann & Ansgar Nünning Narration in Film ...................................................................... Johann N. Schmidt Narration in Poetry and Drama ................................................. Peter Hühn & Roy Sommer Narration in Various Disciplines .............................................. Norbert Meuter Narration in Various Media ...................................................... Marie-Laure Ryan Narrative Constitution .............................................................. Michael Scheffel Narrative Levels ....................................................................... Didier Coste & John Pier Narrativity ................................................................................ H. Porter Abbottt Narratology ............................................................................... Jan Christoph Meister

132 144 161 174 190 204 212 228 242 263 282 295 309 329

Contents

VII

Narrator .................................................................................... Uri Margolin Performativity ........................................................................... Ute Berns Perspective/Point of View ........................................................ Burkhard Niederhoff Reader ....................................................................................... Gerald Prince Schemata .................................................................................. Catherine Emmott & Marc Alexander Space ........................................................................................ Marie-Laure Ryan Speech Representation .............................................................. Brian McHale Tellability ................................................................................. Raphaël Baroni Index: Terms and Concepts ...................................................... Index: Names ............................................................................

351 370 384 398 411 420 434 447

455 459

Preface
Over the last few decades, the field of narrative studies has been vastly expanded by a wide spectrum of original studies in the philologies and other disciplines including linguistics, history, theology, art history or psychology, and it has also seen a growing number of attempts to sur­ vey, order, and summarize the results of such studies in the form of col­ lections of essays, encyclopedias, companions, dictionaries, etc. Against this background, the present Handbook of Narratology of­ fers a new type of systematic in-depth overview of recent and older re­ search, taking into account different disciplinary and national traditions in narrative study. The 32 entries present international research regard­ ing the key terms, categories, and concepts of narratology in the form of full-length original articles structured in a parallel manner: each entry starts with a concise definition followed by a more detailed ex­ plication of the term in question and then proceeds, in its main part, to provide a differentiated description and critical discussion of the vari­ ous approaches, positions, and controversies in their historical develop­ ment, concluding with topics for further research and a select biblio­ graphy. All entries are cross-referenced. They vary in length in accord­ ance with the complexity of the respective concepts. The Handbook will subsequently be made available as an openaccess Living Handbook on the Internet by Hamburg University Press. The articles will be updated and new articles made available at regular intervals, both in the printed and in the online versions. This handbook grew out of the work of the Narratology Research Group at Hamburg University (2001−2007) and the Interdisciplinary Center for Narratology (founded in 2007). We thank Wilhelm Schernus for his expert subediting of the indi­ vidual articles and Stephanie Neu for her helpful organizational sup­ port. Hamburg and Paris June 2009 Peter Hühn John Pier Wolf Schmid Jörg Schönert

Author
Jörg Schönert 1 Definition The author (real or empirical) can be defined in a narrow sense as the intellectual creator of a text written for communicative purposes. In written texts in particular, the real author is distinguished from the me­ diating instances internal to the text (cf. 2.1) (→ mediacy and narrative mediation). Beyond linguistically created works, the term author is also used for works in other media such as music and the visual arts as well as for comics, photography, film, radio and television programs, and computer games. A broader understanding of the term author is used in the following contexts, among others: as conveyor of action in a socio-cultural con­ text (cf. 2.3); in the sense of specific cultural-historically relevant con­ ceptions of authorship; as a unifying instance in the interrelation of works (œuvre); as a reference for classification in terms of epoch and canon; and as an important point of reference for the meanings ascribed to works through which the recipient can determine the author’s inten­ tion and/or author-related contexts relevant to understanding a work (cf. 2.2). 2 Explication During the 20th century, a broad spectrum of how the author is under­ stood was developed in scholarly circles: for framing concrete contexts (e.g. “producer of cultural goods”); for abstract author functions (e.g. causa efficiens); for concepts of the author relevant for understanding such as the → implied author. Unlike the dominant tendencies in the intensive discussions conducted since 1990 on the status and under­ standing of the author, this analysis will focus on the author’s narra­ tological relevance.

2

Author

2.1 Communicative Instances in Narrative Representations As in other domains, it holds for narratological analysis that the real author is held responsible for the communicative intention and form of a narratively organized work (on the roles of the author in literary com­ munication, see Okopień-Sławińska 1971; Fieguth 1975). In the case of narrative fictions, it has proved useful to assume that mediacy is trans­ ferred to text-internal instances (“voice”) including the → narrator to various degrees of explicitness and, possibly, → characters in the storyworld. To these there correspond addressee instances such as the narratee (→ reader) or figured addressees, respectively. The arrange­ ments of autofiction (within literary autobiography, e.g.) constitute a special case. 2.2 Authorship and Reception of the Work Authorship is to be seen as a status attributed to a work with culturally differing author constructs bound up with authorial self-reflection and self-presentation in a spectrum ranging from self-assurance to skepti­ cism as to the validity and scope of claims to authorship. In the sphere of (fictional) literature, constructs such as the author as vates, poeta doctus, creative genius or “writer” can be found. Independent of such typologizing expressions, particular author constructs also hold good for the reception of works in specific periods (e.g. the image of Milton during the Romantic period). These types of construction can refer to the totality of an author’s work (cf. œuvre author or career author— Booth 1977: 11) or to representative individual works. Since the 18th century, there has been a culturally significant need to fall back on the author for interpretative processes and value judgments of an artistic work based on the creative act, authenticity, individuality, originality, unity of the work and its depth of meaning. From this per­ spective, the definition of “authoralism” in Benedetti’s sense (1999: 8– 12) is based on the experience that in the modern era it is “impossible for a work of art to exist except as a product of an author” (10)—as “being authored” (74–8). A culturally (and legally) important result of this is that the authenticity of a work is attested with reference to the real author as its originator, which is significant, for instance, in the editing of texts (cf. Bohnenkamp 2002). An author-related reception focuses on the intention, attributed to the author, to convey a particular understanding of his work. In this sense, the work can also be seen as an expression of the author’s per­ sonality (including his feelings, opinions, knowledge and values). In particular, differing conceptions of author and authorship determine,

Author

3

alongside the concerns of historiographic, classificatory and editorial practices, ascription of meaning to literary texts within scholarly (cf. Spoerhase 2007) and non-scholarly circles as a result of biographical reference to the author, e.g., or with reference to the author’s intention, reconstructed in a largely hermeneutic manner. In practical criticism, inclusion of the author as a category for textual interpretation is accepted (cf. Jannidis et al. eds. 1999: 22–4), this approach often being adopted in the “author-critical” problematics of literary theory and methodology (Jannidis 2000: 8; Winko 2002). An alternative concept is marked by the term “author function”: the author as an individual person is held to be external to his work—as is maintained by Foucault, for example—so that in the reception of the work, he can be ignored as a reference point for the ascription of mean­ ing. In a way that varies historically and culturally, the author is integrated into (discursively ordered) functional contexts, such as proprietary or legal concerns, or into classifications of cultural communica­ tion. The resulting author functions are thus not to be related to con­ crete individuals, but rather assigned, for example, to discourses or to intertextual constellations. 2.3 Author as a Social Role Creatorship gives rise to certain consequences in a social context such as legal implications regarding a claim to intellectual property (copy­ right) or the author’s legal responsibility for the effects of his work. These and other aspects (e.g. origin, education, patronage, market and media dependency, author-publisher relationships, royalties and hon­ ors, author groups and interest groups) are the concerns of the social history of the author, broken down into subsections such as the history of producers and distributors (cf. Jäger 1992; Haynes 2005; Parr 2008). 2.3.1 Collaborative as well as Anonymous, Pseudonymous and Fictitious Authorship Author collectives (with at least two partners) can be found in various combinations of media (cf. Detering ed. 2002: 258–309; for belles lettres, cf. Plachta ed. 2001). During Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, e.g., texts were produced, over and above those created by an author through transcriptions, additions, commentaries and compilations which were attributable to more than one author. Since the late 18th century, popular prose fiction has often been written by anonymous or pseudonymous groups of authors and highbrow literature by authors in cooperation, usually declared. New possibilities have arisen thanks to

4

Author

electronically stored, collectively produced hypertexts published on CD-ROM and/or online (cf. Landow ed. 1994; Simanowski 2001; Ryan 2006). Collective authorship specific to the medium is the rule in mu­ sical theater, cinema (cf. Kamp 1996) and television. Numerous historical and cultural variants can be found for anonym­ ous, pseudonymous and fictitious authorship (cf. Schaff 2002); until well into the 20th century, these practices were often resorted to in literary publications by women authors. 3 History of the Concept and its Study The following (European) overview focuses on the author as the creator of literary texts, and in particular of narrative fiction. Since Antiquity, terminological ambiguity in the concept of author and competing concepts of author and authorship have been apparent (cf. Burke ed. 1995; Jannidis et al. eds. 1999: 4–11), as witnessed, e.g., in the variously defined conceptions of the heteronomy and autonomy of the author. The underlying tendency from Antiquity to the modern era can be described as a shift from an instrumental-performative un­ derstanding of authorship to personalization characterized by creative individuality (cf. Wetzel 2000: 480). Author as a neutral term alongside scriptor/writer first began to dominate after the end of the 18th century in the context of an economic and legal situation specific to the period and as a neutralizing claim set up to counter the emphatic understanding of “poet.” The word “author” has developed into an umbrella term and now denotes all forms of cre­ atorship for a work in the context of public communication. 3.1 Antiquity Author in the literal sense is of Roman origin (auctor), and has no Greek equivalent. However, Plato had already devised for poetic pro­ ductivity the concept of a speech guided by “enthusiasm” (literally “possessed by God”), to which the later model of the poet pleading for (divine) inspiration as well as the poeta vates can be assigned. Along­ side the dominant idea of the production of poetic works by means of inspiration, a further author model was formulated in the poietes (“maker”; Lat. poeta faber) favored in Aristotle’s Poetics: poetic works are created out of techne, i.e. craftsmanship and technical skill (Lat. ars) (cf. Kleinschmidt 1998: 14–34). New ways of conceiving of the production of poetic works arose as a result of the complex of meanings surrounding the term auctor in the

Author

5

ancient Roman legal system: an auctor is the bearer of auctoritas (cf. Heinze 1925) who enjoys particular rights and/or who can transfer (and thus authorize) these rights in order to promote something or achieve some goal. This “authority” was founded on, and confirmed by, the special knowledge available to the auctor. In this respect, the author model of the poeta faber was upgraded to the poeta eruditus or poeta doctus. 3.2 Middle Ages Use of the Latin term auctor (Eng. author; Ital. autore; Fr. auteur; Span. autor; Ger. Autor) was extended to cover the creatorship of fac­ tual and fictional texts. In general, it was only from the late 15th century onwards that scholars and occasionally poets were referred to as auctores, a practice that continued up to the early decades of the 18th century. Viewed from a cultural-historical perspective, the classical model of the poeta vates was re-interpreted as an extension into the sphere of knowledge of the promises and teachings of Christianity so that where this commitment was supplemented by poetological knowledge, the result was to link up the author model with the poeta doctus. In contrast to scientific texts, literary texts in the broader sense (as in epics or in the Minnesang) were often handed down without the cre­ ator being named, so that individual or collective anonymity prevailed. Little distinction was made between the creators, copyists, editors, commentators and compilers of texts in favor of “original” creatorship in need of protection (cf. Minnis 1984), with far more emphasis being placed on group identity: e.g.—depending on the type of text—in the imitatio veterum (supported by the canon that provided a model) or— when mediacy-oriented—in the case of collective manuscripts. 3.3 Early Modern Period With the invention of the printing press, a public sphere based on writ­ ten language was established for which, both in the dominant scholarly literature and in the diversified sphere of belles lettres, the individual­ ity of the author as well as the authenticity of the single work and reli­ able copies (guaranteed by printing) gained progressively in importance. In literature, the author model of the poeta eruditus and the po­ eta doctus dominated starting from the time of Humanism. For these texts, “interpretation” was not the appropriate form of analysis, but “commentary,” relating the text to previous sources backed up with “authority” (cf. Scholz 1999: 347–50). Also revived was the model of the poet moved by inspiration, sometimes in the sense of an alter deus

6

Author

(cf. Scholz 1999). Initially, creatorship remained legally undefined. It was not until the turn of the 18th century that the first contractual ar­ rangements between publishers and authors were devised concerning royalties, etc. 3.4 Early 18th Century until the Mid-20th Century As a result of varying national cultural developments in Europe, the au­ thor developed into a legal instance in the course of the 18th century, acquiring material entitlements vis-à-vis publishers, requiring protec­ tion against unauthorized reprints and plagiarism, and bearing personal responsibility for the content of his publications (e.g. Bosse 1981; Hesse 1991; Jaszi & Woodmansee eds. 1994). With the development of the objective conditions linked to creating factual and fictional texts for market-led public communication, the term author became a value-free collective name to which professional designations such as writer (Skribent, Schriftsteller, écrivain, etc.) as well as evaluative classifica­ tions such as poet/Dichter could be assigned. A broad spectrum of pat­ terns of individual and collective authorship developed (cf. Haynes 2005: 302–10) for the social roles that arose from these concrete author models, and they were often accompanied by the authors’ reflections on their self-perception (cf. Selbmann 1994). Additional criteria for artistic production regarding creativity and originality (genius) became important for the understanding of the au­ thor as poet/Dichter from the final third of the 18th century onwards. Thus, the author could be defined legally, materially and intellectually (cf. Haynes 2005: 310–13). In emphatic formulations such as “art as re­ ligion,” the life experiences, conceptions of style and work of the (god­ like) poet were bound together into a whole and endowed with a spe­ cial aura (cf. Bénichou 1973). In this process, narrative prose was en­ hanced with a literary status in the course of the 18 th century and was put on an equal footing with the “classical” genres of drama, epic, and verse as a poetic art. New facets of the concept of author emerged from scholarly en­ gagement with works of the poetic art, their theory and history which got underway after 1820 (cf. Jannidis et al. eds. 1999: 9–11). The au­ thor together with the story of his life and work became a reference point for expert textual analysis (biographical criticism), scholarly edi­ tions, literary-historical (re)constructions and evaluations for establish­ ing the canon with practical cultural consequences, particularly for education and teaching. Toward the end of the 19 th century, methodological debates emerged which, in different ways, fell back on the au­

Author

7

thor as an interpretative norm for ascribing meaning, above all in the scholarly handling of texts. In this process, plausibility was legitimized in a variety of ways on the basis for example of: (a) the author’s as­ certainable intention (cf. Hirsch 1967); (b) extensions of the intentional aspect through a critique of psychoanalytical or ideological assump­ tions to meanings of literary texts beyond the author’s intention: “to understand the author better than he understood himself” (Strube 1999); (c) the author-oriented selection of relevant contexts. Approaches to ascribing meaning to texts in scholarly circles were developed in competition with these concepts from the early 20 th cen­ tury onwards, based on the assumption that all information relevant to meaning could be drawn from the text in question alone (cf. close read­ ing, New Criticism, werkimmanente Interpretation, explication de texte, formalist, structuralist and text-semiotic approaches). In support of such approaches, criticism remained wary of the “intentional fal­ lacy” (cf. Wimsatt & Beardsley 1946), emphasizing the irrelevance of the real author’s intention for scholarly interpretation. It was in this context that categorial distinctions between the real author and speaker instances internal to the text (cf. narrator, lyrical I), advocated since the beginning of the 20th century (cf. Friedemann 1910; Susman 1910) and accepted in the 1950s, gained in importance. As a textual instance located above other instances and differentiated from the real author (also as a reference point for text immanent inter­ pretations of works), the “implied author” was brought into the discus­ sion by Booth in 1961 even though, in the following decades, it was of­ ten called into question as “not absolutely necessary” (cf. Kindt & Müller 2006); complementary to the “implied author” is the “implied reader.” 3.5 Since the Mid-20th Century In this phase, both author-centric and author-critical approaches to tex­ tual interpretation have been further clarified in scholarly debates on literary theory, and the resulting competition between them was intensified. Hence, the intentio operis or the intentio lectoris (Eco 1990), e.g., was placed in opposition to the interpretative norm of the intentio auctoris. For ascribing meaning to a text put at a remove from the au­ thor’s creative process as a result of publication, decisive emphasis is placed on the activity of the “implied reader” constructed during the reading process, or the real reader. This position is taken up in various ways in the concepts developed by empirical literary criticism (cf. Schmidt 1982) and by → cognitive narratology.

8

Author

The concept of écriture automatique, developed by the French Sur­ realists during the 1920s, was then added to the critique of the assump­ tion that a work is authentic and autonomous, the author being under­ stood merely as the executing instance (cf. Barthes 1968) of the autonomously productive literary language. In a further step, the boundaries of the author-oriented work were cancelled out in intertex­ tual constellations (cf. Kristeva 1969) and in “discourse” (Foucault 1969), and the author function superseded the person of the author (au­ thor as “intertextual construction,” as “discourse function”): with a Nietzschean gesture, Barthes and Foucault announced the “death of the author” (cf. Burke ed. 1995). The debate on the curtailed potency of authorship was carried on through the concepts of poststructuralism and the New Philology. The broader the medial spectrum for commu­ nication with text and with representations analogous to text grew dur­ ing the second half of the 20th century, the greater the interest in the contribution of the material conditions of production and communica­ tion to the ascription of meaning became: authorship is now often con­ ceived of as arrangement, montage, bricolage and remix (Wetzel 2000: 486, 491–92). Complex constructions of authorship are assigned to cinematic works (cf. Chatman 1990), while specific author concepts for the theory and reception of the products of the so-called new media, such as in hypertexts and cybertexts, are still being disputed (cf. Winko 1999). In contrast to these positions, a multi-faceted debate, extending beyond the methodological problems of textual interpretation, got under­ way in around 1990 in which restitution of various aspects of the au­ thor was advocated (e.g. Biriotti & Miller eds. 1993; Jaszi & Wood­ mansee eds. 1994; Couturier 1995; Ingold & Wunderlich eds. 1992; Jannidis et al. eds. 1999; Detering ed. 2002). The debate took place with reference to the problematic relevance of origin, biography and types of experience to the processes of writing and forms of expression in concepts of gender studies (e.g. Walker 1990; Hahn 1991; Lanser 1992; Haynes 2005: 299–302) and those of postcolonial studies. In­ terest in the circumstances of authorial creativity and its scholarly in­ vestigation has intensified (cf. Ingold 1992); and still unabated is the commitment, developed since the 1920s by the sociology of literature and, since the 1970s, by the social history of literature as well as by cultural materialism, to investigation of the social role of the author and of the social institutions and processes that affect his work (cf. Wolf 2002: 395–99; Haynes 2005: 291).

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4 Topics for Further Investigation Questions to be pursued from a narratological perspective concern primarily the interpretation of literary texts (cf. Jannidis 2000): is the ascription of meaning with reference to aspects of the real author theoretically legitimate and fruitful practically speaking? Which of the six empirically determined author-oriented interpretative strategies pro­ posed by Winko (2002) are absolutely necessary, and to what extent can they be hierarchically ordered? At the same time, are references to the real author conceivable other than in the orientation of ascribed meanings toward the author’s intention, such as the author-oriented se­ lection of relevant contexts for textual interpretation? Must reference to the author’s intention represent an alternative to the implied author, or can author’s intention and implied author complement one another in the ascription of meaning (cf. Kindt & Müller 2006)? Should refer­ ence to the real and/or implied author in any way constrain the random­ ness of meaning/significances ascribed through reader activity? In the ascription of meaning to texts, which characteristic relations can be identified for the reader’s construction of the real author, the implied author and the narrative instance (cf. narrator)? Is the implied author a meaningful analytical category only for literary texts, or also for journalistic and historiographical texts? (Translated by Alexander Starritt) 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Barthes, Roland ([1968] 1977). “The Death of the Author.” R. B. Image Music Text. London: Fontana, 142–48. Benedetti, Carla ([1999] 2005). The Empty Cage: Inquiry into the Mysterious Disap­ pearance of the Author. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Bénichou, Paul ([1973] 1999). The Consecration of the Writer, 1750–1830. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Biriotti, Maurice & Nicola Miller, eds. (1993). What is an Author? Manchester: Manchester UP. Bohnenkamp, Anne (2002). “Autorschaft und Textgenese.” H. Detering (ed). Autor­ schaft. Positionen und Revisionen. Stuttgart: Metzler, 62–79. Booth, Wayne C. ([1961] 1983). The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: U of Chicago P. – (1977). “For the Authors.” Novel 10, 5–19 (“In Defense of Authors and Readers,” ed. by E. Bloom, 5–24).

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Bosse, Heinrich (1981). Autorschaft ist Werkherrschaft. Über die Entstehung des Ur­ heberrechts aus dem Geist der Goethezeit. Paderborn: Schöningh. Burke, Seán, ed. (1995). Authorship. From Plato to the Postmodern. Criticism and Subjectivity in Barthes, Foucault and Derrida. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP. Chatman, Seymour (1990). Coming to Terms. The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Couturier, Maurice (1995). La figure de l’auteur. Paris: Seuil. Detering, Heinrich, ed. (2002). Autorschaft. Positionen und Revisionen. Stuttgart: Metzler. Eco, Umberto (1990). The Limits of Interpretation. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Fieguth, Rolf (1975). “Einleitung.” R. F. (ed). Literarische Kommunikation. Kronberg/Ts.: Scriptor, 9–22. Foucault, Michel ([1969] 1979). “What Is an Author?” J. V. Harari (ed). Textual Strategies: Perspectives in Post-Structuralist Criticism. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 141– 60. Friedemann, Käte ([1910] 1965). Die Rolle des Erzählers in der Epik. Darmstadt: WBG. Hahn, Barbara (1991). Unter falschem Namen. Von der schwierigen Autorschaft der Frauen. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Haynes, Christine (2005). “Reassessing ‘Genius’ in Studies of Authorship.” Book His­ tory 8, 287–320. Hesse, Carla (1991). Publishing and Cultural Politics in Revolutionary Paris, 1789– 1810. Berkeley: U of California P. Heinze, Richard (1925). “Auctoritas.” Hermes 60, 348–66. Hirsch, Eric D. (1967). Validity in Interpretation. New Haven: Yale UP. Ingold, Felix Philipp (1992). Der Autor am Werk. Versuche über literarische Kreativi­ tät. München: Hanser. – & Werner Wunderlich, eds. (1992). Fragen nach dem Autor. Positionen und Per­ spektiven. Konstanz: Universitäts-Verlag. Jäger, Georg (1992). “Autor.” V. Meid (ed). Literaturlexikon. Begriffe, Realien, Me­ thoden. Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 66–72. Jannidis, Fotis (2000). “Autor und Interpretation. Einleitung.” F. J. et al. (eds). Texte zur Theorie der Autorschaft. Stuttgart: Reclam, 7–29. – et al. eds. (1999). Rückkehr des Autors. Zur Erneuerung eines umstrittenen Be­ griffs. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Jaszi, Peter & Martha Woodmansee, eds. (1994). The Construction of Authorship. Tex­ tual Appropriation in Law and Literature. Durham: Duke UP. Kamp, Werner (1996). Autorenkonzepte und Filminterpretation. Frankfurt/M.: Lang. Kindt, Tom & Hans-Harald Müller (2006). The Implied Author. Concept and Contro­ versy. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kleinschmidt, Erich (1998). Autorschaft. Konzepte einer Theorie. Tübingen: Francke. Kristeva, Julia ([1969] 1980). “Word, Dialogue, and Novel.” J. K. Desire in Language. A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art. New York: Columbia UP, 64–91. Landow, George P., ed. (1994). Hyper/Text/Theory. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Lanser, Susan (1992). Fictions of Authority. Women Writers and Narrative Voice. Ithaca: Cornell UP.

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Minnis, Alastair J. (1984). Medieval Theory of Authorship. Scholastic Attitudes in the Later Middle Ages. London: Scholar Press. Okopień-Sławińska, Alexandra ([1971] 1975). “Die personalen Relationen in der litera­ rischen Kommunikation.” R. Fieguth (ed). Literarische Kommunikation. Kronberg/Ts.: Scriptor, 127–147. Parr, Rolf (2008). Autorschaft. Eine kurze Sozialgeschichte der literarischen Intelli­ genz in Deutschland zwischen 1860 und 1930. Heidelberg: Synchron Publ. Plachta, Bodo, ed. (2001). Literarische Zusammenarbeit. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Ryan, Marie-Laure (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Schaff, Barbara (2002). “Der Autor als Simulant authentischer Erfahrung. Vier Fallbei­ spiele fingierter Autorschaft.” H. Detering (ed). Autorschaft. Positionen und Revi­ sionen. Stuttgart: Metzler, 426–43. Schmidt, Siegfried J. (1982). Foundations for the Empirical Study of Literature. The Components of a Basic Theory. Hamburg: Buske. Scholz, Bernhard F. (1999). “Alciato als emblematum pater et princeps. Zur Rekon­ struktion des frühmodernen Autorbegriffs.” F. Jannidis et al. (eds). Rückkehr des Autors. Zur Erneuerung eines umstrittenen Begriffs. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 321–51. Selbmann, Rolf (1994). Dichterberuf. Zum Selbstverständnis des Schriftstellers von der Aufklärung bis zur Gegenwart. Darmstadt: WBG. Simanowski, Roberto (2001). “Autorschaften in digitalen Medien. Eine Einführung.” Text & Kritik, No 152, 3–21. Spoerhase, Carlos (2007). Autorschaft und Interpretation. Methodische Grundlegun­ gen einer philologischern Hermeneutik. Berlin: de Gruyter. Strube, Werner (1999). “Über verschiedene Arten, den Autor besser zu verstehen, als er sich selbst verstanden hat.” F. Jannidis et al. (eds). Rückkehr des Autors. Zur Er­ neuerung eines umstrittenen Begriffs. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 136–55. Susman, Margarete (1910). Das Wesen der modernen deutschen Lyrik. Stuttgart: Strecker & Schröder. Walker, Cheryl (1990). “Feminist Literary Criticism and the Author.” Critical Inquiry 16, 551–71. Wetzel, Michael (2000). “Autor/Künstler.” K. Barck et al. (eds). Ästhetische Grundbe­ griffe. Stuttgart: Metzler, vol. 1, 480–544. Wimsatt, William K. & Monroe C. Beardsley ([1946] 1954). “The Intentional Fallacy.” W. K. B. & M. C. B. (eds.). The Verbal Icon: Studies in the Meaning of Poetry. Louisville: U of Kentucky P, 3–18. Winko, Simone (1999). “Lost in hypertext? Autorkonzepte und neue Medien.” F. Jan­ nidis et al. (eds). Rückkehr des Autors. Zur Erneuerung eines umstrittenen Begriffs. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 511–33. – (2002). “Autor-Funktionen. Zur argumentativen Verwendung von Autorkonzepten in der gegenwärtigen literaturwissenschaftlichen Interpretationspraxis.” H. Detering (ed). Autorschaft. Positionen und Revisionen. Stuttgart: Metzler, 334–54. Wolf, Norbert Christian (2002). “Wieviele Leben hat der Autor? Zur Wiederkehr des empirischen Autor- und des Werkbegriffs in der neueren Literaturtheorie.” H. Dete­ ring (ed). Autorschaft. Positionen und Revisionen. Stuttgart: Metzler, 390–405.

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5.2 Further Reading
“Der Autor” (1981). Special Issue of LiLi: Zeitschrift für Linguistik und Literaturwis­ senschaft 11, No 42. Andersen, Elizabeth et al. eds. (1998). Autor und Autorschaft im Mittelalter. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Bennet, Andrew (2005). The Author. London: Routledge. Burke, Seán (1992). The Death and Return of the Author. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP. Chartier, Roger ([1992] 1994). “Figures of the Author.” R. Ch. The Order of Books. Readers, Authors, and Libraries in Europe between the Fourteenth and Eighteenth Centuries. Stanford: Stanford UP, 25–60. Cramer, Thomas (1986). “‘Solus creator est deus.’ Der Autor auf dem Weg zum Schöp­ fertum.” Daphnis 15, 261–76. Frank, Susi, et al. eds. (2001). Mystifikation—Autorschaft—Original. Tübingen: Narr. Genette, Gérard ([1987] 1997). Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Gölz, Christine (2009). “Autortheorien des slavischen Funktionalismus.” W. Schmid (ed). Slavische Narratologie. Russische und tschechische Ansätze. Berlin: de Gruy­ ter, 187–237. Haug, Walter & Burghart Wachinger, eds. (1991). Autorentypen. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Hoffmann, Torsten & Daniela Langer (2007). “Autor.” Th. Anz (ed). Handbuch Litera­ turwissenschaft. Stuttgart: Metzler, vol. 1, 131–70. Holmes, David I. (1994). “Authorship Attribution.” Computer and the Humanities 28, 87–106. Howard, Rebecca Moore (1999). Standing in the Shadows of Giants. Plagiarists, Au­ thors, Collaborators. Stanford: Ablex Publ. Ingold, Felix Philipp & Werner Wunderlich, eds. (1995). Der Autor im Dialog. Beiträ­ ge zu Autorität und Autorschaft. St. Gallen: UVK. Irwin, William, ed. (2002). The Death and Resurrection of the Author. Westport: Greenwood P. Kamouf, Peggy (1988). Signature Pieces. On the Institution of Authorship. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. Lamarque, Peter (1990). “The Death of the Author: An Analytical Autopsy.” The British Journal of Aesthetic 30, 319–31. Moers, Ellen (1985). Literary Women. New York: Oxford UP. Nelles, William (1993). “Historical and Implied Authors and Readers.” Comparative Literature 45, 22–46. Nesbit, Molly (1987). “What Was An Author?” Yale French Studies No 73, 229–57. Peschel-Rentsch, Dietmar (1991). Gott, Autor, ich. Skizzen zur Genese von Autorbe­ wußtsein und Erzählerfigur im Mittelalter. Erlangen: Palm & Enke. Rose, Mark (1993). Authors and Owners. The Invention of Copyright. Cambridge: Har­ vard UP. Sherman, Brad & Alain Strowel, eds. (1994). Of Authors and Origins. Essays on Copy­ right Law. Oxford: Clarendon P. Simion, Eugen (1996). The Return of the Author. Evanston: Northwestern UP.

Author

13

Stecker, Robert (1987). “Apparent, Implied and Postulated Authors.” Philosophy and Literature 11, 258–71. Sussloff, Catherine (1997). The Absolute Artist: The Historiography of a Concept. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Viala, Alain (1985). Naissance de l’écrivain. Sociologie de la littérature à l’âge classique. Paris: Minuit. Vogel, Martin (1978). “Deutsche Urheber- und Verlagsrechtsgeschichte zwischen 1450 und 1850.” Archiv für Geschichte des Buchwesens 19, Sp. 1–190. Woodmansee, Martha (1994). The Author, Art, and the Market: Rereading the History of Aesthetics. New York: Columbia UP.

Character
Fotis Jannidis 1 Definition Character is a text- or media-based figure in a storyworld, usually hu­ man or human-like. 2 Explication The term “character” is used to refer to participants in storyworlds cre­ ated by various media (→ narration in various media) in contrast to “persons” as individuals in the real world. The status of characters is a matter of long-standing debate: can characters be treated solely as an effect created by recurrent elements in the discourse (Weinsheimer 1979), or are they to be seen as entities created by words but distin­ guishable from them and calling for knowledge about human beings (cf. 3.1)? Answering the latter question involves determining what kinds of knowledge are required, but also to what extent such knowledge is employed in understanding characters. Three forms of knowledge in particular are relevant for the narratological analysis of charac­ ter: (a) the basic type, which provides a very fundamental structure for those entities which are seen as sentient beings; (b) character models or types such as the femme fatale or the hard-boiled detective; (c) encyclopedic knowledge of human beings underlying inferences which con­ tribute to the process of characterization, i.e. a store of information ranging from everyday knowledge to genre-specific competence. Most theoretical approaches to character seek to circumscribe reliance on real-world knowledge in some way and treat characters as entities in a storyworld subject to specific rules (cf. 3.2). One important line of thought in the anti-realistic treatment of character is the functional view. In this perspec-tive, first established by Aristotle, characters are subordinate to or determined by the narrative action; in the 20th cen­ tury, there have been attempts to describe characters in terms of a deep structure based on their roles in the plot common to all narratives (cf. 3.3).

15

Character

At the discourse level, the presentation of characters shares many features with the presentation of other kinds of fictional entities. How­ ever, because of the importance of character in telling stories, these features have been discussed mainly in terms of character presentation. Among these features are the naming of characters, studied from the perspective of the function and meaning of names, and other ways of referring to characters, which contribute to the overall structural coher­ ence of the text (cf. 3.4). Equally if not more important, however, is the process of ascribing properties to names which results in agents having these properties in the storyworld, a process known as characterization. Characterization may be direct, as when a trait is ascribed explicitly to a character, or indirect, when it is the result of inferences drawn from the text based partly on world knowledge and especially the different forms of character knowledge mentioned above. The term “characterization” can be used to refer to the ascription of a property to a charac­ ter, but also for the overall process and result of attributing traits to a given character. The process of characterization can have different forms: e.g. a character is attributed specific traits at the beginning of a narrative, but other traits are subsequently added that may not conform to the original characterization, such subverting the first conception of this character (cf. 3.5). Viewing characters as entities of a storyworld does not imply that they are self-contained. On the contrary, the storyworld is constructed during the process of narrative communication, and characters thus form a part of the signifying structures which motivate and determine the narrative communication. Characters also play a role in thematic, symbolic or other constellations of the text and of the storyworld (cf. 3.6). For most readers, characters are one of the most important aspects of a narrative. How readers relate to a character is a matter of empirical analysis, but it is important to bear in mind that the way the text presents a character is highly influential on the relation between character and reader. Three factors in particular are relevant in this regard: (a) the transfer of perspective; (b) the reader’s affective predisposition to­ ward the character―itself influenced by: (i) the character’s emotions, whether explicitly described or implicitly conveyed; (ii) the reader’s re­ action to her mental simulation of the character’s position; (iii) the ex­ pression of emotions in the presentation―and (c) evaluation of charac­ ters in the text (cf. 3.7). There has always been a need to categorize characters in order to fa­ cilitate description and analysis. However, most proposals seem to be either too complex or theoretically unsatisfying, so that Forster’s clas­

Character

16

sification into flat vs. round characters continues to be widely used (3.8). 3 History of the Concept and its Study Until recently, there was nothing like a coherent field of research for the concept of character, but only a loose set of notions related to it touching on such issues as the ontological status of characters, the kind of knowledge necessary to understand characters, the relation between character and action, the naming of characters, characterization as pro­ cess and result, the relation of the reader to a character centering around the notions of identification and empathy, etc. The situation has changed over the past ten or fifteen years thanks to a series of mono­ graphs on character by Culpeper (2001), Eder (2008), Jannidis (2004), Koch (1992), Palmer (2004), and Schneider (2001), all of which are in­ debted to the ground-breaking work done by Margolin in the 1980s and 1990s. Most of these studies draw on the cognitive sciences and their models of text processing and perception of persons (→ cognitive nar­ ratology). However, even though there is now a consensus on some as­ pects of character in narrative, many other aspects continue to be treated disparately. 3.1 People or Words Characters have long been regarded as fictive people. To understand characters, readers tend to resort to their knowledge about real people. In this framework, an anthropological, biological or psychological the­ ory of persons can also be used in character analysis, as in Freud’s analysis of Hamlet where he claims “I have here translated into con­ sciousness what had to remain unconscious in the mind of the hero” (Freud [1900] 1950: 164). Another school of thought pictured character as mere words or a paradigm of traits described by words. A well-known example of this approach is Barthes’s S/Z (1970) in which one of the codes, “voices,” substitutes for person, understood as the web of semes attached to a proper name. In this view, a character is not to be taken for anything like a person, yet on closer examination these semes correspond to tra­ ditional character traits. Although he differs from Barthes in many re­ gards, Lotman (1970), in a similar vein, describes character as a sum of all binary oppositions to the other characters in a text which, together, constitute a paradigm. A character thus forms part of a constellation of

17

Character

characters who either share a set of common traits (parallels) or represent opposing traits (contrasts). This was not the first attack against a mimetic understanding of character during the last century, a comparable approach to character having already been advocated by the New Criticism. Wellek & War­ ren (1949) claimed that a character consists only of the words by which it is described or into whose mouth they are put by the author. Knights (1933) had earlier ridiculed the tendency in British criticism to treat character presentations like the representations of people with the ques­ tion “How many Children had Lady Macbeth?” Despite this criticism, the reduction of characters to words was not convincing, for it posed many practical problems in literary criticism and also seemed to some critics unsatisfactory for theoretical reasons. Hochman (1985), for ex­ ample, defended the idea of character as human-like against structural­ ist and post-structuralist conceptions with moral and aesthetic argu­ ments. Given this situation, the series of essays by Margolin, by combining elements of structuralism, reception theory and the theory of fictional worlds, proved to be a breakthrough. For Margolin (1993), characters are first and foremost elements of the constructed narrative world: “character,” he claims, “is a general semiotic element, independent of any particular verbal expression and ontologically different from it” (7). He further points out that characters can have various modes of ex­ istence in storyworlds: they can be factual, counterfactual, hypothetical, conditional, or purely subjective (1995: 375). Also taken up are questions such as how characters come into existence and what consti­ tutes their identity (→ identity and narration), especially in storyworlds as a transtextual concept. Philosophers, especially those with roots in analytical philosophy, have discussed the special ontological status of character under the la­ bel of incompleteness of characters. Unlike persons who exist in the real world and are complete, we can speak meaningfully only about those aspects of characters which have been described in the text or which are implied by it. Consequently, descriptions of characters have gaps, and often the missing information cannot be inferred from the given information. In contrast to the description of real persons in which a gap may appear even though it is assumed that the person is complete, characters have gaps if the description does not supply the necessary information (Eaton 1976; Crittenden 1982; Lamarque 2003). Even though there is currently a broad consensus that character can best be described as an entity forming part of the storyworld, the onto­ logical status of this world and its entities remains unclear. Narrato­

Character

18

logical theory presently offers three approaches to addressing this prob­ lem: (a) drawing on the theory of possible worlds, the storyworld is seen as an independent realm created by the text (Margolin 1990); (b) from the perspective of cognitive theories of the reading process, char­ acter is seen as a mental model created by an empirical reader (Schneider 2001); (c) from the perspective of the neo-hermeneutical theory of literary communication, the text is an intentional object and character is a mental model created by an hypothetical historical model reader. This approach incorporates a number of insights into text pro­ cessing, but focuses on the text (Jannidis 2004). The main differences between these approaches lie in how the presentation of character is described and in the use of principles borrowed from the cognitive sci­ ences. 3.2 Character Knowledge Even some of those who have claimed that character is a paradigm of traits assume that there exists a cultural code making it possible to per­ ceive these traits as a meaningful whole (Lotman 1970), or Gestalt. This code is also resorted to in the perception of people in everyday life such that there is an interaction between the formation of (narrative) characters and the perception of people not only because the per­ ception of people determines how plausible a character is, but also be­ cause the way characters are presented in narratives can may change the way people are perceived. At the same time, this cultural code con­ tains information that is not applied to people but only to characters, especially stock characters and genre-based character types. Even so, the notion of a cultural code is probably too vague, since it encom­ passes different aspects or levels which should be distinguished: the basis type; character models; character schemas. The concept of basis type adopts recent insights from developmental psychology. From early on, humans distinguish between objects and sentient beings. They apply to the perception of the latter a theory of mind which ascribes to them mental states such as intentions, wishes, and beliefs. Once an entity in the storyworld is identified as a charac­ ter, this framework is applied to that entity, the basis type thus provid­ ing the basic outline of a character: there is an invisible “inside” which is the source of all intentions, wishes, etc., and a visible “outside” which can be perceived. All aspects of a basis type can be negated for a specific character, but either this is done explicitly or it results from genre conventions (Jannidis 2004: 185–95; Zunshine 2006: 22–7). On another, more concrete level, knowledge about time- and culture-spe­

19

Character

cific types contributes to the perception of characters. Some are “stock characters” such as the rich miser, the femme fatale, or the mad scientist, while others draw upon general habitus knowledge in a society like the formal and laborious accountant, the old-maid teacher or the 19th-century laborer (Frevert & Haupt ed. 2004). Such figures serve as character models. Character models are often associated with standard­ ized “character constellations” such as cuckold, wife, and lover. In popular culture, characterization frequently depends on character mod­ els, and the creative variation of these models is highly appreciated, while in high culture there is a strong tendency to avoid character mod­ els (cf. 3.8; Lotman [1970] 1977: 239–60). It is important to note that basis type and character models do not exhaust the relevant knowledge forms for characters. In many instances of character description, encyclopedic knowledge—from both the real world and fictional worlds—comes into play, combining two or more items of character- (or person-)related information (e.g. “too much al­ cohol makes people drunk” or “vampires can be killed by a wooden stake driven into their heart”). In many cases, texts offer the reader only a fragment of information, prompting the reader to fill in the miss­ ing parts based on the appropriate knowledge. In text analysis, this kind of character encyclopedia is relevant more often than the other two, and differences in the interpretation of characters are frequently based on the fact that different entries from the character encyclopedia are re­ sorted to. 3.3 Character and Action One of the oldest theoretical statements on character reflects on the re­ lation of character and action: “for tragedy is not a representation of men but of a piece of action […]. Moreover, you could not have a tragedy without action, but you can have one without character-study” (Aristotle [1927] 1932: 1450a). What Aristotle said in relation to tragedy became the origin of a school of thought which claims that in order to understand a character in a fictional text, one need only to analyze its role in the action. This approach was put on a new foundation by Propp (1928) in a ground-breaking corpus study of the Russian folk­ tale. In analyzing a hundred Russian fairy tales, he constructed a se­ quence of 31 functions which he attributed to seven areas of action or types of character: opponent; donor; helper; princess and her father; dispatcher; hero; false hero. Greimas (1966) generalized this approach with his actant model in which all narrative characters are regarded as expressions of an underlying narrative grammar composed of six act­

Character

20

ants ordered into pairs: the hero (also sujet) and his search for an ob­ ject; the sender and the receiver; the hero’s helper and the opponent. Each actant is not necessarily realized in one single character, since one character may perform more than one role, and one role may be distributed among several characters. Schank’s concept of story skeletons also starts from the idea that stories have an underlying structure, but in his model there are many such structures and therefore many dif­ ferent roles for actors, e.g. the story of a divorce using the story skeleton “betrayal” with the two actors: the betrayer and the betrayed (Schank 1995: chap. 6). Campbell (1949) described in an influential work what he called, using a term coined by James Joyce, the “monomyth,” which is an ab­ straction of numerous mythological and religious stories marking the stages of the hero’s way: separation/departure; the trials and victories of initiation; return and reintegration into society (Campbell [1949] 1990: 36). According to Campbell, who bases his argument on Freud’s and especially on Jung’s form of psychoanalysis, the monomyth is uni­ versal and can be found in stories, myths, and legends all over the world. In contrast to these generalized model-oriented approaches, tra­ ditional approaches tend to employ a genre- and period-specific vocab­ ulary for action roles such as confidant and intriguer in traditional drama, or villain, sidekick, and henchman in the popular media of the 20th century. Most of the common labels for character in use refer to the role a character has in action. “Protagonist,” in use since Greek antiquity, refers to the main character of a narrative or a play, and “antagonist” to its main opponent. In contrast to these neutral labels, the term “hero” refers to a positive figure, usually in some kind of representative story. In modern high-culture narratives, there is more often an anti-hero or no single protagonist at all, but a constellation of characters (Tröhler 2007). 3.4 Referring to Characters Referring to characters in texts occurs with the use of proper names, definite descriptions and personal pronouns (Margolin 1995: 374). In addition to these direct references, indirect evocations can be found: the untagged rendering of direct speech, the description of actions (e.g. “a hand grabbed”) or use of the passive voice (“the window was opened”). The role of names in interpreting characters has been treated repeatedly, resulting in different ways of classifying name usage (e.g. Lamping 1983; Birus 1987).

21

Character

Narratives can be viewed as a succession of scenes or situative frames, only one of which is active at any given moment. An active situative frame may contain numerous characters, but only some of them will be focused on by being explicitly referred to in the corresponding stretch of text. The first active frame in which a character oc­ curs and is explicitly referred to constitutes its “introduction.” After be­ ing introduced, a character may drop out of sight, not be referred to for several succeeding active frames, and then reappear. In general, whenever a character is encountered in an active frame, it is to be de­ termined whether this is its first occurrence or whether it has already been introduced in an earlier active frame and is reappearing at a par­ ticular point. Determining that a character in the current active scene has already appeared in an earlier one is termed “identification.” A dis­ tinction is to be made between normal, false, impeded, and deferred identifications. A “false identification” occurs when a previously men­ tioned character is identified but it then becomes clear later that some other character was in fact being referred to. An “impeded identifica­ tion” does not refer unequivocally to any specific character, and a clear reference to the character or characters is never given in the text, while in the case of “deferred identification” the reader is ultimately able to establish the identity of an equivocally presented character. Deferred identification can further be broken down into an overt form in which the reader knows that he is kept in the dark and a covert form (Jannidis 2004: chap. 4 & 6, based on Emmott 1997). 3.5 Characterization Characterization can be described as ascribing information to an agent in the text so as to provide a character in the storyworld with a certain property or properties, a process often referred to as ascribing a prop­ erty to a character. In the 19th century, critics spoke of the difference between direct and indirect characterization and of the preference of contemporary writers and readers for the latter (Scherer [1888] 1977: 156–57). Until recently, characterization was understood as the text ascribing psychological or social traits to a character (e.g. Chatman 1978), but in fact texts ascribe all manner of properties to characters, including physiological and locative (space-time location) properties. Yet some textually explicit ascriptions of properties to a character may turn out to be invalid, as when this information is attributable to an un­ reliable → narrator or to a fellow-character. Moreover, a textual ascrip­ tion may turn out to be hypothetical or purely subjective. There are also texts and styles of writing (e.g. the psychological novel) which

Character

22

tend to avoid any explicit statements of characterization. The crucial is­ sue in the process of characterization is thus what information, espe­ cially of a psychological nature, a reader is able to associate with any character as a member of the storyworld and where this information comes from. There are at least three sources of such information: (a) textually explicit ascription of properties to a character; (b) inferences that can be drawn from textual cues (e.g. “she smiled nervously”); (c) inferences based on information which is not associated with the char­ acter by the text itself but through reference to historically and cultur­ ally variable real-world conventions (e.g. the appearance of a room re­ veals something about the person living there or the weather expresses the feelings of the protagonist). A systematic description of such infer­ ences employed in characterization is given by Margolin (1983). Infer­ ences can be understood in terms of abductions (Keller 1998: chap. 9, based on Peirce), so that the fundamental role of character models and of the character encyclopedia becomes obvious: the information de­ rived from them is not included in the text, but is presupposed to a greater or lesser degree by it. Another key problem concerns the limits and underlying rules of such inferences when they are applied to fictional beings. Ryan (1980), noting that readers tend to assume that a storyworld resembles the real world unless explicitly stated otherwise, adopts the philosopher David Lewis’s “principle of minimal departure.” In a thorough criticism of this and similar hypotheses, Walton points out that this would make an infinite number of inferences possible, and he comes to the conclusion: “There is no particular reason why anyone’s beliefs about the real world should come into play. As far as implications are concerned, simple conventions to the effect that whenever such and such is fiction­ al, so and so is as well, serve nicely […]” (Walton 1990: 166). This ap­ proach, in turn, increases the number of conventions without necessity and without providing any convincing argument as to how readers go about accessing these conventions, aside from drawing on their realworld knowledge, despite the fact that many conventions apply only to fictional worlds. Even so, this does not invalidate Walton’s criticism, which can probably be refuted only by including another element: the fact that characters are part of storyworlds which are not self-con­ tained, but communicated. Readers’ assumptions about what is relevant in the process of communication determine the scope and validity of inferences (Sperber & Wilson 1986). The presentation of characters is a dynamic process, just as is the construction of characters in the reader’s mind. A powerful model for describing the psychological or cognitive dynamics coming into play

23

Character

here, based on the “top-down” and “bottom-up” processes observed during empirical studies on reading comprehension, has been proposed by Schneider (2001) building on concepts developed by Gerrig & Allbritton (1990). A top-down process occurs in the application of a category to a character, integrating the information given by the text into this category, while a bottom-up process results from the text in­ formation integrating a character into a type or building up an individualized representation. At the beginning of a character presentation, textual cues may trigger various types of categorization: social types (“the teacher,” “the widow”); literary types (the hero in a Bildungsro­ man); text-specific types (characters that do not change throughout the story). In contrast to the top-down processing that takes place in these forms of categorization is bottom-up processing. This occurs when the → reader is unable to integrate the given information into an existing category, resulting in personalization of the character. Personalized characters can also be members of a category, but this is not the focus of their description. Reading a text involves building up either categor­ ized or personalized characters, but information subsequently en­ countered in the text may change their status and possibly decategorize or depersonalize those characters. 3.6 Character and Meaning Characters can be seen as entities in a storyworld. However, this should not be understood to mean that characters are self-contained. On the contrary: they are at the same time devices in the communication of meaning and serve purposes other than the communication of the facts of the storyworld as well. This matter was discussed above in the rela­ tion between character and action. In many forms of narrative, how­ ever, action is not the organizing principle, but a theme or an idea, and the characters in these texts are determined by that theme or idea. An extreme example is personification, i.e. the representation of an ab­ stract principle such as freedom or justice as a character, as found in al­ legorical literature. Another example is certain dialogue novels, where the characters’ role is to propound philosophical ideas. On the other hand, even the most life-like characters in a realistic novel can often also be described in light of their place in a thematic progression. Thus, Phelan (1987) has proposed to describe character as participation in a mimetic sphere (due to the character’s traits), a thematic sphere (as a representative of an idea or of a class of people), and a synthetic sphere (the material out of which the character is made). In his heuristic of film characters, Eder (2008) adopts a similar breakdown, but adds a

Character

24

fourth dimension relating to communication between the film and the audience: (a) the character as an artifact (how is it made?); (b) the char­ acter as a fictional being (what features describe the character?); (c) the character as a symbol (what meaning is communicated through the character?); and (d) the character as a symptom (why is the character as it is and what is the effect?). The difference between characters as part of storyworlds and the meaning of character cannot be aligned with the difference between (narratological) description and interpretation be­ cause elements of a character or the description of a character are often motivated by their role in thematic, symbolic, aesthetic and other net­ works. 3.7 Relation of the Reader to the Character Characters may induce strong feelings in readers, a fact often discussed under the label “identification.” Identification is a psychological pro­ cess and as such lies outside of the scope of narrative analysis. On the other hand, it is widely recognized that to some extent identification results from and is controlled by various textual cues and devices. A first problem is the concept of identification itself, since it involves a variety of aspects: sympathy with a character who is similar to the reader; empathy for a character who is in a particular situation; attrac­ tion to a character who is a role model for the reader. To date, there is no means of integrating all of these factors into a satisfactory theory of identification. There are older, mostly outdated models of identifica­ tion, based on Freud or Lacan, and newer models, some of which are based on empirical studies (e.g. Oatley & Gholamain 1997), while oth­ ers seek to integrate empirical findings and media analysis (e.g. Eder 2008, part VII). Another problem is historical variation: much literature before 1800 aims more at creating an attitude of admiration for the protagonist than it does at immersing the reader in the situation of the character (Jauss 1974; Schön 1999). Provisionally, the problem of identification with the character in narrative can be broken down into the following three aspects: (a) “transfer of perspective” works on different levels: perception (the reader “experiences” the sensory input of a character); intention (the reader is made aware of a character’s goals); beliefs (the reader is in­ troduced into the character’s worldview). In narrative texts, such trans­ fer occurs in part through the devices of → focalization and → speech representation; (b) the “affective relation” to the character is a complex phenomenon resulting from various factors. First is the information gleaned from the text bearing on the character’s emotions projected

25

Character

against the backdrop of general, historical, and cultural schemas applic­ able to particular situations and the emotions “appropriate” for these situations. Second is mental simulation of the depicted events, which creates an empathetic reaction involving the reader’s disposition to re­ spond to the emotion experienced by the character (a display of sadness creates pity), but may also activate similar emotions (a display of sad­ ness generates a similar feeling in the reader). To what extent such sim­ ulations actually occur has been discussed extensively: proponents see support for their position in the discovery of mirror neurons (Lauer 2007), while opponents point out that this aspect plays a limited role if any at all (e.g. Mellmann [2006], who models the reader’s response on the basis of evolutionary psychology). Such responsive dispositions may be socially induced, but they may also exist in other forms, such as sadistic or voyeuristic arousal. In any case, reaction to simulated events is not constrained to characters, but includes events of all types. These reactions to events not directly related to characters can be used to “ex­ ternalize” the character’s affects (e.g. a description of a storm which reflects the agitated state of mind of the protagonist watching the storm). The third factor in the affective relation is the expressive use of language or the presentation of emotions in texts using phonetic, rhythmic, metrical, syntactical, lexical, figurative, rhetorical, and nar­ rative devices including free indirect discourse and similar strategies (Winko 2003); (c) “evaluation of characters” is based on historically and culturally variable measures of value. Evaluation can be explicit thanks to the use of evaluative vocabulary, or implicit due to behavior that implies evaluation according common social standards. This in­ cludes implicit comparison between the reader or spectator and the protagonist, already described by Aristotle. An evaluative stance to­ ward a character creates such emotional responses as admiration, sym­ pathy or repulsion, at the same time coloring the reader’s affective rela­ tion to the character. 3.8 Categories of Character The most widely known proposal on how to categorize character is still Forster’s opposition between flat and round characters: “Flat characters [...] are constructed round a single idea or quality” ([1927] 1985: 67) while round characters are “more highly organized” (75) and “are cap­ able of surprising in a convincing way” (78). Critics have long accepted this categorization as plausible, relating it to the way real people are perceived. However, the criteria Forster based it on are vague, espe­ cially the notion of development to explain the impression of a round

Character

26

character (e.g. Scholes et al. [1966] 2006: chap. 5). A significant prob­ lem in this discussion results from the fact that all we know about a specific character is based on what can be learned from a text or another medium. Therefore, it is often not easy to distinguish between the character and the way it is presented, as can be seen, for example, with Rimmon-Kenan, who proposes three dimensions to categorize charac­ ters: “complexity, development, penetration into the ‘inner life’” ([1983] 2002: 41), thus mixing aspects of the character as an entity of the storyworld with those of its presentation. Similarly, Hochman (1985) proposes eight dimensions as a basis of categorization without distinguishing between these two aspects. To name but three of them: stylization―naturalism; complexity—simplicity; dynamism—stat­ icism. One of the earliest attempts to distinguish clearly between these aspects in categorizing characters comes from Fishelov (1990), who combines the opposition between presentation and storyworld with the distinction between flat and round characters. Another problematic as­ pect of this approach is the fact that it is almost always combined with an evaluative stance valorizing the complex and devaluating the simple regardless of the requirements of different genres (as Forster already deplored), or deprecating those genres. Stereotypes are often regarded as the prototypical flat character. With Dyer (1993), however, a distinction can be drawn between the so­ cial type and the stereotype. Social types are known because they be­ long to a society with which the reader is familiar, while stereotypes are ready-made images of the unknown. In fiction they differ, accord­ ing to Dyer, to the extent that social types can appear in almost any kind of plot, while stereotypes carry with them an implicit narrative. 4 Topics for Further Investigation All of the aspects outlined above deserve further investigation, but three problems are of particular interest in the current state of research. (a) Recent decades have seen a growing interest in the social construc­ tion of identities—national identities, gender identities, etc. Analysis of character presentation and formation plays an important part in any in­ terpretation interested in identity construction in literature, but up to now those engaged in identity analysis have neglected narratological research on character; at the same time, narrative analysis has mostly ignored the historical case studies carried out on identity construction by specialists of cultural studies. (b) Evaluation in literary texts has been and is still a neglected field of research. There are many ways a text can influence or predetermine the evaluative stance of the reader,

27

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and much systematic and historical work in this area remains to be done. (c) The question of how a reader relates to a character can only be answered by an interdisciplinary research bringing together textual analysis and the cognitive sciences. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Aristotle ([1927] 1932). Aristotle in 23 Volumes. Vol. 23: The Poetics. Tr. W. H. Fyfe. London: Heinemann. Barthes, Roland ([1970] 1974). S/Z. New York: Hill & Wang. Birus, Hendrik (1987). “Vorschlag zu einer Typologie literarischer Namen.” Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik 17, No 67, 38–51. Campbell, Joseph ([1949] 1990). The Hero with a Thousand Faces. New York: Harper & Row. Chatman, Seymour (1978). “Existents.” S. Ch. Story and Discourse: Narrative Struc­ ture in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 96–145. Crittenden, Charles (1982). “Fictional Characters and Logical Completeness.” Poetics 11, 331–44. Culpeper, Jonathan (2001). Language and Characterisation. People in Plays and other Texts. Harlow: Longman. Dyer, Richard (1993). “The Role of Stereotypes.” R. D. The Matter of Images: Essays on Representations. New York: Routledge, 11–8. Eaton, Marcia M. (1976). “On Being a Character.” British Journal of Aesthetics 16, 24–31. Eder, Jens (2007). “Filmfiguren: Rezeption und Analyse.” T. Schick & T. Ebbrecht (eds). Emotion―Empathie―Figur: Spiel-Formen der Filmwahrnehmung. Berlin: Vistas, 131–50. – (2008). Die Figur im Film. Grundlage der Figurenanalyse. Marburg: Schüren. Emmott, Catherine (1997). Narrative Comprehension: A Discourse Perspective. Ox­ ford: Clarendon P. Fishelov, David (1990). “Types of Character, Characteristics of Types.” Style 24, 422– 39. Forster, Edward M. ([1927] 1985). Aspects of the Novel. San Diego: Harcourt. Freud, Sigmund ([1900] 1950). The Interpretation of Dreams. New York: The Modern Library. Frevert, Ute & Heinz-Gerhard Haupt, ed. (2004). Der Mensch des 19. Jahrhunderts. Essen: Magnus. Gerrig, Richard J. & David W. Allbritton (1990). “The Construction of Literary Char­ acter: A View from Cognitive Psychology.” Style 24, 380–91.

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Greimas, Algirdas Julien ([1966] 1983). Structural Semantics: An Attempt at a Method. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Hochman, Baruch (1985). Character in Literature. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Jannidis, Fotis (2004). Figur und Person. Beitrag zu einer historischen Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Jauss, Hans Robert (1974). “Levels of Identification of Hero and Audience.” New Literary History 5, 283–317. Keller, Rudi (1998). A Theory of Linguistic Signs. Oxford: Oxford UP. Knights, Lionel C. ([1933] 1973). How many Children had Lady Macbeth? An Essay in the Theory and Practice of Shakespeare Criticism. New York: Haskell House. Koch, Thomas (1992). Literarische Menschendarstellung: Studien zu ihrer Theorie und Praxis. Tübingen: Stauffenberg. Lamarque, Peter (2003). “How to Create a Fictional Character.” B. Gaut & P. Linving­ ston (eds). The Creation of Art. New Essays in Philosophical Aesthetics. Cam­ bridge: Cambridge UP, 33–51. Lamping, Dieter (1983). Der Name in der Erzählung. Zur Poetik des Personennamens. Bonn: Bouvier. Lauer, Gerhard (2007). “Spiegelneuronen: Über den Grund des Wohlgefallens an der Nachahmung.” K. Eibl et al. (eds). Im Rücken der Kulturen. Paderborn: Mentis, 137–63. Lotman, Jurij M. ([1970] 1977). “The Composition of the Verbal Work of Art.” Ju. L. The Structure of the Artistic Text. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 239–50. Margolin, Uri (1983). “Characterisation in Narrative: Some Theoretical Prolegomena.” Neophilologus 67, 1–14. – (1990). “Individuals in Narrative Worlds: An Ontological Perspective.” Poetics Today 11, 843–71. – (1992). “Fictional Individuals and their Counterparts.” J. Andrew (ed). Poetics of the Text: Essays to celebrate 20 Years of the Neo-Formalist Circle. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 43–56. – (1995). “Characters in Literary Narrative: Representation and Signification.” Semi­ otica 106, 373–92. Mellmann, Katja (2006). Emotionalisierung. Von der Nebenstundenpoesie zum Buch als Freund: Eine emotionspsychologische Analyse der Literatur der Aufklärungs­ epoche. Paderborn: Mentis. Oatley, Keith & Mitra Gholamain (1997). “Emotions and Identification: Connections between Readers and Fiction.” M. Hjort & S. Laver (eds). Emotion and the Arts. New York: Oxford UP, 263–81. Palmer, Alan (2004). Fictional Minds. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Phelan, James (1987). “Character, Progression, and the Mimetic-Didactic Distinction.” Modern Philology 84, 282–99. Propp, Vladimir ([1928] 1984). Theory and History of Folklore. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P.

29

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Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Routledge. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1980). “Fiction, Non-Factuals, and Minimal Departure.” Poetics 8, 403–22. Schank, Roger C. (1995). Tell me a Story. Narrative and Intelligence. Evanston: North­ western UP. Scherer, Wilhelm ([1888] 1977). Poetik. Tübingen: Niemeyer, dtv. Schneider, Ralf (2001). “Toward a Cognitive Theory of Literary Character: The Dy­ namics of Mental-Model Construction.” Style 35, 607–39. Schön, Erich (1999). “Geschichte des Lesens.” B. Franzmann et al. (eds). Handbuch Lesen. München: Saur, 1–85. Scholes, Robert, et al. ([1966] 2006). The Nature of Narrative. Revised and Expanded Edition. New York: Oxford UP. Sperber, Dan & Deirdre Wilson ([1986] 1995). Relevance: Communication and Cogni­ tion. Oxford: Blackwell. Tröhler, Margrit (2007). Offene Welten ohne Helden. Plurale Figurenkonstellationen im Film. Marburg: Schüren. Walton, Kendall (1990). Mimesis as Make-Believe: On the Foundations of Representa­ tional Arts. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Weinsheimer, Joel (1979). “Theory of Character: Emma.” Poetics Today 1, 185–211. Wellek, René & Austin Warren (1949). Theory of Literature. London: J. Cape. Winko, Simone (2003). Kodierte Gefühlte: Zu einer Poetik der Emotionen in lyrischen und poetologischen Texten um 1900. Berlin: Schmidt. Zunshine, Lisa (2006): Why We Read Fiction. Theory of Mind and the Novel. Colum­ bus: Ohio State UP.

5.2 Further Reading
Jouve, Vincent (1992). L’effet-personnage dans le roman. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Knapp, John V., ed. (1990). “Interdisciplinary Approaches to Literary Character.” Spe­ cial Issue of Style 24.3. Margolin, Uri (2007). “Character.” D. Hermann (ed). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 66–79.

Cognitive Narratology
David Herman 1 Definition Cognitive narratology can be defined as the study of mind-relevant as­ pects of storytelling practices, wherever—and by whatever means— those practices occur. As this definition suggests, cognitive narratology is transmedial in scope; it encompasses the nexus of narrative and mind not just in print texts but also in face-to-face interaction, cinema, radio news broadcasts, computer-mediated virtual environments, and other storytelling media. In turn, “mind-relevance” can be studied vis-à-vis the multiple factors associated with the design and interpretation of narratives, including the story-producing activities of tellers, the pro­ cesses by means of which interpreters make sense of the narrative worlds (or “storyworlds”) evoked by narrative representations or arti­ facts, and the cognitive states and dispositions of characters in those storyworlds. In addition, the mind-narrative nexus can be studied along two other dimensions, insofar as stories function as both (a) a target of interpretation and (b) a means for making sense of experience—a re­ source for structuring and comprehending the world—in their own right. 2 Explication Cognitive narratology can be characterized as a subdomain within “postclassical” narratology (Herman 1999). At issue are frameworks for narrative research that build on the work of classical, structuralist narratologists but supplement that work with concepts and methods that were unavailable to story analysts such as Barthes, Genette, Grei­ mas, and Todorov during the heyday of the structuralist revolution. In the case of developments bearing on cognitive narratology, narrative analysts have worked to enrich the original base of structuralist con­ cepts with ideas about human intelligence either ignored by or inac­ cessible to the classical narratologists, thereby building new founda­

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tions for the study of cognitive processes vis-à-vis various dimensions of narrative structure. Still an emergent trend within the broader domain of → narratology, cognitive narratology encompasses multiple methods of analysis and diverse narrative corpora. Relevant corpora include fictional and non­ fictional print narratives; computer-mediated narratives such as hyper­ text fictions, e-mail novels and blogs; comics and graphic novels; cine­ matic narratives; storytelling in face-to-face interaction; and other instantiations of the narrative text type (→ narration in various media). Meanwhile, theorists studying mind-relevant aspects of storytelling practices adopt descriptive and explanatory tools from a variety of fields—in part because of the interdisciplinary nature of research on the mind-brain itself. Source disciplines include, in addition to narratology, linguistics, computer science, philosophy, psychology, and oth­ er domains. Making matters still more complicated, because the term “cognitive narratology” is a relatively recent coinage (cf. 3), narrative scholars working on issues that fall within this domain do not necessar­ ily identify their work as cognitive-narratological, and might even resist being aligned with the approach. It should therefore not be surprising that, given the range of artifacts and media falling under its purview, its richly interdisciplinary herit­ age, and the multiplicity of projects relevant for if not directly associ­ ated with it, cognitive narratology at present constitutes more a set of loosely confederated heuristic schemes than a systematic framework for inquiry. Again, however, a trait shared by all this work is its focus on mind-relevant aspects of storytelling practices—where “mind” is shorthand for “mind-brain.” Insofar as stories constitute a target of in­ terpretation, key questions for cognitive narratology include: What cognitive processes support narrative understanding, allowing readers, viewers, or listeners to construct mental models of the worlds evoked by stories? How do they use medium-specific cues to build on the basis of the discourse or sujet a chronology for events, or fabula (what happened when, or in what order?); a broader temporal and spatial en­ vironment for those events (when in history did these events occur, and where geographically?); an inventory of the characters involved; and a working model of what it was like for these characters to experience the more or less disruptive or non-canonical events that constitute a core feature of narrative representations (Herman 2009a: chap. 5)? Further, insofar as narrative constitutes a sense-making instrument in its own right, a way of structuring and understanding situations and events, still other questions suggest themselves for cognitive narratolo­ gists: How exactly do stories function as tools for thinking (Herman

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2003)? Is it the case that, unlike other such tools (stress equations, de­ ductive arguments, etc.), narrative is a mode of representation tailormade for gauging the felt quality of lived experiences (Fludernik 1996; Herman 2007a, 2007b, 2009a: chap. 6)? More radically, do stories af­ ford scaffolding for consciousness itself—in part by emulating through their temporal and perspectival configuration the nature of conscious awareness itself? In other words, are there grounds for making the strong claim that narrative not only represents what it is like for experi­ encing minds to live through events in storyworlds, but also constitutes a basis for having—for knowing—a mind at all, whether it is one’s own or another’s (Herman 2009a: chap. 6)? Arguably, questions such as these could not have been formulated, let alone addressed, within classical frameworks for narrative study (but cf. Barthes 1966 and Culler 1975 for early anticipations). Cognitive narratology can thus be thought of as a problem space that opened up when earlier, structuralist models were brought into synergistic in­ terplay with the many disciplines for which the mind-brain is a focal concern. 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 A Partial Genealogy of the Term “Cognitive Narratology” At the time of writing, the term cognitive narratology itself has been in use for only about a decade. As Eder (2003: 283 n.10) notes, the term appears to have been first used by Jahn (1997). (In a personal commu­ nication, Jahn confirmed that when he published this article he was not aware of any prior use of the term, but also that Ansgar Nünning must be credited with suggesting the second part of the article’s title.) How­ ever, the issues and concerns encompassed by the term have been live ones for a considerably longer period. Beginning in the 1970s, studies in a number of fields provided, av­ ant la lettre, important foundations for cognitive-narratological re­ search. In the domain of literary studies, and in parallel with a broader turn toward issues of reception or reader response (Iser 1972; Jauss 1977; Tompkins 1980), research by Sternberg (1978) and Perry (1979) highlighted processing strategies (e.g. the “primacy” and “recency” ef­ fects) that arise from the situation of a given event vis-à-vis the two temporal continua of story and discourse, or fabula and sujet. Events that happen early in story-time can be encountered late in discoursetime, or vice versa, producing different reading experiences from those set into play when there is greater isomorphism between the time of the

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Cognitive Narratology

told and the time of the telling. (A still earlier precedent in this connec­ tion is Ingarden’s [1931] account of literary texts as heteronomous vs. autonomous objects, i.e. as schematic structures the concretization of whose meaning potential requires the cognitive activity of readers.) Likewise, in the fields of cognitive psychology and Artificial Intelli­ gence research, analysts began developing their own hypotheses about cognitive structures underlying the production and understanding of narrative. Psychologists such as Mandler (1984), for example, postulated the existence of cognitively based story grammars or narrative rule sys­ tems. Such grammars were cast as formal representations of the cognitive mechanisms used to parse stories into sets of units (e.g. settings and episodes) and principles for sequencing and embedding those units (for a fuller discussion, cf. Herman 2002: 10–13). Roughly contempor­ aneously with the advent of story grammars, research in Artificial Intel­ ligence also began to focus attention on the cognitive basis for creating and understanding stories. Schank & Abelson’s (1977) foundational work explored how stereotypical knowledge reduces the complexity and duration of many processing tasks, including the interpretation of narrative. Indeed, the concept of script, i.e. a type of knowledge representation that allows an expected sequence of events to be stored in the memory, was designed to explain how people are able to build up com­ plex interpretations of stories on the basis of very few textual or dis­ course cues (→ schemata). Whereas the term “scripts” was used to refer to kinds of world-knowledge that generate expectations about how sequences of events are supposed to unfold, “frames” referred to expectations about how domains of experience are likely to be struc­ tured at a given moment in time (Goffman 1974). Frames guide my ex­ pectations about the objects and decor that I am likely to find in a uni­ versity classroom as opposed to a prison cell; scripts guide my expecta­ tions about what I can expect to happen while ordering a beer in a bar as opposed to defending a doctoral dissertation. Although subsequent research on knowledge representations sug­ gests the limits as well as the possibilities of the original frame and script concepts (Sternberg 2003 provides a critical review), this early work has shaped cognitive narratology from its inception, informing the study of how particular features of narrative discourse cue particu­ lar kinds of processing strategies. Indeed, Jahn’s (1997) foundational essay in the field, mentioned above, draws on Minsky’s (1975) account of frames (among other relevant research) to redescribe from a cognitive perspective key aspects of Stanzel’s (1979) theory of narrative. In Jahn’s proposal, higher-order knowledge representations or frames en­

Cognitive Narratology

34

able interpreters of stories to disambiguate pronominal references, de­ cide whether a given sentence serves a descriptive or a thought-report­ ing function (e.g. depending on context “the train was late” might either be a thought mulled over by a character or part of the narrator’s own account of the narrated world), and, more generally, adopt a topdown as well as a bottom-up approach to narrative processing. A frame guides interpretation until such time as textual cues prompt the modi­ fication or substitution of that frame. In a similar vein, other theorists have explored how experiential rep­ ertoires, stored in the form of scripts, enable readers or listeners of stories to “fill in the blanks” and assume that if a narrator mentions a masked character running out of a bank with a satchel of money, then that character has in all likelihood robbed the bank in question. Analysts have also discussed how literary narratives in particular involve processes of script recruitment, disruption, and refreshment (Cook 1994; Herman 2002: 85–113; Stockwell 2002: 75–89), depending on how critically and reflexively the narratives relate to prevailing scripts. For her part, Emmott (1997) focuses on how what she calls contexts, or spatiotemporal nodes inhabited by configurations of individuals and entities, constrain pronoun interpretation. Information about contexts attaches itself to mental representations that Emmott terms “contextual frames.” An action performed by (or on) a given configuration of parti­ cipants is necessarily indexed to a particular context and must be viewed within that context, even if the context is never fully reactivated (after its initial mention) linguistically. For example, if a charac­ ter in a short story orders a beer in a bar, then even if elements of the setting are not mentioned again readers can assume that subsequent verbal and nonverbal actions performed by the character continue to take place in the bar—until such time as linguistic signals cue a frameswitch (e.g. “Several days later, he saw his friend […],” or “Later that night, when he had reached his apartment […]”). Finally, Palmer (2004) also draws on elements of the early work on knowledge representations, studying how readers’ world-knowledge allows them to make sense of a variety of techniques for representing fictional charac­ ters’ minds. Palmer explores how readers construct inferences about fictional minds by using various textual indicators, including thought reports, speech representations, and descriptions of behaviors that span the continuum linking mental with physical actions. More generally, a cluster of publications appeared in the second half of the 1990s, all of them adding impetus to the “cognitive turn” in narrative studies that had been prepared for by research conducted in the 1970s and 1980s and that had been directly anticipated by Turner

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(1991). 1996 saw the appearance of Fludernik’s richly synthetic ac­ count of natural narratology, which integrates ideas from literary narra­ tology, the history of English language and literature, research on natural-language narratives told in face-to-face communication, and cognitive linguistics to isolate “experientiality,” or the felt, subjective aware­ ness of an experiencing mind, as a core property of → narrativity. Turner’s (1996) own extrapolation from cognitive-linguistic models of metaphor to account for human intelligence in terms of parabolic projec­ tions, or the mapping of source stories onto target stories to make sense of the world, was also published in 1996. The year before, the influen­ tial volume Deixis in Narrative had appeared (Duchan et al. eds. 1995); contributions to this volume characterize narrative comprehension in terms of deictic shifts, whereby interpreters shift from the spatiotem­ poral coordinates of the here-and-now to various cognitive vantagepoints that they are cued to occupy by textual signals distributed in nar­ rative discourse (Ryan 1991; Werth 1999). This spate of publications over a five-year period (the list is by no means exhaustive) helps explain why the inaugural 2000 issue of the online journal Image [&] Narrative focused on cognitive narratology. It also helps account for the organization, just after the turn of the cen­ tury, of a number of edited volumes, special journal issues, and confer­ ences exploring intersections among cognition, literature, and culture as well as cognitive approaches to narrative in particular (e.g. Abbott ed. 2001; Richardson & Steen eds. 2002; Herman ed. 2003; Richardson & Spolsky eds. 2004). During the same period, theorists formulated a number of pertinent objections to (or at least reservations about) what Richardson & Steen termed a “cognitive revolution” in the study of lit­ erature and culture (Jackson 2005; Sternberg 2003). In particular, as noted in 4 below, scholars who remain skeptical about cognitive ap­ proaches to literature and culture in general, and about cognitive narra­ tology in particular, question the degree to which work of this kind rep­ resents true interdisciplinary convergence—as opposed to the selective (and sometimes ill-informed) borrowing of ideas and methods tailored to problem domains in other fields. 3.2 Emergent Trends in the Field It is still too early in the development of cognitive narratology to identify what its most important contributions to the broader field of narratology may eventually prove to be. Nonetheless, the present sub­ section provides a partial catalogue of pertinent studies, with the fol­ lowing subsections focusing on several areas in which research activity

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36

has already been especially productive. Relevant research includes: (a) cognitively inflected accounts of narrative → perspective in fiction­ al and nonfictional texts (van Peer & Chatman eds. 2001; Jahn 1996, 1999; Herman 2009b); (b) research on representations of the minds of characters and on the classes of textual cues that prompt readers to draw particular kinds of inferences about the contents and dispositions of those minds (Butte 2004; Cohn 1978; Herman 2007a; Palmer 2004; Zunshine 2006); (c) studies of emotions and emotion discourse and how they both illu­ minate and are illuminated by particular narrative texts as well as broader narrative traditions (Herman 2007b; Hogan 2003a); (d) research on the range of cognitive processes that support inferences about the spatiotemporal profile of a given storyworld, and about the degree to which a given text or representation can be assimil­ ated to the category “narrative”—that is, assigned at least some de­ gree of narrativity—in the first place (Fludernik 1996; Gerrig 1993; Herman 2002, 2009a; Hogan 2003b: 115–39; Jahn 1997; Ryan 1991, 2003); (e) research on the textual as well as cognitive factors underlying the key effects of narrative suspense, curiosity, and surprise, and more broadly on how the temporal order in which elements of a narrative are encountered can shape interpreters’ overall sense of a story­ world (Gerrig 1993; Perry 1979; Sternberg 1978, 1990, 1992); (f) research more generally on phenomena pertaining to the interface between narratives and the mind-brain of the interpreter, such as the activation of “identity themes” (Holland 1975) or the (poten­ tial) stimulation of empathetic responses (Keen 2007)—in other words, attempts to formulate what Eder (2003) terms “cognitive re­ ception theories”; (g) studies of narrative as a resource for navigating and making sense of computer-mediated environments (Ryan 2001, 2006); (h) empirical studies that, relying on techniques ranging from the measuring of reading times to methods of corpus analysis to the elicitation of diagrams of storyworlds, seek to establish demon­ strable correlations between what Bortolussi & Dixon (2003) term “text features” and “text effects”—i.e. between textual structures and the processing strategies that they set into play (Gerrig 1993; Ryan 2003; Herman 2005); and (i) intermedial research suggesting that narrative functions as a cognitive “macroframe” enabling interpreters to identify stories or story-

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like elements across any number of semiotic media (→ mediacy and narrative mediation)—literary, pictorial, musical, etc. (Wolf 2003; Ryan ed. 2004; Herman 2009a). Several of these initiatives can be singled out as especially generative for cognitive-narratological research: namely, study of the cognitive processes underlying interpreters’ ability to construct (and immerse themselves more or less fully within) storyworlds; research on issues pertaining to consciousness representation; and, relatedly, analyses of emotion and emotion discourse vis-à-vis stories and storytelling. 3.2.1 Narrative Ways of Worldmaking: Cognitive Dimensions Mapping words onto worlds is a fundamental—perhaps the fundamental—requirement for narrative sense making. Approaches such as deict­ ic shift theory (Duchan et al. eds. 1995) and contextual frame theory help reveal the complex cognitive processes underlying narrative ways of worldmaking; they also suggest how configuring narrative worlds entails mapping discourse cues onto the WHAT, WHERE, and WHEN factors whose interplay accounts for the ontological make-up and spatiotem­ poral profile of a given storyworld. An approach based on shifting deictic centers indicates how narrative worlds are structured around cognitive vantage points that may change over the course of an unfold­ ing story. Likewise, based on the assumption that characters will be bound into and out of particular contexts over time as well as the as­ sumption that such contexts will be distributed spatially as well as tem­ porally, Emmott’s (1997) contextual frame theory points to the nexus of the WHAT, WHERE, and WHEN factors in narrative worldmaking. Furthermore, reconsidered from a cognitive-narratological perspective, earlier narratological scholarship can be read anew, providing fur­ ther insight into the cognitive processes underlying the (re)construction of narrative worlds. Genette’s (1972) influential account of time in nar­ rative, for example, can be motivated as a heuristic framework for studying the WHEN component of world creation (→ time). When Genette distinguishes between simultaneous, retrospective, prospective, and “intercalated” modes of narration (as in the epistolary novel, where the act of narration postdates some events but precedes others), these narrative modes can now be interpreted in light of the different kinds of structure that they afford for worldmaking. Retrospective nar­ ration accommodates the full scope of a storyworld’s history, allowing a narrator to signal connections between earlier and later events through proleptic foreshadowings of the eventual impact of a charac­ ter’s actions on his or her cohorts. Simultaneous narration, in which

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events are presented in tandem with the interpreter’s effort to compre­ hend the contours and boundaries of the narrated domain, does not al­ low for such anticipations-in-hindsight; rather, inferences about the im­ pact of events on the storyworld remain tentative, probabilistic, openended (Margolin 1999). In short, classical, structuralist accounts like Genette’s suggest how a narrative world is “thickened” by forays back­ ward and forward in time and throws into relief the processing strategies triggered by such temporal agglutination (Sternberg 1978, 1990, 1992). 3.2.2 Issues of Consciousness Representation In her foundational study of strategies for representing consciousness in narrative fiction, Cohn (1978) draws on theories of → speech representation as the basis for her account of how narrative texts afford ac­ cess to fictional minds. Just as narratives can use direct discourse, in­ direct discourse, and free indirect discourse to present the utterances of characters, fictional texts can use what Cohn calls quoted monologue, psycho-narration, and narrated monologue to represent the thought pro­ cesses of fictional minds. Subsequent theorists, seeking to underscore even more clearly the assumed analogy between modes of speech and thought representation, have renamed Cohn’s three modes as direct thought, indirect thought, and free indirect thought, respectively (Leech & Short 1981). As Palmer (2004) notes, however, this classical or “speech category” approach captures only some of the phenomena rel­ evant for research on narrative representations of consciousness. For Palmer, the speech-category approach has induced analysts to focus solely on inner speech, with the result that theories of consciousness representation in narrative have been “distorted by the grip of the verbal norm” (53). Yet narrative understanding in fact hinges on a wide variety of inferences about the states, dispositions, and processes of fic­ tional minds—including inferences about the felt, subjective nature of their experience (i.e. the “qualia” specific to their particularized vant­ age-point on the storyworld [Nagel 1974]) as well as their folk psycho­ logy, or method for framing inferences about what is going on in their own and others’ minds. When characters use folk-psychological models to explain their own and others’ motivations and intentions, they are drawing on fundamental, generic processes by which humans attribute mental states, proper­ ties, and dispositions both to themselves and to their social cohorts. These processes have been described as the native “Theory of Mind” in terms of which people make sense of their cohorts’ behavior (Zunshine 2006). At issue is people’s everyday understanding of how thinking

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works, the rough-and-ready heuristics to which they resort in thinking about thinking itself—a heuristics used to impute motives or goals to self and other and to make predictions about future reactions to events. Such thinking about thinking points beyond inner speech and solitary self-communings to the “social mind in action” that Palmer identifies as the object of study for postclassical approaches to consciousness representation (2004: 130–69). 3.2.3 Emotion, Emotion Discourse, and “Emotionology” As Stearns (1995) points out, there is a basic tension between naturalist and constructionist approaches to emotion. Naturalists argue for the ex­ istence of innate, biologically grounded emotions that are more or less uniform across cultures and subcultures (Hogan 2003a). By contrast, constructionists argue that emotions are culturally specific (Stearns 1995). As Adolphs (2005) suggests, however, the naturalist and con­ structionist positions can be reconciled if emotions are viewed as (a) shaped by evolutionary processes and implemented in the brain, but also (b) situated in a complex network of stimuli, behavior, and other cognitive states. Because of (b), the shared stock of emotional re­ sponses is mediated by culturally specific learning processes. Further, to study the cultural and rhetorical grounding of emotion discourse, theorists working at the intersection of psychology, history, and ethno­ graphy have developed the concept of “emotionology,” which concerns the collective emotional standards of a culture as opposed to the experience of emotion itself. The term functions in parallel with recent us­ ages of ontology to designate a model of the entities, together with their properties and relations, that exist within a particular domain. Every culture and subculture has an emotionology, which is a frame­ work for conceptualizing emotions, their causes, and how participants in discourse are likely to display them. Narratives, which at once ground themselves in and help build frameworks of this sort, provide insight into a culture’s or subculture’s emotionology—and also into how members of the (sub)culture use these systems to make sense of minds. Everyday storytelling as well as literary narratives deploy and in some cases thematize emotion terms and concepts; for example, spy thrillers, and romance novels are recog­ nizable as such because of the way they link particular kinds of emo­ tions to recurrent narrative scenarios. What is more, stories also have the power to (re)shape emotionology itself. Narrative therapy, for in­ stance, involves the construction of stories about the self in which the emotional charge habitually carried by particular actions or routines can be defused or at least redirected (Mills 2005).

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4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) Eder (2003: 284 n. 14) sets up a scale of seven possible relation­ ships between cognitive reception theories and narratology. These pos­ sibilities run the gamut from impossibility to unrelated coexistence to the outright assimilation of narratology to cognitive theory. A more general question can be extrapolated from Eder’s analysis: to what ex­ tent does the research conducted to date warrant commitment to the possibility of integrating narratological theory with ideas from the cog­ nitive sciences? (b) Relatedly, Sternberg (2003) has raised questions about the degree to which cognitive narratology enables true methodo­ logical convergence among the domains of inquiry that it encompasses. Part of the problem lies in the attempt to translate foundational con­ cepts such as “frames” and “scripts,” “emotion,” and even “narrative” across what remains for Sternberg a disciplinary divide between hu­ manistic and social-scientific research. As this critique suggests, if cog­ nitive narratology is to become a bonafide inter-discipline, it must work toward combining its source concepts and methods into a whole which is greater—more capable of description and explanation—than the sum of its parts. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Abbott, H. Porter, ed. (2001). “On the Origins of Fiction: Interdisciplinary Perspectives.” Special issue of SubStance 30.1. Adolphs, Ralph (2005). “Could a Robot Have Emotions? Theoretical Perspective from Social Cognitive Neuroscience.” M. Arbib & J.-M. Fellous (eds). Who Needs Emo­ tions: The Brain Meets the Robot. Oxford: Oxford UP, 9–28. Barthes, Roland ([1966] 1977). “Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narratives.” Image Music Text. New York: Hill & Wang, 79–124. Bortolussi, Marisa & Peter Dixon (2003). Psychonarratology: Foundations for the Empirical Study of Literary Response. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Butte, George (2004). I know That You Know That I Know: Narrating Subjects from Moll Flanders to Marnie. Columbus: Ohio State UP. Cohn, Dorrit (1978). Transparent Minds: Narrative Modes for Presenting Conscious­ ness in Fiction. Princeton: Princeton UP. Cook, Guy (1994). Discourse and Literature. Oxford: Oxford UP. Culler, Jonathan (1975). “Literary Competence” & “Convention and Naturalization.” J. C. Structuralist Poetics. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 113−30 & 131−60. Duchan, Judith F., et al. eds. (1995). Deixis in Narrative: A Cognitive Science Per­ spective. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum.

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Eder, Jens (2003). “Narratology and Cognitive Reception Theories.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyer, 277–301. Emmott, Catherine (1997). Narrative Comprehension: A Discourse Perspective. Ox­ ford: Oxford UP. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. Gerrig, Richard J. (1993). Experiencing Narrative Worlds: On the Psychological Activ­ ities of Reading. New Haven: Yale UP. Goffman, Erving (1974). Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience. New York: Harper & Row. Herman, David (1999). “Introduction.” D. H. (ed). Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 1–30. – (2002). Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Neb­ raska P. – (2003). “Stories as a Tool for Thinking.” D. H. (ed). Narrative Theory and the Cognitive Sciences. Stanford: CSLI, 163–92. – (2005). “Quantitative Methods in Narratology: A Corpus-based Study of Motion Events in Stories.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology Beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 125–49. – (2007a). “Cognition, Emotion, and Consciousness.” D. H. (ed). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 245–59. – (2007b). “Storytelling and the Sciences of Mind: Cognitive Narratology, Discursive Psychology, and Narratives in Face-to-Face Interaction.” Narrative 15, 306–34. – (2009a). Basic Elements of Narrative. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. – (2009b). “Beyond Voice and Vision: Cognitive Grammar and Focalization Theory.” P. Hühn et al. (eds). Point of View, Perspective, and Focalization: Model­ ing Mediacy in Narrative. Berlin: de Gruyter, 119–42. – ed. (2003). Narrative Theory and the Cognitive Sciences. Stanford: CSLI. Hogan, Patrick Colm (2003a). The Mind and Its Stories: Narrative Universals and Hu­ man Emotion. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. – (2003b). Cognitive Science, Literature, and the Arts: A Guide for Humanists. Lon­ don: Routledge. Holland, Norman (1975). 5 Readers Reading. New Haven: Yale UP. Ingarden, Roman ([1931] 1973). The Literary Work of Art. Evanston: Northwestern UP. Iser, Wolfgang ([1972] 1974). The Implied Reader: Patterns of Communication in Prose Fiction from Bunyan to Beckett. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Jackson, Tony E. (2005). “Explanation, Interpretation, and Close Reading: The Pro­ gress of Cognitive Poetics.” Poetics Today 26, 519–33. Jahn, Manfred (1996). “Windows of Focalization: Deconstructing and Reconstructing a Narratological Concept.” Style 30, 241–67. – (1997). “Frames, Preferences, and the Reading of Third-Person Narratives: Toward a Cognitive Narratology.” Poetics Today 18, 441–68.

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(1999). “More Aspects of Focalization: Refinements and Applications.” J. Pier (ed). Recent Trends in Narratological Research. Tours: GRAAT, 85–110. Jauss, Hans Robert ([1977] 1982). Toward an Aesthetic of Reception. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Keen, Suzanne (2007). Empathy and the Novel. Oxford: Oxford UP. Leech, Geoffrey & Michael Short (1981). Style in Fiction. London: Longman. Mandler, Jean Matter (1984). Stories, Scripts, and Scenes: Aspects of Schema Theory. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum. Margolin, Uri (1999). “Of What Is Past, Is Passing, or to Come: Temporality, Aspectu­ ality, Modality, and the Nature of Narrative.” D. Herman (ed) Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 142–66. Mills, Linda (2005). “Narrative Therapy.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclo­ pedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 375–76. Minsky, Marvin (1975). “A Framework for Representing Knowledge.” P. Winston (ed). The Psychology of Computer Vision. New York: McGraw-Hill, 211–77. Nagel, Thomas (1974). “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” Philosophical Review 83, 435– 50. Palmer, Alan (2004). Fictional Minds. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Perry, Menakhem (1979). “Literary Dynamics: How the Order of a Text Creates Its Meanings.” Poetics Today 1.1/2, 35–64, 311–61. Richardson, Alan & Ellen Spolsky, ed. (2004). The Work of Fiction: Cognition, Cul­ ture, and Complexity. Aldershot: Ashgate. Richardson, Alan & Francis F. Steen, ed. (2002). “Literature and the Cognitive Revolu­ tion.” Special issue of Poetics Today 23. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – (2001). Narrative as Virtual Reality: Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (2003). “Cognitive Maps and the Construction of Narrative Space.” D. Herman (ed). Narrative Theory and the Cognitive Sciences. Stanford: CSLI, 214–42. – (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – ed. (2004). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Schank, Roger C. & Robert P. Abelson (1977). Scripts, Plans, Goals and Understand­ ing: An Inquiry into Human Knowledge Structures. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum. Stanzel, Franz K. ([1979] 1984). A Theory of Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Stearns, Peter (1995). “Emotion.” R. Harré & P. Stearns (eds). Discursive Psychology in Practice. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 37–54. Sternberg, Meir (1978). Expositional Modes and Temporal Ordering in Fiction. Bal­ timore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (1990). “Telling in Time (I): Chronology and Narrative Theory.” Poetics Today 11, 901–48. – (1992). “Telling in Time (II): Chronology, Teleology, Narrativity.” Poetics Today 13, 463–541. – (2003). “Universals of Narrative and Their Cognitivist Fortunes (I).” Poetics Today 24, 297–395.

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Stockwell, Peter (2002). Cognitive Poetics: An Introduction. London: Routledge. Tompkins, Jane, ed. (1980). Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to PostStructuralism. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Turner, Mark (1991). Reading Minds: The Study of English in the Age of Cognitive Science. Princeton: Princeton UP. – (1996). The Literary Mind. Oxford: Oxford UP. van Peer, Willie & Seymour Chatman, eds. (2001). New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective. Albany: State U of New York P. Werth, Paul (1999). Text Worlds: Representing Conceptual Space in Discourse. Lon­ don: Longman. Wolf, Werner (2003). “Narrative and Narrativity: A Narratological Reconceptualization and Its Applicability to the Visual Arts.” Word [&] Image 19, 180–97. Zunshine, Lisa (2006). Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Colum­ bus: Ohio State UP.

5.2 Further Reading
Brockmeier, Jens & Donal Carbaugh, eds. (2001). Narrative and Identity: Studies in Autobiography, Self and Culture. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Bruner, Jerome (1990). Acts of Meaning. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Herman, David (2009). “Cognitive Approaches to Narrative Analysis.” G. Brône & J. Vandaele (eds). Cognitive Poetics: Goals, Gains, and Gaps. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 79–118. Jahn, Manfred (2005). “Cognitive Narratology.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge En­ cyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 67–71. Vygotsky, Lev S. (1978). Mind in Society: The Development of Higher Psychological Processes. Cambridge: Harvard UP.

Coherence
Michael Toolan 1 Definition As a technical term, as distinct from its use in cultural activities to de­ note a range of qualities deemed desirable (e.g. clarity, orderliness, reasonableness, logicality, “making sense,” and even persuasiveness), coherence has tended to be regarded as a textlinguistic (TL) notion. From its everyday senses, textlinguistic coherence has inherited some defining criteria, in particular the assumption that it denotes those qual­ ities in the structure and design of a text that prompt language users to judge that “everything fits,” that the identified textual parts all contrib­ ute to a whole, which is communicationally effective. But there has al­ ways been a tension in the linguistic analysis of coherence, rooted in the recognition that TL “rules” for textual coherence (e.g. rules of anaphora, norms of paragraphing and paragraph structure) are inevitably general and therefore insensitive to the unique contextual pressures of the particular text, on the one hand, while on the other, judgments of coherence are very much based on what addressees assess as relevant and informative in the unique discoursal circumstances of the individu­ al text. This tension is often summarized as a distinction between (purely linguistic) cohesion and (contextualized) coherence: the former is neither necessary nor sufficient for the latter, even if it is normally a main contributory feature (de Beaugrande & Dressler 1981; Giora 1985). In broad terms, it is now widely recognized that coherence is ulti-mately a pragmatically-determined quality, requiring close atten­ tion to the specific sense made of the text in the cultural context. This might suggest that determining coherence is a simple matter of apply­ ing common sense in context; but narratives often go beyond common sense, that transcending being crucial to their importance and tellability, so that narratological studies of coherence suggest common sense is not a sufficient guide.

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2 Explication Although it is not usually foremost among the interests of narratolo­ gists, coherence is implicitly regarded as an important feature of narrative. All formalist, structuralist, or psycholingistic modelings of story and discourse that propose any kind of morphology or grammar (those of Propp, Barthes, Genette, Greimas, Mandler & Johnson 1977, Thorn­ dyke 1977, Stein & Glenn 1979, to name only a selection) can be viewed as including elements regarded as essential to narrative coher­ ence. For TL, it is often convenient to identify particular main subtypes of coherence, such as temporal, causal, and thematic coherence as well as topic-maintenance and -furtherance. Because of general expectations of unity, continuity and perseveration in story topic, coherent narrative seems to involve a healthy amount of repetition and near repetition (repetition with alteration), including forms of lexical repetition and se­ mantic recurrence. Thus Chatman (1978: 30–1) mentions the assump­ tion of perseveration of identity with respect to naming of characters (→ character) as a kind of coherence automatically relied on in narratives: if there is a sequence of mentions of Peter falling ill, later dying, later being buried, it is assumed these refer to one and the same Peter. Some sense of the continuity of existents—hence of assumed co-refer­ ence where there are multiple mentions of a single name—is the norm. On the other hand, abundance of quasi-repetitive language seems to be the cohesive corollary—in extended texts such as literary narratives— of the coherence requirement of unified connectedness. However, no simple standard of topic or thematic unity and continuity will apply generally. In actuality, in narratives as in other forms of discourse, the norm is for there to be multiple topics, complexly related to each other, so that the local absence of maintenance of topic A by no means cre­ ates incoherence (where topic B or C is being developed). Perhaps more than anything else, narratological studies of coher­ ence highlight the insufficiency of a “common sense” approach to the issue. It is perfectly true that stories that defy normal expectations about time, intention, goal, causality, or closure may fail to elicit in­ terest and be judged incoherent or incomplete by some readers; but these departures from the norm, singly or jointly, do not invariably lead to incoherence. Similarly, narratologists recognize that a story that be­ gins at the chronological end, then jumps to the chronological begin­ ning, moves forward two years from that point, and then moves back­ ward one month, and so on may be difficult to follow. Difficulties of reader-processing caused by achronological narration, or under-ex­ plained shifts in setting or character, even when extreme, do not invari­

Coherence

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ably amount to incoherence, either. And, as McAdams (2006: 113) re­ minds us, norms concerning narrative coherence can vary considerably from one society or culture to the next; these expectations are also de­ pendent on period and genre (cf. Jauss 1977 on “horizons of expecta­ tion” and Culler 1975 on “naturalization”). 3 History of the Concept and its Study A history of the concept of narrative coherence must begin with men­ tion of Aristotle’s Poetics, which insists on completeness of plot with a beginning, a middle, and an end, unity of incident, the episode as central to tragedy, and structure by means of complication followed by un­ raveling or denouement: “the muthos must imitate a single, unified and complete sequence of action. Its incidents must be organised in such a way that if any is removed or has its position changed, the whole is dis­ located and disjointed. If something can be added or taken away without any obvious effect, it is not intrinsic to the whole” (1416a 31– 4). Other major landmarks in Western discourse on coherence in nar­ rative or drama include promotion of the “three unities” in 17th-century neo-classicism (and put into practice in the plays of Corneille and Ra­ cine); Aristotle was invoked, but prescriptively, demanding unity of time, place, and action. In other dramatic traditions, however, such re­ strictive requirements were freely ignored (e.g. Shakespeare). In the modern period, Poe’s (1846) poetics of composition, with its advocacy of brevity, hidden craft, and unity of effect, can be mentioned with ref­ erence to narrative coherence, as can Propp’s (1928) morphological modeling of the folktale, Lämmert’s (1955) “forms of narrative con­ struction,” Stanzel’s (1955, 1979) narrative situations, several of the articles in the landmark volume 8 (1966) of the review Communica­ tions, Prince’s (1973) narrative grammar, van Dijk’s treatment of text grammars (1972), and some work by Todorov (1971, 1978) as well as his foundational narrative grammar of the Decameron (1969). 3.1 Coherence in Textlinguistic Studies Halliday & Hasan’s (1976) study of cohesion in English is often cited as a pioneering enquiry into the key resources in a language for under­ pinning textual coherence, indeed for the creation of genuine text. They look chiefly at inter-sentential grammatical mechanisms (e.g. means of co-reference via personal and indefinite pronouns, projecting of re­ latedness via retrievable ellipsis, use of sense-conveying sentential con­ junctions), and they also comment, less systematically, on how texts

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Coherence

display coherence by elaborate means of lexical collocation and association. Despite a generally enthusiastic welcome for their work, lin­ guists were quick to emphasize that cohesion seemed neither necessary nor sufficient for textual coherence (particularly in the case of short, deeply situationally-embedded “texts”). More importantly, Halliday & Hasan, like other grammarians, do not fully address the specific de­ mands of cohesion and coherence of narrative. De Beaugrande & Dressler (1981) remains an important and still influential overview of text structure which delineates seven standards of “textuality”: (a) co­ hesion (mutually connected elements of the surface text); (b) coherence (the configuration of concepts and relations which underlie the surface text); (c) intentionality (instrumentalizing of cohesion and coherence according to the producer’s intention); (d) acceptability (use or relevance of the cohesive and coherent text to the receiver); (e) informativ­ ity (degree to which the occurrences of the text are (un)expected or (un)known); (f) situationality (relevance of a text to a situation); (g) in­ tertextuality (presupposed knowledge of one or more previous texts). There are many exemplifications, in the linguistic and discourse analytic literature, of discourse deemed to have cohesion without co­ herence, or the reverse. One of the better known comes in Brown & Yule (1983), where the doorbell rings at the apartment of a couple, A and B. A says to B: “There’s the doorbell.” B replies: “I’m in the bath.” Here, the total absence of textual cohesive links between the two utter­ ances does not prevent B’s response being entirely coherent. Brown & Yule ascribe the coherence of the AB exchange above to assumed “se­ mantic relations” between the utterances, which relations must lean heavily on familiar schemata or cultural “scripts.” Such mental chal­ lenges seem quite slight, however, by comparison with the challenges to sense-making posed by contemporary fictional narration and dia­ logue by writers like DeLillo (e.g. in Underworld) and Mamet (e.g. the opening of his play Oleanna, in which just one half, highly elliptical, of a lengthy telephone conversation is accessible to the playgoer or reader). And these texts in turn are considerably more accessible, co­ herence-minded, than many narrative poems published during the last hundred years. Innumerable linguists have grappled over the years with the topic of discourse coherence and its bases. One of the richer overviews remains that of Brown & Yule (1983), which contains many observations ori­ ented to helping clarify what makes for discourse coherence (a more recent introductory text, also containing valuable discussion of coher­ ence, is Georgakopoulou & Goutsos 1997). Brown & Yule emphasize the inherent contextualization that accompanies any verbal text and the

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role of normal expectations, shaping memories of past verbal material and the initial efforts at interpreting newly-encountered language. The sections of Halliday & Hasan (1976) devoted to lexis can be seen as an early attempt to systematize Firth’s collocational text­ linguistic thesis; also relevant is the work of Sinclair & Coulthard (1975). Firthian collocational ideas have recently been elaborated in a different direction in Hoey’s theory of lexical priming (Hoey 2005), which argues that for a large number of texts conforming to one genre or another, language users are primed to expect certain patterns of word-choice, appearing at certain points (and not others) in the sen­ tence, in the paragraph, and in the discourse structure. But as already indicated, linguistic form is not always necessary to achieve coherence: “part of discourse competence involves an ability to discover discourse coherence where it is not evident in the surface lexical or propositional cohesion” (Stubbs 1983: 179). Citing the doting parents of babbling infants as simply an extreme example of “interpretive charity,” Brown & Yule emphasise the human bias in favor of assuming a coherent message amenable to coherent in­ terpretation. Addressees “naturally” attribute relevance and coherence to any text or discourse until evidence to the contrary is overwhelming. Echoing Grice (1975), they argue that a rational assumption of relevance has shaped any speaker’s (or writer’s) contribution. Where an ut­ terance’s relevance, orderliness, informativeness and truthfulness is not obvious, a search for their covert presence is warranted. A corollary of this is that a speaker or writer can be assumed to be continuing to speak or write of the same spatiotemporal setting and the same characters, un­ less a change is explicitly signaled. Most fundamentally, humans “nat­ urally assume coherence, and interpret the text in the light of that as­ sumption. They assume, that is, that the principles of analogy [things will tend to be as they were before: MT] and local interpretation [if there is a change, assume it is minimal: MT] constrain the experience” (Brown & Yule 1983: 66–7). For such reasons, Yaron has argued that analysts should calibrate texts in terms of their displaying “high or low degrees of explicit coherence. Differentiating thus would make it pos­ sible to include among coherent texts those that the reader has imbued with implicit connections” (Yaron 2008: 139). As Bublitz (1999: 2) re­ cognizes in his somewhat negatively-phrased definition, coherence is “a cognitive category that depends on the language user’s interpretation and is not an invariant property of discourse.” We should not overstate the contrast between those who study co­ herence as a linguistic property of texts and those who focus on the dis­ course reception and the addressee’s attributing of coherence to a text,

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Coherence

guided by cultural norms, cognitive scripts and schemata. There is of­ ten no fundamental opposition between the two approaches, but rather a division of labor and of disciplinary interest; some contributions at­ tempt to combine TL and cognitive or receptionist concerns (e.g. cer­ tain approaches to → narrativity, Emmott 1997 on comprehension, Toolan 2009 on narrative progression). Ultimately, very much the same point can be made regarding coherence in narratives and narration as is made concerning narratological accounts of → events and eventful­ ness. In the latter, the point is made that many accounts are vulnerable to the criticism that they appeal largely to textual structure, whereas ul­ timately cultural norms and expectations cannot be excluded from the calculation of eventfulness (see Hühn 2008). Similarly, an entirely textimmanent treatment (or grammar) of narrative coherence seems only locally possible, relative to particular genres or culture-specific types of narrative, rather than universally valid. And even here, like any grammar, the norms are susceptible to variation and change. Thus any­ thing approximating a grammar of narrative coherence will sooner or later fail, by virtue of its insensitivity to context. Lesser & Milroy (1993) make this point concerning discourse coherence generally: not­ withstanding certain kinds of familiar scripts and stereotyped situations, top-down models which attempt to extend syntactic analytic methods, by postulating a set of rules by reference to which discourses can be judged ill-formed or coherent, have tended to fail. Discourse and discourse coherence is so often a joint production, influenced by context and assumed background knowledge, that decontextualized standards for the specifying of coherence are unsatisfactory. For all the above reasons, we must conclude that coherence and full interpretation of a text often requires that we have access to more than the text alone. As Georgakopoulou & Goutsos ([1997] 2004: 16) note, we often need to know “who the text-producer is, what the intended audience is, what the time and place of text-production and reception are […] and the purpose or function of the text in the speech com­ munity in which it has been created.” One of the challenges and in­ terests of much literary narration, however, lies in the radical underspecification or unreliability of answers to many of these questions. Literary narratives give rise to much-debated uncertainty concerning “who speaks?” in particular stories or passages, where and when events are reported to have taken place (in which storyworld?), and for what purpose; much of this is dependent on genre and text-type conventions and their cultural and historical variation.

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3.2 Degrees of Coherence There are degrees of TL cohesion, and more importantly, according to addressee judgments, degrees of coherence, ranging from the minimal to the maximal. Additionally, broad user assumptions about the subtype of text involved help to guide or constrain coherence norms and expectations. In the case of narratives, such generic norms include the presence of story or plot, of an inter-related event sequence, of focus on one or a few characters undergoing change, and of a situation of sta­ bility developing a disequilibrium following which a renewed but altered equilibrium emerges (closure). As implied above, there are arguably minimal and maximal notions of coherence, as this concept has been developed and applied in lin­ guistics generally and narrative studies in particular. Minimal or basic coherence is that property attributed to sequences of utterances or sen­ tences, in a particular context of speaking or writing, which prompts participants or observers to judge that the full sequence “makes sense,” fits together, and forms a (spoken or written) text. The implied contrast is with randomly assembled phrases or sentences or utterances having no discernible sense of connection between them, being merely the parts from which various (different) texts might be assembled. Any text is coherent or projects coherence if it is interpretable as parts compris­ ing an effective or useable whole. The more particular interest here is in what constitutes a whole narrative text (as distinct from a text of no particular kind). An immediate complication, in the creation or design­ ing for coherence in texts generally, and perhaps especially in narratives, is the elliptical, the implied, the unsaid but inferable or adducible (such that a text has a covert wholeness). Prototype theory (Rosch 1978; Bortolussi & Dixon 2003) has been shown to be relevant to pro­ jections of narrative coherence; typification as an interpretive resource is very important in Stanzel 1955; and many approaches to inferability and its putative steps or degrees have been proposed: see Ingarden (1931) on reading as the creation of coherence; cf. also Schmid (2003) on narrativity and eventfulness. A maximal notion of coherence is invoked where analysts demand that all the segments of a text (however that segmentation is imposed: e.g. sentence by sentence, or shot by shot or scene by scene in film, or in some other way) fit together in multiple respects, to the point that every segment is deemed an indispensable part of the whole. But such an absolute standard is neither usual nor even optimal. Longer or more complex narratives where every segment fits and is indispensable for coherence seem rare. In a novel or film of normal length, absence or

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presence of a few sentences or of a few shots—provided they are se­ mantically congruent with adjacent material—rarely causes significant damage to the work’s perceived coherence; this would accord with general linguistic principles of acceptable ellipsis and redundancy: not everything needs to be “spelled out” in communication (interpreters can tolerate reasonable gaps), but iterative statement is also often ac­ ceptable. It may be that coherence is analogous to the main load-bearing structure of a house, by contrast with various walls and materials whose present or absence has little or no effect on the robustness of the main building. By that reasoning, where the wall between the lounge and the study is non-load-bearing, one might be inclined to say that “on coherence grounds” it does not matter whether the wall is present or is removed. And yet one might immediately make the rejoinder that, on the contrary, a study without a wall sealing it off from the noisy lounge, the site of informal sociality, is no longer a fully coherent or coherently-functional study. So the limits and scope of coherence, in buildings and in texts, is by no means a settled question. 3.3 Coherence in Psychological Studies In the psychological literature relating to narrative representations, co­ herence is viewed as established by means of a collaboration of the text (spoken or written) and the receiving mind of the listener or reader. But the reader’s mental contribution is judged essential, so that coherence is in effect “a mental entity” (Gernsbacher & Givón 1995: vii). A text is deemed coherent if it is judged intelligible, with “no required materi­ al or information missing.” Immediately a clarification is needed, how­ ever: by “missing” here is meant “total absence from the text” without reasonable possibility of retrieval by means of ellipsis-detection, infer­ ence, attention to relevant context and background knowledge, or simil­ ar textually-facilitated means. So the key contrast here, with respect to coherence, is between contextually retrievable relevant information, and contextually unretrievable relevant information: the more there ap­ pears to be of the latter, the less coherent the narrative will be. But there seems to be no possibility of a fully autonomous and generaliz­ able set of prescriptions as to what will count as relevant but unretriev­ able in any particular case, even if addressee attention to prototypical narrative patterns, genres, sub-genres, scripts, and cognitive frames can help to delimit the problem space. Narrative coherence is often regarded as the representation (or the possibility of producing a representation) of the narrative under scru­

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tiny as conforming to a “grammar” for the presentation, in licensed se­ quence, of a series of related events and states. But under a second definition it is the representation (or possibility of representation, by the reader/listener) of particular relations between the segments of a narrative: e.g. seeing one segment as a consequence following a reported cause, a further segment as an emotional response to a reported con­ sequence, and so on. Much psycholinguistic work on narrative is de­ voted to exploring the kinds and richness of inferencing that readers make in the course of interpreting stories (cf. Emmott 1997; Emmott et al. 2006; Gerrig 1993; Goldman et al. eds. 1999). 3.4 Creating a Storyworld A more contemporary narratological approach to coherence might be derived from the cognitivist idea that for full understanding and experi­ encing of a narrative, the interpreter must reconstruct a storyworld (Ryan 1991; Gerrig 1993; Herman 2002, 2009) or mental model, a rich projection of the entire, developing situation in which events, charac­ ters and their variously motivated actions are embedded. Where such reconstruction or imagining is thwarted (e.g. by narratorial or charac­ ter-derived vagueness, unreliability, inconsistency, or even self-contra­ diction), then the sense of coherence is undermined. In these respects, character is perhaps the most striking domain in which coherence with­ in the storyworld normally needs to be protected by the author: recent work on characterization and narrative comprehension (Margolin 1983, 1990; Culpeper 2001; Emmott 1997; Werth 1999; Schneider 2001) has done much to chart how interpreters draw on a text’s characterizations, in interaction with the given or assumed background and non-specific real-world knowledge, to understand and evaluate characters. Also relevant here is the cognitive narratological idea of a narrative storyworld (Herman 2002, 2009). But even the assumption of co-refer­ ence among uses of a proper name can be overridden, as in Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, where there are two quite distinct Quentins (uncle and niece). As Chatman implies, much of this inferencing is ba­ sic interpretation; it may be that narrative coherence is threatened or damaged where “basic inferencing” of this kind cannot easily or obvi­ ously apply. Beyond consistency of naming, each character will be ex­ pected to be physically, emotionally and mentally self-consistent— within reasonable or narrated limits. Thus a character at the close of a novel may not be quite the same person disclosed, many years earlier in the storyworld, at the novel’s opening; but the changes that are appar­ ent are congruent with the experiences also narrated, and the ambient

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conditions within the storyworld (if those conditions are fantastical or magical realist ones, where a dead character can return to life in some other form, then coherence may well be maintained). In short, the cri­ teria of coherence may change with genre, epoch, and culture. 3.5 The Pragmatics of Coherence: Cooperativeness and Relevance Despite the steady advance in the descriptions of narrative coherence from TL, cognitive linguistics, and psycholinguistics, it is to pragmat­ ics that many narrative analysts look for a general account of coher­ ence, and to the seminal ideas of Grice in particular. Grice (1975) pro­ pounds the idea that participants in a conversation are predisposed to cooperate, making their contributions—all other things being equal— suitably truthful, informative, relevant, and orderly; and, knowing this, one party to a conversation is entitled and can be expected to derive what Grice called “conversational implicatures” where another’s con­ tribution seems intentionally to diverge from reasonable truthfulness, informativity, relevance, and orderliness. What Grice applied to ideal­ ized conversational meaning, others have extended with due qualifica­ tions and adjustments to other uses of language, including literature (e.g. Pratt 1977; Watts 1981) and narrative (Bhaya Nair 2002; Bortolussi & Dixon 2003). On a par with Gricean conversational implicature is the notion of narrative implicature: the reader of a narrative assumes the general cooperativeness of the teller, and draws on powers of infer­ encing to fill out the sense of the information conveyed by the teller where these seems calculatedly incomplete or indirect. Following Grice, but moving in a more explicitly cognitivist direction, Sperber & Wilson (1986), and some attempts have been made to develop a spe­ cifically relevance-theoretical account of narrative implicature (Walsh 2007). If a coherent narrative is one in which there are sufficient overt or covert clues for the reader to see links, understand the text as a totality (i.e. the double logic of narration—a telling here and now of a unified sequence of events that happened then and there—is felt to be sus­ tained), see a point and a → tellability, then an incoherent narrative is one in which such clues seem to be insufficient. And since coherence (like conversation cooperativeness) is such a strong norm, its absence in turn may give rise to strong reactions of frustration, annoyance, re­ jection of the text as “unnatural,” absurd, or valueless (irrelevant in the Sperber & Wilson sense, of yielding little or no benefits for the inter­ pretive relevance-calculating efforts invested).

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3.6 Narrativity, Tellability, and Coherence Is narrative coherence essentially a matter of narrativity, substantially overlapping with the latter, such that a text that is judged high in nar­ rativity will by the same token be high in coherence? Everything de­ pends on how these terms are understood, and as one authoritative in­ troduction states, discussions of narrativity can soon become “a tangled web” of differently emphasized elements (Abbott [2002] 2008: 25). For some, the focus is primarily on plot or event-progression, the sense of a narrative arc; others emphasize the creation of a storyworld; different again is Fludernik’s emphasis on narrativity as “mediated experiential­ ity,” sourced in oral storytelling (for a recent overview of discussions of narrativity, see Prince 1999; for a thought-provoking rebuttal of nar­ ratology’s over-determining of progression, point, closure, etc., see Tammi 2005). Elsewhere, Fludernik treats narrativity as the quality of narrativehood that a reader can impose on a text by reading it as a nar­ rative, calling that process narrativization (Fludernik 1996: 34). Abbott (this publication) discusses narrativity under four headings, and by im­ plication four at least partly distinct aspects: as inherent or extensional; as scalar or intensional (perhaps the most widely-adopted conception); as varying according to narrative type or genre; and as a mode among modes. Mention should also be made of Pier & García Landa eds. (2008). The several understandings of narrativity on offer nevertheless suggest that it is a property of texts that is of a different order from co­ herence; texts can be high or low in coherence independently of their being high or low in narrativity. Generic and cultural narrative norms concerning tellability, nar­ rativity, event and eventfulness, and the nature of the narrator or im­ plied author are crucial in the shaping of reception (on which the work of Iser 1976 was seminal). Norms of narrativity and narrative compre­ hension are discussed (in addition to the authors cited above) by Kindt & Müller 2003; Culler 1975; Alber 2005; Emmott 1997. All the fore­ going concepts are in part ways of addressing the issue of coherence in narrative, and all point to the difficulty of teasing apart what can be called the intensional and the extensional aspects of narrative coher­ ence, or of making a distinction between what it consists in and how it is produced. Regarding the latter, reference can be made to patterns of grammatical and lexical cohesion at the level of récit or discours, and to the normal expectation of multiple connections in the projected storyworld and in the sequence of incidents (chiefly at the level of his­ toire); similarly, continuity in the schemata (frames or scripts) acti-

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vated on the discours level and in the references to the context, is usu­ al. But it remains controversial to claim that they are essential. 3.7 Challenges to Coherence One form of challenge to coherence is, significantly, almost a design feature of modern literary narratives: free indirect discourse. Being “unspeakable” sentences, radically divided or indeterminate between two deictic centers of utterance or footing, free indirect discourse text is inherently problematic on first encounter. No less challenging is metaphor. Where metaphor is intended but fails to be detected by the reader or listener, the perception of coherence will be put to the test; on the other hand, a reader’s ability to interpret superficially unconnected entities or processes as metaphorical can enable the recognition of co­ herence. Besides metaphor, milder threats to coherence include hyper­ bole, litotes, irony, sarcasm, and → metalepsis. Lying and misrepresentation often constitute an attempted counter-coherence, perhaps a coherence that seems more compelling or rewarding than the truth (cf. Iago’s wicked storytelling to Othello), so perhaps need not be covered here as a threatening of coherence, but a manipulation of it. Different again, and much more troubling for the reader/addressee, is the narra­ tion which is or is suspected of being unreliable. With unreliable narra­ tion, the reader is able to reconstruct two or more coherent versions of events and their motivation. But by their very nature, each coherent version implies the false coherence of the others. Another kind of chal­ lenge to perceptible coherence can come in a narrative centered upon the unfamiliar equipment and discourse of some specialist field or activity (neurosurgery, fly fishing, electronic engineering), to the point that the average addressee has only limited understanding of “what is going on.” One of the most basic of all challenges concerns continuity of topic: the sense that whatever a narrative is judged to be “about,” it is consist­ ently about that person or situation, without digressions or irrelevances. But typically, literary narratives are sufficiently multidimensional that, at any transition point, a multiplicity of relevant discoursal continu­ ations can reasonably be made and so must be chosen from. Flouting of the simplest topic-continuity and -progression does not invariably lead to incoherence (cf. Tristram Shandy as an early novelistic testing of topic and narrativity expectations). Lack of inferrable topic-attentive­ ness, in subsequent narration, may be grounds for suspecting incoher­ ence, but not conclusive grounds if, subsequently, some more global or

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macro-textual perspective can “repair” the textual situation by seeing a macro-thematic relevance among the seemingly unrelated material. What is the opposite of coherence, the greatest challenge to narrative coherence? It is common to cite “texts” comprising randomly con­ catenated sentences, with perhaps equally random sequencing of un­ connected words within those sentences, as exemplifying incoherence. By no reasonable means can the reader detect any covert sense in or behind the text; no hidden chain of unfolding events can be found. But another kind of coherence-challenge is presented by the narrative in which continuities of character, time, place, and event-chain are ac­ companied by “senseless” tragedy or comedy: the hero abruptly kills his lover without a shred of motivation or justification; or the wealthy main character is suddenly and inexplicably showered with untold wealth. These are such challenges to narrative expectation and norms of causation as to destabilize coherence-patterns concerning content, rather than form. What are at issue here are not forms of irrationality or immorality (there need be no lack of coherence—and plenty of interest and tellability—in narratives driven by these), but seemingly purely random unplanned, unplotted sequencing of events leading to an “unfit­ ting” outcome. In such narratives containing absurd or “senseless” tra­ gic or comic reversal, there is no prima facie incoherence, so they are often shunned on grounds of tellability and verisimilitude (even though we know that “inexplicable” tragedy or comedy are not uncommon in the real world). One means of further exploring coherence and its apparent absence is by trying to pinpoint the source of “incoherence” (where alleged) in notorious cases, such as Kafka’s Metamorphosis or the films of David Lynch (e.g. Mulholland Drive), or e. e. cummings’s poem “anyone lived in a pretty how town” (Cummings 1991). This nine-stanza poem, despite its interpretive challenges to the reader, is widely felt to tell a coherent narrative about a generic young couple, anyone and no-one, and indeed the poem was adapted into a short film by George Lucas. But there are textual characteristics which at first seem to militate against narrative coherence, such as the listing and chanting, and a gen­ eral uncertainty as to “what happens.” Despite various textual markers and cues which seem not to guarantee particularity of agentive exist­ ents (characters) or a clear sequence from opening lack to attempted fi­ nal completion, skilled readers find enough here to impose just such a narrativity frame on the text, and thus to naturalize it as adequate and tellable narrative. The naturalizing interpretive procedure is essentially probabilistic: given the kinds of genre-reflective clues in the poem, story or film under scrutiny, including particularity and continuity of

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settings, characters, events, and perceptibility of change of state, the whole is judged to make more sense when treated as a narrative than if not. Whatever the mode in which a narrative appears, more local coherence or processing challenges can be presented where the teller has opted for extensive narrative ellipsis, cutting, or gaps. Striking the most satisfactory balance between what is explicitly told or shown and what is left unsaid or unshown but to be inferred is as much an art as a sci­ ence, and again will vary with audience, culture, and narrative literacy. A different kind of challenge is presented by the following brief narrative: The lone ranger rode off into the sunset and jumped on his horse. This sentence is used in the pragmatics literature to exemplify the conventional sequential implicature of “and” (over and above its atemporal conjoining function, as in “eggs and bacon” or “buy and sell”). But if we judge the report to be narratively incoherent, on the grounds that the ranger must have jumped on his horse before riding off into the sunset, then this highlights the special coherence demands always created by the “double-logic” of narration (built on a sequence of events which are potentially reportable via a different sequence of textual or filmic segments). Because the narrative discourse, whatever its anachronies and shifts of voice or viewpoint, is ultimately matched to a projected (imagined) prior event-sequence story, it cannot radically misrepresent that story without risking incoherence. 3.8 Perceived Coherence Coherence must be not merely local (i.e. appropriate anaphoric or co­ hesive links between sentences), but global (appropriate relevance of most if not all sentences to an overarching theme or purpose; cf. Rein­ hart 1980; Kintsch & van Dijk 1978; Goldman et al. eds. 1999). How­ ever, one must be guarded about assuming that continuity alone (how­ ever defined) is what differentiates a text from “a random sequence of sentences (a non-text)” (Charolles & Ehrlich 1991: 254). A large body of poetry with greater or lesser degrees of narrativity (and not just post­ modern poetry) challenges our canons of continuity without being dis­ missable as non-text or incoherent. And as a rule of thumb, we can pos­ tulate that where some form of more global coherence is detectable, this will override or displace local discontinuities or incoherences. Fur­ thermore, human language-users can be remarkably resourceful in mak­ ing sense (global coherence) even where none is immediately apparent, e.g. by means of re-contextualizing or interpreting selected items or events metaphorically (a literary theoretical term for such processes is

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“naturalization”; cf. Culler 1975: 134–60; equally relevant is Fludernik’s 1996 conception of “narrativization”). Like beauty, coherence seems finally to be perceptual, in the eye or mind of the beholder. We preferentially look for “just one thing” to be narrated, in all necessary detail, and “completely.” This may involve a shifting of attention among numerous different things (characters, places, times, etc.), provided they can eventually be seen to interrelate. By contrast, a seemingly unmotivated and unpredictable shifting of at­ tention through a multiplicity of things is usually rejected as producing narrative incoherence. If at the ideational core of most narratives some kind of lack or problem is introduced, and an attempted resolution or completion of that lack or problem is then reported, then forms of nar­ rative that are judged to move far from this core will tend to be seen as less than fully coherent. Narrative’s emphasis on a unifiable lack and its attempted resolution means that there is a natural place here for the Aristotelian unities of time, place, and action, as further standard meas­ ures of coherence (to be departed from where this is justified). 4 Topics for Further Investigation What may have escaped notice is the borrowing of the more particular notion of “narrative coherence,” which is now frequently invoked in (inter alia) theories and practices of psychiatry (Fiese ed. 2001), human psychology (McAdams 2006), psychotherapy (e.g. Linde 1993; Roberts & Holmes eds. 1999), and work with high-functioning autistic or learn­ ing-disabled children and adults (e.g. Diehl et al. 2006). Some of the most interesting use of the notion of coherence in nar­ rative studies has focused on the macrothematic and the largest longterm consequences of a series of events. For example, life-story analyses often focus on the coherence within those stories (Linde 1993; Ochs & Capps 2001) in the course of understanding experiences which are problematic or painful: coherence is integral to the therapeutic or identity-affirming work undertaken (e.g. illness narratives: Hawkins 1993). And analysts of narratives who are most interested in the ideological, political or ecological positions depicted in life stories and many other public narratives evaluate their consistency and fairness by reference to coherence.

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5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Abbott, H. Porter ([2002] 2008). The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative. Cam­ bridge: Cambridge UP. Alber, Jan (2005). “Narrativisation.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Routledge Encyclope­ dia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 386–87. Bhaya Nair, Rukmini (2002). Narrative Gravity: Conversation, Cognition, Culture, Delhi: Oxford UP. Bortolussi, Marisa & Peter Dixon (2003). Psychonarratology: Foundations for the Empirical Study of Literary Response. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Brown, Gillian & George Yule (1983). Discourse Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Bublitz, Wolfram (1999). “Introduction: views of coherence“. In: W. B. et al. (eds). Coherence in Spoken and Written Discourse. How to Create It and How to De­ scribe It. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 1–7. Charolles, Marc & Marie-France Ehrlich (1991). “Aspects of Textual Continuity: Lin­ guistic Approaches.” G. Denhière & J.-P. Rossi (eds). Text and Text Processing. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 251–67. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Culler, Jonathan (1975). Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics and the Study of Literature. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Culpeper, Jonathan (2001). Language and Characterisation: People in Plays and oth­ er Texts. London: Longman. Cummings, E. E. (1991). Complete Poems: 1904-1962. Ed. G. J. Firmage. New York: Liveright. de Beaugrande, Robert & Wolfgang U. Dressler (1981). Introduction to Text Linguist­ ics. London: Longman. Diehl, Joshua, et al. (2006). “Story recall and narrative coherence of high-functioning children with autism spectrum disorders.” Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology 34, 87–102. Emmott, Catherine (1997). Narrative Comprehension: A Discourse Perspective. Ox­ ford: Oxford UP. – et al. (2006). “Capturing the attention of readers? Stylistic and psychological per­ spectives on the use and effect of text fragmentation in narratives.” Journal of Lit­ erary Semantics 35, 1–30. Fiese, Barbara, ed. (2001). The Stories That Families Tell: Narrative Coherence, Nar­ rative Interaction and Relationship Beliefs. Oxford: Wiley Blackwell. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Georgakopoulou, Alexandra & Dionysis Goutsos ([1997] 2004). Discourse Analysis: An Introduction. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP. Gernsbacher, Morton Ann & Talmy Givón (1995). Coherence in Spontaneous Text. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Gerrig, Richard J. (1993). Experiencing Narrative Worlds: On the Psychological Activ­ ities of Reading. New Haven: Yale UP.

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Giora, Rachel (1985). “Notes Towards a Theory of Text Coherence.” Poetics Today 6, 699–715. Goldman, Susan R., et al. eds. (1999). Narrative Comprehension, Causality, and Co­ herence: Essays in Honor of Tom Trabasso. Mahwah: Erlbaum. Grice, Herbert Paul (1975). “Logic and Conversation.” P. Cole & J. L. Morgan (eds). Syntax and Semantics, Vol. 3, Speech Acts. New York: Academic Press, 41–58. Halliday, Michael A. K. & Ruqaiya Hasan (1976). Cohesion in English. London: Long­ man. Hawkins, Anne (1993). Reconstructing Illness: Studies in Pathography. West Lafay­ ette: Purdue UP. Herman, David (2002). Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (2009). Basic Elements of Narrative. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. Hoey, Michael (2005). Lexical Priming: A New Theory of Words and Language. Lon­ don: Routledge. Hühn, Peter (2008). “Functions and Forms of Eventfulness in Narrative Fiction.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 141– 63. Ingarden, Roman ([1931] 1973). The Literary Work of Art. Evanston: Northwestern UP. Iser, Wolfgang ([1976] 1978). The Act of Reading: A Theory of Aesthetic Response. London: Routledge. Jauss, Hans Robert ([1977] 1982). Toward an Aesthetic of Reception. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Kindt, Tom & Hans-Harald Müller (2003). ”Narrative theory and/or/as Theory of Inter­ pretation.” T. K. & H.-H. M. (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 205–19. Kintsch, Walter & Teun A. van Dijk (1978). “Toward a Model of Text Comprehension and Production.” Psychological Review 85, 363–94. Kock, Christian (1978). “Narrative Tropes: A study of points in plots.” G. D. Caie et al. (eds). Occasional Papers 1976-1977. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 202–52. Lämmert, Eberhard (1955). Bauformen des Erzählens. Stuttgart: Metzler. Lesser, Ruth & Lesley Milroy (1993). Linguistics and Aphasia: Psycholinguistic and Pragmatic Aspects of Intervention. London: Longman. Linde, Charlotte (1993). Life Stories: The Creation of Coherence. New York: Oxford UP. Mandler, Jean & Nancy Johnson (1977). “Remembrance of things parsed: Story struc­ ture and recall.” Cognitive Psychology 9, 111–51. Margolin Uri (1983). “Characterization in Narrative: Some Theoretical Prolegomena.” Neophilologus 67, 1–14. – (1990). “Individuals in Narrative Worlds: An Ontological Perspective.” Poetics Today 11, 843–71. McAdams, Dan P. (2006). “The Problem of Narrative Coherence.” Journal of Con­ structivist Psychology 19, 109–25. Ochs, Eleanor & Lisa Capps (2001). Living Narrative: Creating Lives in Everyday Storytelling. Cambridge: Harvard UP.

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Pier, John & José Ángel García Landa (eds) (2008). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter. Poe, Edgar Allan ([1846] 1982). “The Philosophy of Composition.” The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 889–907. Pratt, Mary Louise (1977). Towards a Speech Act Theory of Literary Discourse. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Prince, Gerald (1973). A Grammar of Stories: An Introduction. The Hague: Mouton. – (1999). “Revisiting Narrativity.” A. Grunzweig & A. Solbach (eds). Grenzüber­ schreitungen: Narratologie im Kontext / Transcending Boundaries: Narratology in Context. Tübingen: Narr, 43–51. Propp, Vladimir ([1928] 1968). Morphology of the Folktale. Austin: U of Texas P. Reinhart, Tanya (1980). “Conditions for Text Coherence.” Poetics Today 1.1, 161–80. Roberts, Glenn & Jeremy Holmes, eds. (1999). Healing Stories: Narrative in Psychi­ atry and Psychotherapy. New York: Oxford UP. Rosch, Eleanor (1978). “Principles of Categorization.” E. R. & B. B. Lloyd (eds). Cog­ nition and Categorization. Hillsdale: Erlbaum, 27–48. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Schmid, Wolf (2003). “Narrativity and Eventfulness.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 17–33. Schneider, Ralf (2001). “Toward a Cognitive Theory of Literary Character: The Dy­ namics of Mental-Model Construction.” Style 35, 607–40. Sinclair, John M. & Malcolm Coulthard (1975). Towards an Analysis of Discourse: The English Used by Teachers and Pupils. London: Oxford UP. Sperber, Dan & Deirdre Wilson ([1986] 1995). Relevance: Communication and Cogni­ tion. Oxford: Blackwell. Stanzel, Franz K. ([1955] 1971). Narrative Situations in the Novel: Tom Jones, MobyDick, The Ambassadors, Ulysses. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – ([1979] 1984). A Theory of Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Stein, Nancy & Christine Glenn (1979). “An analysis of story comprehension in ele­ mentary school children.” R. D. Freedle (ed). Advances in Discourse Processes: Vol. 2. New Directions in Discourse Processing. Norwood: Ablex, 53–119. Stubbs, Michael (1983). Discourse Analysis: the Sociolinguistic Analysis of Natural Language. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Tammi, Pekka (2005). “Against Narrative (‘A Boring Story’).” Partial Answers 4, 19– 40. Thorndyke, Perry W. (1977). “Cognitive structures in comprehension and memory of narrative discourse.” Cognitive Psychology 9, 77–110. Todorov, Tzvetan (1969). Grammaire du “Décaméron.” The Hague: Mouton. – ([1971] 1977). The Poetics of Prose. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – ([1978] 1990). Genres in Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Toolan, Michael (2009). Narrative Progression in the Short Story: a corpus stylistic approach. Amsterdam: Benjamins. van Dijk, Teun A. (1972). Some Aspects of Text Grammars. The Hague: Mouton. Walsh, Richard (2007). The Rhetoric of Fictionality. Columbus: Ohio State UP.

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Watts, Richard J. (1981). The Pragmalinguistic Analysis of Narrative Texts. Tübingen: Narr. Werth, Paul (1999). Text Worlds: Representing Conceptual Space in Discourse. Lon­ don: Longman. Yaron, Iris (2008). “What is a ‘Difficult Poem’? Towards a Definition.” Journal of Lit­ erary Semantics 37, 129–50.

5.2 Further Reading
Bordwell, David (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. Madison: U of Wisconsin P. – (2006). The Way Hollywood Tells It: Story and Style in Modern Movies. Berkeley: U of California P. Brown, Gillian (1995). Speakers, Listeners and Communication. Cambridge: Cam­ bridge UP. Bublitz, Wolfram, et al. eds. (1999). Coherence in Spoken and Written Discourse: How to Create it and How to Describe it. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Charolles, Michel, et al. (1986). Research in Text Connexity and Text Coherence: A Survey. Hamburg: Buske. Chafe, Wallace, ed. (1980). The Pear Stories. Cognitive, Cultural, and Linguistic As­ pects of Narrative Production. Norwood: Ablex. Herman, David (2005). “Events and Event Types.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Rout­ ledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 151–52. Hühn, Peter (2005). “Plotting the Lyric: Forms of Narration in Poetry.” E. MüllerZettelmann & M. Rubik (eds). Theory into Poetry: New Approaches to the Lyric. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 147–72. Richardson, Brian, ed. (2008). Narrative Beginnings. Theories and Practices. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Sternberg, Meir (1993). Expositional Modes and Temporal Ordering in Fiction. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – (2001). “How Narrativity Makes a Difference.” Narrative 9, 115–22. Trabasso, Tom, et al. (1984). “Causal cohesion and story coherence.” H. Mandl et al. (eds). Learning and Comprehension of Text. Hillsdale: Erlbaum, 83–111. Viehoff, Reinhold (1988). “Preliminary Remarks to ‘Coherence’ in Understanding Poems.” J. Petöfi & T. Olivi (eds). From Verbal Constitution to Symbolic Meaning. Hamburg: Buske, 397–414. Vorderer, Paul, et al. eds. (1996). Suspense: Conceptualizations, Theoretical Analyses, and Empirical Explorations. Mahwah: Erlbaum.

Conversational Narration/Oral Narration
Monika Fludernik 1 Definition “Oral narrative” is a term that covers a number of different types of storytelling: spontaneous conversational narrative (“natural narrative”); institutionalized oral narrative in an oral culture context; oral bardic poetry; simulations of orality in written texts by means of narrative strategies such as pseudo-orality or skaz. For narratology, oral narrative has been important at two different stages of the discipline. In Russian formalism (especially in the work of Propp) and during the 1960s (es­ pecially in the work of Bremond and Greimas) fairytales, which had their basis in orally transmitted storytelling, were used to analyze the deep structure of narrative and to discover functions of plot elements and typical actant structures (→ character). More recently, Herman, Fludernik and others, inspired by discourse analysis, have concentrated on conversational storytelling both as an interesting type of narrative in and by itself and as a prototype of all narration. This work has addi­ tionally had a close affinity with cognitive studies (→ cognitive narra­ tology). Institutionalized oral narrative as in the Homeric epics focuses on both the deep and the surface structure of narrative, analyzing plotrelated motifs and the repetition of epitheta and formulae on the dis­ course level. The technique of pseudo-orality, finally, is a secondary phenomenon. It refers to the evocation of characters’ mode of utterance (especially in terms of dialect and colloquiality) in the written representation of speech. 2 Explication The basic prototype of oral narrative is spontaneous conversational narrative. This covers narratives produced in face-to-face exchanges in a variety of contexts such as storytelling sequences at dinner parties, brief narratives interspersed in telephone conversations or in doctor/pa­ tient and lawyer/client exchanges. Labov & Waletzky (1967) use the term “natural narrative” for this type of oral narration. In German, the

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term Alltagserzählung (e.g. Ehlich ed. 1980) is current, emphasizing the fact that conversational narrative occurs in the framework of every­ day interaction. Spontaneous (or unsolicited) conversational narrative must be distinguished from solicited narratives told to interviewers. In the corpus of the Survey of English Usage (London), mealtime conver­ sations, telephone conversations, etc. were taped in which narratives spontaneously occurred without solicitation or elicitation by the re­ searcher. By contrast, in Labov’s (1972) study, the material comes from solicited narratives in which interviewers asked African-American youths to tell stories about specific personal experiences. The same method was adopted for more extended acts of storytelling in Terkel (1984). Unsolicited conversational storytelling takes place in very di­ verse circumstances, but it is also present in much informal exchange on the telephone, in social gatherings, etc. In the latter case, story se­ quences may emerge in which the conversation develops into a series of narratives (one joke after the other, one story after the other about one’s worst experience with doctors, etc.). Spontaneously occurring natural narrative has received extensive analysis in the linguistic subdisciplines of discourse analysis and conversation analysis. (See Hutchby & Wooffitt 1998; Jaworksi & Coupland eds. 1999; Johnstone 2002 for the former, and Atkinson & Heritage eds. 1984; Psathas 1995; Schegloff 2007 for the latter.) The second and third prototypes of oral narration characterize insti­ tutionalized storytelling in an oral culture context. On the one hand, this includes oral poetry, on the other, traditional and not necessarily poetic (i.e. verse-form) storytelling. Based partly on the work of Lord (1960) and Parry (ed. 1971), Ong (1982), Foley (1990, 1995) and oth­ ers have studied the emergence of traditional epic poetry and noted ex­ tensive similarities in structure and style between Homer’s Iliad or Odyssey and the oral epics of the Balkans (guslar poetry). Much of this research focuses on the complexity of epic poetry and on how oral pro­ duction manages to create and sustain it with the help of formulaic ele­ ments. In addition, Parry’s insights into the Homeric epics and Lord’s analyses of contemporary guslar poetry raise questions regarding trans­ formation from the oral to the written poetic tradition. In addition to the tradition of oral poetry, where long epics in verse are performed, there are cultures in which narratives are presented by a storyteller to an audience that interacts with the narrator while the story is being told, serving as a kind of chorus or speaker of refrains. Such oral narratives can be found in various parts of the world, e.g. in Canada (Tedlock 1983), in African countries, and in India. In contrast to spontaneous conversational storytelling, this type of storytelling has

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an appointed bard who is a practiced performer; nor is it framed by an ongoing conversation between a small number of interlocutors in which stories are longer turns in verbal exchange. Even so, oral poetry and oral storytelling in traditional cultural contexts do have a frame: the institutional frame which gives the storyteller his exclusive “turn” as performer, providing for audience/bard interaction in ritualized re­ sponses. It could be argued that anecdotes, exempla, parables and similar short narrative forms introduced into sermons, speeches or lectures constitute an intermediate type of oral narration. In these contexts, nar­ ratives are inserted into ongoing oral discourse (as in spontaneous con­ versational narratives), but with one dominant speaker (as in oral po­ etry) rather than a framing conversational exchange. The fourth type of oral narrative is “pseudo-oral discourse” (fin­ gierte Mündlichkeit; cf. Goetsch 1985). Although, literally, the evoca­ tion of orality in literary narrative has nothing to do with actual conver­ sational storytelling, this phenomenon is widespread in literary texts and therefore of crucial importance to the narratologist. Pseudo-orality occurs in two forms in literary (and sometimes in non-literary) narratives: the representation of dialect or foreign speech in written dialogue and the evocation of an oral narrator persona, as in the skaz (Ėjxen­ baum 1918). As pointed out by Leech & Short (1981: 167–70), the transcription of oral speech in literary dialogue aims not at a phonologically precise rendering of dialect, but at accentuating typical dialect features. By orthographic means, authors thus seek to highlight the dif­ ferences between standard written language and dialectal forms. In addition to narratives that evoke linguistic alterity by stressing stereotypical features, there are narratives that give prominence to a pseudo-oral narrative voice, a teller figure whose style suggests that the discourse has been uttered rather than written down. Such evocation of orality in narrative report can be based on the combination of several techniques. In English literature, it requires the avoidance of literate vocabulary and complex syntax. Thus, pseudo-oral narrators, such as Holden in J. D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, are often garrulous, repetitive, contradictory and illogical; they keep interrupting them­ selves and tend to address a fictive listener or audience familiarly; they seem to have an intimate rapport with the fictional world, to which they apparently belong, and also do not shy away from expressing their feel­ ings and views emphatically, thus setting themselves off from the typical narrators of literary texts—aloof, bland, reliable, neutral. Russian skaz (cf. Ėjxenbaum 1918; Vinogradov 1925; Schmid 2005: 156–76) often falls under this category of the pseudo-oral, but at

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times undermines the mimetic quality of the represented discourse by having a naïve peasant narrator resort to inappropriately elevated dic­ tion, e.g. the register of the legal or administrative elite. It must be noted that the evocation of orality in literary texts is just that: an evoca­ tion or stylization produced by highlighting the most striking features of oral language. What counts for narrative purposes is not a faithful copy of the “original” utterance in all its linguistic detail, but the effect of deviation from the norm through quaintness, informality, intimacy, lack of education, cultural difference, class ascription. The simplifica­ tions and exaggerations of the linguistic features of orality and/or re­ gister therefore serve the purpose of facilitating identification, stereo­ typing, “local color,” or effet de réel. The technique is also used to characterize the narrator persona, just as dialect in the dialogue of 19thcentury fiction tends to underline class difference, lack of education or idiosyncrasy (cf. Dickens, Scott or Trollope). 3 History of the Concept and its Study Returning to the first category, spontaneous conversational narratives, a closer look will be taken at research results in discourse analysis and conversation analysis before going on to discuss their relevance for present-day narratology. 3.1 Discourse Analysis and Conversation Analysis Discourse analysis developed as a sub-discipline of pragmatics, i.e. lan­ guage in use (Levinson 1983). More immediately, it derives from the work of sociologists, in particular Sacks (1992). Sacks began by analyzing telephone exchanges at a call center and then went on to estab­ lish the basic rules of conversation, notably (in narrative sequences) “turn-taking,” “adjacency pairs,” “overlap,” “repair” and “abstracts.” His initial research (in 1972) was followed by a landmark contribution (Sacks et al. 1974) which concentrated on turn-taking. It was found that conversations are structured by turns taken and held by each speaker. In narratives, speakers are allowed longer turns, provided the inter­ locutors are alerted to the speaker’s intention to delve into a story. In ordinary conversation, turns often come in adjacency pairs, particularly at the beginning of exchanges: greeting/greeting; question/answer; request/agreement or compliance; command/compliance; identification/recognition (telephone); etc. Interlocutors frequently interrupt each other and overlap (B starts to speak while A is completing his/her turn), but they also proceed in fits and starts and may start their sen­

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tences over (repair): e.g. “I wanted… (pause) I was wondering… (pause) could you tell me when flight LS 03 comes in?” These frame conditions have a significant impact on how narratives are produced in spontaneous conversational narrative. Discourse analysis has also been heavily influenced by Labov (1972) and his school of discourse study, which remains fundamental to the study of conversational narrative. Labov collected narratives eli­ cited in interviews with young African-American males, and from this material he developed a model of the structure of natural narrative. Labov & Waletzky (1967) propose a model of episodic narrative con­ sisting of a basic structure: abstract; orientation; narrative clauses (in­ sert clauses of delayed orientation and evaluation); result; coda. Ab­ stract and coda provide a link with the conversational frame, while the orientation section introduces characters and setting. The authors also introduced the terms “point” and “reportability” or “tellability”: to be effective, narratives must be “newsworthy” (reportable) and have a “point” (demonstrate something). These features play a crucial role in Fludernik’s definition of experientiality, which consists in the dialectic of → tellability and point (1996: 26–30). Discourse analysis since Sacks and Labov has developed in great strides. Many fruitful insights into natural narrative and oral exchange have been gained by Schegloff, Gail Jefferson, Schiffrin, Chafe, Tannen, Quasthoff, etc. Besides focusing on the structure and syntactic and lexical peculiarities of natural narrative, this research has moved into elucidating the psychological and cultural functions of conversa­ tional storytelling (Bamberg ed. 1997; Ochs & Capps 2001), the con­ struction of identity (Lucius-Hoene & Deppermann 2004), and ques­ tions of gender (Tannen 1990) as well as the aesthetic effects of using quoted speech or thought (Schiffrin 1981). Conversational exchanges, including narratives, come not in sen­ tences but in discourse units (Chafe calls them “idea” or “intonation units”) which are set apart by pauses and the completion of frames (Ono & Thompson 1995). To keep an audience’s interest, natural nar­ rative is often repetitious and interlaced with verbatim dialogue by the participants in the events and even quotations from their thoughts, thus fictionalizing and dramatizing stories in ways that are reminiscent of novels or short stories (Tannen 1984, 1989; Fludernik 1993: 398–433). Conversational narratives also employ narrative and non-narrative “dis­ course markers” (Schiffrin 1987), namely particles (mostly adverbs) placed in conjunct or adjunct position of a clause but whose “meaning” remains vague. They serve primarily macro-structural discourse func­ tions such as initiation of a new topic, return from a side remark to the

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main topic, capturing the interlocutors’ attention, etc. Specifically nar­ rative discourse markers shift between the on-plot and the off-plot levels of conversational narratives, and they also mark the key points of narrative episodes (Fludernik 1991, 1992a, 1992b, 1996). More recently, conversation analysis has been established as a still more refined research discipline for examining conversational ex­ change. According to Hutchby & Wooffitt (1998), discourse analysis describes the systematic, rule-governed features of natural narrative, whereas conversation analysis is concerned with the performative and interactive aspects of conversational exchange. In particular, conversa­ tion analysis studies the online production of utterances and the unfa­ miliar shape of oral syntax (Atkinson & Heritage eds. 1984; Longacre 1983; Hutchby & Wooffitt 1998; Schegloff 2007). However, few con­ versation analysts deal with narrative, Quasthoff & Becker (eds. 2005) being an exception. Another sub-discipline, having more literary credentials, is critical discourse analysis (Hodge & Kress 1979; Carter 1997; Blommaert 2005), which studies how discourses generate, transmit and perpetuate ideologies and interpellate readers. Two handbooks of discourse analysis also discuss some aspects of critical discourse analysis (van Dijk ed. 1997; Schiffrin et al. eds. 2001). 3.2 Oral Poetry and Narratology Analyses of oral poetry have concentrated on two questions: formula­ icity and motifs. The formulaic repertoire of the epic was found to em­ ploy recurring epitheta for common objects and heroes such as “the crafty Ulysses.” Whole verse lines are repeated nearly verbatim in or­ der to facilitate oral composition and delivery. The oral epic is also characterized by a recurrence of typical motifs such as greeting between host and guest, raising of the cup, embarkation, burial of the fallen hero. More narratologically relevant are discussions of narrative episodes based on Bremond (1973), revealing the affinity between the structure of the epic and that of the fairy tale (cf. Wittig 1978). How­ ever, due to narratology’s concentration on the novel and on prose fic­ tion, there has been little narratological analysis of epic verse narrative. 3.3 Relevance of Conversational Narrative for Narratology While classical narratology, in the foundational work of Propp (1928) and Bremond (1973), analyzed short forms of narrative (the fairytale), the emphasis fell on event sequences rather than on the oral delivery of such tales (in the absence of tape recordings, written transcriptions

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were used). Narratological models such as those of Genette and Stanzel shifted their interest to the discourse level of narratives but were primarily concerned with the novel, largely disregarding narratives pri­ or to the 18th century and all forms of oral narration. Between the com­ plexity and sophistication of the novel and seemingly unstructured, syntactically misformed conversational narratives, a wide gap was per­ ceived, felt to be unbridgeable. However, in the 1970s discourse analysts increasingly undertook re­ search into the structure of conversational narratives, analyzing them in their own right. In addition to studies by Labov, Tannen, Johnstone and Chafe for English, major work was carried out for German (Ehlich ed. 1980; Quasthoff 1980; Quasthoff & Becker eds. 2005; Brinker & Sager 2006) and French (Gülich 1970; Mondada ed. 1995; Kerbrat-Orecchioni 1996, 2001). In the field of narratology, two researchers have drawn inspiration from conversational narrative as a major source of their own work. Herman (1997, 1999) pleads for the relevance of natural narratives for postclassical narratology. Taking a cue from Young (1999), who examines the performative nature of spontaneous conversational narrative and the creation and maintenance of self in patient/doctor ex­ changes, Herman proposes a model of conversational storytelling treated as an interactive process in which the borders between ongoing conversation and story are marked. He underlines the “jointly referen­ tial and evaluating function” (1999: 231) of modal expressions and repetitions in conversational narratives and emphasizes their “interactional achievement.” Based on a cognitive model in which producers of stories and their listeners rely on cognitive action schemata and inferences drawn from the events related or from information provided by the nar­ rator, Herman presents narratives (in his example: elicited ghost stories) as relying on “a process of negotiation between storytellers and their interlocutors” (239). His ultimate aim is to examine narrative competence in conversational narrative. Fludernik moved into the study of conversational narrative through the problem of the historical present tense. She developed a model of episodic narrative structure (a modification of Labov) in which the his­ torical present tense can occur at key points in a narrative episode (1991, 1992a), serving a highlighting function (in modification of Wolfson 1982). Fludernik (1996) went on to define conversational storytelling as a prototype of narrative tout court. She maintains that conversational narrative is basically about experientiality and that this is also true of the fictional narrative of novels and short stories (53– 91), therefore providing a bridge between oral and written forms of

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narrative on the basis of → narrativity and the purpose of storytelling (point and tellability). She further demonstrates that substrata of the oral pattern of narrative episodes can be traced in English medieval and early modern texts (92–128). In the history of English literature, the formal structure of the novel, which looks so very different from that of conversational narratives, developed slowly out of its oral roots in episodic narrative. Over the past forty years, massive material has become available to discourse analysts. Much of it was gathered in medical or therapeutic contexts (cf. Bamberg ed. 1997), but oral history has also produced ex­ tensive records (Perks & Thomson eds. 1990). One sophisticated model of conversational storytelling is provided by Lucius-Hoene & Depper­ mann (2004), describing conversational narrative as a process of ego construction, presentation of self, and negotiation of identities. In fo­ cusing on these performative issues, the authors come strikingly close to the kind of analysis of literary narratives undertaken by literary crit­ ics (→ identity and narration). 4 Topics for Further Research Now that so much conversational narrative is available in transcript, there is ample opportunity for narratological analysis of this material. The handling of dialogue and thought processes in conversational nar­ ratives, the management of time schemata, deictic shifts, the question of whether the concept of → focalization should be used in the analysis of conversational narratives—these topics and more could well come into the scope of extensive research. Particularly with the narrative turn at the end of the 20th century, such an emphasis on naturally occurring stories could provide an increasing awareness of the affinity between natural narrative and more literary and elaborated forms of storytelling. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Atkinson, John Maxwell & John Heritage, eds. (1984). Structures of Social Action: Studies in Conversation Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Bamberg, Michael, ed. (1997). Oral Versions of Personal Experience. Three Decades of Narrative Analysis. Special issue of Journal of Narrative and Life History 7. Blommaert, Jan (2005). Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Brown, Gillian & George Yule (1983). Discourse Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Bremond, Claude (1973). Logique du récit. Paris: Seuil.

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Brinker, Klaus & Sven F. Sager ([1989] 2006). Linguistische Gesprächsanalyse. Ber­ lin: Schmidt. Carter, Ronald (1997). Investigating English Discourse. London: Routledge. Chafe, Wallace (1994). Discourse, Consciousness, and Time. The Flow and Displace­ ment of Conscious Experience in Speaking and Writing. Chicago: U of Chicago P. – ed. ([1980] 2006). Pear Stories. Cognitive, Cultural, and Linguistic Aspects of Narrative Production. Norwood: Ablex. Ehlich, Konrad, ed. (1980). Erzählen im Alltag. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Ėjxenbaum, Boris (Eikhenbaum) ([1918] 1975). “The Illusion of ‘Skaz’.” Russian Literature 12, 233–36. Fludernik, Monika (1991). “The Historical Present Tense Yet Again: Tense Switching and Narrative Dynamics in Oral and Quasi-Oral Storytelling.” Text 11, 365–98. – (1992a). “The Historical Present Tense in English Literature: An Oral Pattern and its Literary Adaptation.” Language and Literature 17, 77–107. – (1992b). “Narrative Schemata and Temporal Anchoring.” The Journal of Literary Semantics 21, 118–53. – (1993). The Fictions of Language and the Languages of Fiction. The Linguistic Representation of Speech and Consciousness. London: Routledge. – (1996). Towards a ‛Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Foley, Miles (1990). Traditional Oral Epic. The Odyssey, Beowulf, and the SerboCroatian Return Song. Berkeley: U of California P. – (1995). The Singer of Tales in Performance. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Goetsch, Paul (1985). “Fingierte Mündlichkeit in der Erzählkunst entwickelter Schriftkultur.” Poetica 17, 202–18. Gülich, Elisabeth (1970). Makrosyntax der Gliederungssignale im gesprochenen Fran­ zösisch. München: Fink. Herman, David (1997). “Scripts, Sequences, and Stories. Elements of a Postclassical Narratology.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 112, 1046–59. – (1999). “Toward a Socionarratology: New Ways of Analyzing Natural-Language Narratives.” D. Herman (ed). Narratologies. New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 218–46. Hodge, Bob & Gunther Kress ([1979] 1993). Language as Ideology. London: Rout­ ledge. Hutchby, Ian & Robin Wooffitt (1998). Conversation Analysis. Principles, Practices, Applications. Cambridge: Polity. Jaworski, Adam & Nikolas Coupland, eds. (1999). The Discourse Reader. London: Routledge. Johnstone, Barbara ([2002] 2008). Discourse Analysis. Oxford: Blackwell. Kerbrat-Orecchioni, Catherine (1996). La conversation. Paris: Seuil. – (2001). Les actes de langage dans le discours. Théorie et fonctionnement. Paris: Nathan. Labov, William (1972). Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Ver­ nacular. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P.

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& Joshua Waletzky (1967). “Narrative Analysis: Oral Versions of Personal Experi­ ence.” J. Helm (ed). Essays on the Verbal and Visual Arts. Seattle: U of Washing­ ton P, 12–44. Leech, Geoffrey N. & Michael H. Short (1981). Style in Fiction. A Linguistic Introduc­ tion to English Fictional Prose. London: Longman. Levinson, Stephen C. (1983). Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Longacre, Robert E. ([1983] 1996). The Grammar of Discourse. New York: Plenum. Lord, Albert (1960). The Singer of Tales. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Lucius-Hoene, Gabriele & Arnulf Deppermann (2004). Rekonstruktion narrativer Identität: Ein Arbeitsbuch zur Analyse narrativer Interviews. Wiesbaden: VS für Sozalwissenschaften. Mondada, Lorenza, ed. (1995). Formes linguistiques et dynamiques interactionelles Lausanne: Institut de Linguistique des Sciences du Langage. Ochs, Elinor & Lisa Capps (2001). Living Narrative: Creating Lives in Everyday Storytelling. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Ong, Walter (1982). Orality and Literacy. London: Methuen. Ono, Tsuyoshi & Sandra A. Thompson (1995). “What Can Conversation Tell Us About Syntax?” P. W. Davis (ed). Alternative Linguistics: Descriptive and Theoretical Modes. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 213–71. Parry, Adam, ed. (1971). The Making of Homeric Verse. The Collected Papers of Mil­ man Parry. Oxford: Clarendon. Perks, Robert & Alistair Thomson, eds. ([1990] 2006). The Oral History Reader. Lon­ don: Routledge. Propp, Vladimir ([1928] 1968). Morphology of the Folktale. Austin: U of Texas P. Psathas, George (1995). Conversation Analysis. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Quasthoff, Uta (1980). Erzählen in Gesprächen. Tübingen: Narr. – & Tabea Becker, eds. (2005). Narrative Interaction. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Sacks, Harvey (1972). “An Initial Investigation of the Usability of Conversational Data for Doing Sociology.” D. Sudnow (ed). Studies in Social Interaction. New York: Free P, 31–74. – (1992). Lectures in Conversation. Ed. G. Jefferson. 2 vols. Oxford: Blackwell. – et al. (1974). “A Simple Systematics for the Organization of Turn-taking for Con­ versation.” Language 50, 696–735. Schegloff, Emanuel A. (2007). Sequence Organization in Interaction: A Primer in Conversation Analysis. Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Schiffrin, Deborah (1981). “Tense Variation in Narrative.” Language 57, 45–62. – (1987). Discourse Markers. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. – et al. eds. (2001). Handbook of Discourse Analysis. Oxford: Blackwell. Schmid, Wolf (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Tannen, Deborah (1984). Conversational Style. Analyzing Talk Among Friends. Nor­ wood: Ablex. – (1989). Talking Voices. Repetition, Dialogue, and Imagery in Conversational Dis­ course. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. – (1990). You Just Don’t Understand. Women and Men in Conversation. New York: Morrow.

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Tedlock, Dennis (1983). The Spoken Word and the Work of Interpretation. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P. Terkel, Studs ([1984] 1990). ‘The Good War.’ An Oral History of World War Two. New York: Ballantine. van Dijk, Teun A., ed. (1997). Discourse Studies. 2 vols. London: Sage. Vinogradov, Viktor ([1925] 1980). “The Problem of Skaz in Stylistics.” E. Proffer & C. R. Proffer (eds). The Ardis Anthology of Russian Futurism. Ann Arbor: Ardis. Wittig, Susan (1978). Stylistic and Narrative Structures in the Middle English Ro­ mances. Austin: U of Texas P. Wolfson, Nessa (1982). CHP. Conversational Historical Present in American English Narrative. Dordrecht: Foris. Young, Katherine (1999). “Narratives of Indeterminacy: Breaking the Medical Body into its Discourses; Breaking the Discursive Body out of Postmodernism.” D. Her­ man (ed). Narratologies. New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 197–217.

5.2 Further Reading
Norrick, Neal R. (2000). Conversational Narrative. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Polanyi, Livia (1985). Telling the American Story: A Structural and Cultural Analysis of Conversational Storytelling. Norwood: Ablex. Renkema, Jan (2004). Introduction to Discourse Studies. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Ten Have, Paul (1999). Doing Conversation Analysis. A Practical Guide. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Zumthor, Paul ([1983] 1990). Oral Poetry. An Introduction. Minneapolis: U of Min­ nesota P.

Dialogism
David Shepherd 1 Definition The term “dialogism” is most commonly used to denote the quality of an instance of discourse that explicitly acknowledges that it is defined by its relationship to other instances, both past, to which it responds, and future, whose response it anticipates. The positive connotations of dialogism are often reinforced by a contrast with “monologism,” denoting the refusal of discourse to acknowledge its relational constitu­ tion and its misrecognition of itself as independent and unquestionably authoritative. 2 Explication Dialogism is overwhelmingly associated in accounts of literary theory in general, and of narratology in particular (e.g. Prince [1987] 2003: 19–20; Phelan 2005; Williams 2005), with the work of the Russian thinker Baxtin and the Baxtin Circle. Although Baxtin first used the words dialogizm and dialogičnost’ (literally “dialogicality” or “dialogical quality”) in his 1929 study of Dostoevskij, the locus classicus of his understanding of dialogism is found in his 1934/35 essay “Slovo v romane,” translated as “Discourse in the Novel”: “Directed toward its object, a word enters a dialogically agitated and tense environment of alien words, evaluations and accents, is woven into their complex inter­ relationships, merges with some, recoils from others, intersects with yet a third group: and all this may in an essential manner shape the word, may leave a trace in all its semantic layers, may complicate its expression and influence its entire stylistic profile. / The living utter­ ance, having taken meaning and shape at a particular historical moment in a socially specific environment, cannot fail to brush up against thou­ sands of living dialogic threads, woven by socio-ideological conscious­ ness around the given object of the utterance; it cannot fail to become an active participant in social dialogue. Indeed, the utterance arises out of this dialogue as a continuation of it and as a rejoinder to it—it does

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not approach the object from the sidelines” (Baxtin [1934/35] 1981: 276–77; translation modified). This extended quotation brings together many of the principal fea­ tures—utterance, evaluation, accent, social dialogue—associated with the Baxtinian account of dialogism; other terms from the essay that have gained widespread currency as denotations of discourse encapsu­ lating social dialogue include “hybridized” and “double-voiced.” As the title of the essay suggests, for Baxtin the most effective means of representing the inherently dialogic quality of discourse is the novel; in turn, it is the polyphonic novel, exemplified most completely by the works of Dostoevskij, that is the acme of the novelist’s “orchestration” of raznorečie (usually translated as ® heteroglossia, the diversity of socially specific discourses; Baxtin 1929, 1963). Baxtin’s promotion of the novel relies to a large extent on a contrast between prose as dia­ logic and epic and poetry as monologic, an opposition that is clearly unsustainable if all discourse is indeed inherently dialogic: monologic discourse (whether in poetry, epic or in any other medium or genre) can, in Baxtin’s terms, only be dialogic discourse that misrecognizes or misreads, wilfully or otherwise, its own relationship to other discourse in order to present itself as authoritative. 3 History of the Concept and its Study Not only is dialogism predominantly associated with Baxtin, but it has become for many a convenient denotation of the whole tenor of his work, shorthand for a theoretical position that, although refined and rearticulated over the course of decades, remained in essence un­ changed, accounting for the Russian thinker’s originality. In large measure, this over-simplification of Baxtin’s intellectual biography is a consequence of his coming to prominence in the Soviet Union, after decades of provincial obscurity, towards the end of his life, and indeed in the years after his death, and therefore also of the circumstances in which he became well known elsewhere. The collection The Dialogic Imagination is symptomatic: its title, furnished by its translators (and impossible to render convincingly in Russian), lends the dialogic a par­ ticular prominence and allure and exemplifies the translation’s anachronistic alignment of Baxtin’s texts with the alien time and place of the 1980s theory boom, allowing them to appear to offer an unusually sophisticated, grounded and user-friendly version of positions associated with poststructuralism. The effect, perhaps unavoidable at the time, was to mask the resonances of many of Baxtin’s texts (already ob­ scured by his Russian editors’ excision of a large number of his refer­

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ences) with the philosophical and philological traditions with which they engaged. Recent work has uncovered the extent to which Baxtin’s interest in the novel was driven less by literary-critical concerns than by a philosophical agenda that draws on the work of a range of thinkers including Bergson, Cassirer, Misch, Vossler, Lukács and Mixajlovskij, and that is marked by simultaneous adherence to contradictory neoKantian and Hegelian principles (Brandist 2002: esp. 120–32; Tihanov 2000). Furthermore, the account of discourse that is part of this philo­ sophical project is likewise crucially dependent on the work of others. It was largely thanks to Vološinov and Medvedev, until recently con­ sistently misrepresented as mere acolytes of Baxtin, but now recog­ nized as important figures in their own right, whose own interests were in significant measure shaped by their participation in the research pro­ grammes of the academic institutions where they worked, that Baxtin underwent in the late 1920s the “linguistic turn” (Hirschkop 2001) that allowed dialogue and the dialogic to assume such importance in his works of the 1930s. In particular, Vološinov’s account of discursive in­ teraction (Vološinov 1926, 1929), which drew on, inter alia, the work of the linguist Jakubinskij (1923), Brentanian psychology, Bühler’s “organon model” of communication, Gestalt theory, and Cassirer’s Philosophy of Symbolic Forms, was a precondition for the dialogic the­ ory of the utterance that usually but misleadingly bears Baxtin’s name. Overall, it is essential to recognize that a number of key terms and con­ cepts for which Baxtin tends to be given the sole or principal credit are in fact products and properties of the contexts in which he worked, and of the traditions to which he was, both directly and indirectly, affiliated. Perhaps the most notable instance, apart from dialogism itself, is the concept that underpins it, heteroglossia, the word usually used (al­ though more accurate and appropriate would be “heterology”) to trans­ late the Russian term raznorečie that is often considered a Baxtinian neologism, but that was in fact widely employed by contemporaneous linguists (Zbinden 1999; Brandist 2003; Shepherd 2005). 3.1 Relevance for Narratology If the account of dialogic discourse associated with Baxtin has proved attractive, this may be because it enables detailed description of aspects of fictional narrative such as point of view (® perspective) and voice (® speech representation) to be combined with reference to factors so­ cial and ideological, thereby offering apparent cover against accusa­ tions of arid narratological neglect of the referent. However, it has also been subject to misinterpretation as a relativistic rather than relational

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model, a sustained plea that we should always see all sides of an argu­ ment, or that “faced with a choice of competing interpretations we must always choose both” (Booker & Juraga 1995: 16). In large meas­ ure, the ease with which dialogism has been appropriated as a tool for (not only) literary analysis, and the blunting of this tool by casual use, are consequences of a failure to recognize and engage with the concept’s place in intellectual history, with the philosophical and philological contexts in which dialogism denotes not an identifiable quality of a narrative text, but a set of problems in the study of human language, communication and cognition (Linell 1998). The implication of all this would appear to be not so much that dia­ logism is not relevant for narratology, but that there is a mismatch between the complexities of understanding dialogism in historical per­ spective on the one hand, and on the other narratology’s apparent re­ quirement for an instrument enabling more or less objective description and analysis of certain properties of narrative texts and their effects. But to assert this would be to disregard the prospect that theory de­ scribable as “dialogic” does hold out of a sensitive and sophisticated approach, firmly anchored in an account of the concrete institutions in which fiction is produced and consumed, to questions of authorial, nar­ ratorial and readerly agency and interdependence—in Prince’s terms, the “elaboration of an explicit, complete, and empirically grounded model of narrative accounting for narrative competence (the ability to produce narratives and to process texts as narratives) [that] ultimately constitutes the most significant narratological endeavor” (2003: 12). It would also be to disparage unduly the achievements and, especially, potential of narratology, not least in what Nünning (2003) describes as the “postclassical” phase in which it seeks to move beyond structuralist typologization (Herman 1999). 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The precise relationship between dialogism and other terms used to denote modes of representing point of view (focalization, free indirect discourse, polyphony, etc.; an excellent beginning to this investigation is offered by Lock 2001). (b) The implications of the philosophical and philological lineage of dialogism for the project of narratology (this is simply one expression of the broader question of the extent to which literary/critical theory does or does not recognize its historical affiliations). Is dialogism a solution to a (narratological) problem, or a con­ venient denotation of a set of complex (philosophical and linguistic) problems in search of a solution?

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5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Baxtin, Mixail ([1929] 2000). Problemy tvorčestva Dostoevskogo. S. G. Bočarov & L. S. Melixova (eds). Sobranie sočinenij. Moskva: Russkie slovari, vol. 2, 5–175. – (Bakhtin, Mikhail) ([1934/35] 1981). “Discourse in the Novel.” M. B. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Austin: U of Texas P, 259–422. – ([1963] 1984). Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Manchester: Manchester UP. Booker, M. Keith & Dubravka Juraga (1995). Bakhtin, Stalin, and Modern Russian Fiction: Carnival, Dialogism, and History. Westport: Greenwood P. Brandist, Craig (2002). The Bakhtin Circle: Philosophy, Culture and Politics. London: Pluto P. – (2003). “Bakhtine, la sociologie du langage et le roman.” P. Sériot (ed). Le Dis­ cours sur la langue en URSS à l’époque stalinienne (épistémologie, philosophie, idéologie). Lausanne: Presses Centrales de Lausanne, 59–83. Herman, David (1999). “Introduction: Narratologies.” D. H. (ed). Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 1–30. Hirschkop, Ken (2001). “Bakhtin’s Linguistic Turn.” Dialogism 5–6, 21–34. Jakubinskij, Lev P. (Iakubinskii) ([1923] 1997). “On Dialogic Speech.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 112, 249–56. Linell, Per (1998). Approaching Dialogue: Talk, Interaction and Contexts in Dialogical Perspectives. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Lock, Charles (2001). “Double Voicing, Sharing Words: Bakhtin’s Dialogism and the History of the Theory of Free Indirect Discourse.” J. Bruhn & J. Lundquist (eds). The Novelness of Bakhtin: Perspectives and Possibilities. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum P, 71–87. Nünning, Ansgar (2003). “Narratology or Narratologies? Taking Stock of Recent Developments, Critique and Modest Proposals for Future Usages of the Term.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Re­ garding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 239–75. Phelan, James (2005). “Rhetorical Approaches to Narrative.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopaedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 500–04. Prince, Gerald ([1987] 2003). Dictionary of Narratology. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (2003). “Surveying Narratology.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narrato­ logy? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–16. Shepherd, David (2005). “La Pensée de Bakhtine: dialogisme, décalage, discordance.” K. Zbinden & I. Weber Henking (eds). La Quadrature du Cercle Bakhtine: traduc­ tions, influences et remises en contexte. Lausanne: Centre de Traduction Littéraire de Lausanne, 5–25. Tihanov, Galin (2000). The Master and the Slave: Lukács, Bakhtin, and the Ideas of Their Time. Oxford: Clarendon P. Vološinov, Valentin N. (Voloshinov) ([1926] 1983). “Discourse in Life and Discourse in Poetry.” A. Shukman (ed). Bakhtin School Papers. Oxford: RPT Publications, 1983, 5–30.

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– ([1929] 1973). Marxism and the Philosophy of Language. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Williams, Patrick (2005). “Dialogism.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 104–05. Zbinden, Karine (1999). “Traducing Bakhtin and Missing Heteroglossia.” Dialogism 2, 41–59.

5.2 Further Reading
Baxtin, Mixail (Bakhtin, Mikhail) (1986). Speech Genres and Other Late Essays. Aus­ tin: U of Texas P. Brandist, Craig (2004). “Voloshinov’s Dilemma: On the Philosophical Roots of the Dialogic Theory of the Utterance.” C. Brandist et al. (eds). The Bakhtin Circle: In the Master’s Absence. Manchester: Manchester UP, 97–124. Cossutta, Frédéric (2003). “Dialogic Characteristics of Philosophical Discourse: The Case of Plato’s Dialogues.” Philosophy and Rhetoric 36, 48–76. de Man, Paul (1983). “Dialogue and Dialogism.” Poetics Today 4, 99–107. Hirschkop, Ken (1992). “Is Dialogism for Real?” Social Text 30, 102–13. – (1986). “The Domestication of M. M. Bakhtin.” Essays in Poetics 11, 76–87. – (1999). Mikhail Bakhtin: An Aesthetic for Democracy. Oxford: Oxford UP. Holquist, Michael (2002). Dialogism: Bakhtin and His World. London: Routledge. Matejka, Ladislav (1996). “Deconstructing Bakhtin.” C.-A. Mihailescu & W. Hamarneh (eds). Fiction Updated: Theories of Fictionality, Narratology, and Poetics. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 257–66. Morson, Gary Saul & Caryl Emerson (1990). Mikhail Bakhtin: Creation of a Prosaics. Stanford: Stanford UP. Pechey, Graham (2007). Mikhail Bakhtin: The Word in the World. London: Routledge. Schmid, Wolf (1999). “Dialogizität in der narrativen Kommunikation.” I. Lunde (ed). Dialogue and Rhetoric.Communication Strategies in Russian Text and Theory. Bergen: U of Bergen, 9–23; and Amsterdam International Electronic Journal for Cultural Narratology 1 (2005) [http.//cf.hum.uva.nl/narratology/s05_index.htm]. Todorov, Tzvetan ([1981] 1984). Mikhail Bakhtin: The Dialogical Principle. Manchester: Manchester UP.

Event and Eventfulness
Peter Hühn 1 Definition The term “event” refers to a change of state, one of the constitutive fea­ tures of narrativity. We can distinguish between event I, a general type of event that has no special requirements, and event II, a type of event that satisfies certain additional conditions. A type I event is present for every change of state explicitly or implicitly represented in a text. A change of state qualifies as a type II event if it is accredited—in an in­ terpretive, context-dependent decision—with certain features such as relevance, unexpectedness, and unusualness. The two types of event correspond to broad and narrow definitions of narrativity respectively: narration as the relation of changes of any kind and narration as the representation of changes with certain qualities. 2 Explication The concept of event has become prominent in recent work on narra­ tology; it is generally used to help define → narrativity in terms of the sequentiality inherent to the narrated story. This sequentiality involves changes of state in the represented world and thereby implies the pres­ ence of temporality time), which is a constitutive aspect of narration and distinguishes it from other forms of discourse such as description or argumentation. The concept of event is used primarily in two contexts to define two basic types of narration: a type of narration that can be described lin­ guistically and manifests itself in predicates that express changes (event I), on the one hand, an interpretation- and context-dependent type of narration that implies changes of a special kind (event II), on the other. Both categories are characterized by the presence of a change of state—the transition from one state (situation) to another, usually with reference to a character (agent or patient) or a group of characters. The difference between event I and event II lies in the degree of spe­ cificity of change to which they refer. Event I involves all kinds of

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change of state, whereas event II concerns a special kind of change that meets certain additional conditions in the sense, for example, of being a decisive, unpredictable turn in the narrated happenings, a deviation from the normal, expected course of things, as is implied by event in everyday language. Whether these additional conditions are met is a matter of interpretation; event II is therefore a hermeneutic category, unlike event I, which can largely be described objectively. A type I event is linguistically expressed by the difference of pre­ dicates (Prince 1987). A type II event, on the other hand, acquires the relevance and additional features that constitute it only with reference to intradiegetic expectations, to a literary or cultural context. It must, that is to say, be brought into being and related to its surroundings by an entity (character, narrator, or reader) that comprehends and inter­ prets the change of state involved. Contextual reference of this kind can allow a type I event or a combination of type I events to be trans­ formed into a type II event. Consider the following examples. In and of itself, the sentence “Eveline stepped onto the ship” contains a type I event; only as a result of reference (via character, narrator, or reader) to a social context does it acquire special relevance and thereby become a type II event in the sense of being a deviation from what is normal and expected (e.g. emigration as a new beginning). Next, take a historiographical narrative in which the French Revolution is treated in the con­ text of long-term socio-political developments in France. If the histori­ an here describes the Revolution as a type II event on the basis of the profound changes set in motion at the time, we are dealing with the transformation not of a single type I event, but of a multiplicity of type I events. The two types of event imply different definitions of narrativity, each with a different scope. The type I event is treated as a defining feature inherent to every kind of narrative (e.g. Prince 1987; Herman 2005); the type II event, on the other hand, is integral to a particular type of narrative, providing the foundation for its raison d’être, or → tellability (Labov 1972). These two basic types of narrativity can be contrasted (drawing on Lotman 1970) as plotless narration vs. narration that possesses plot, or as process narration vs. event-based narration. Type I events, largely objective and independent of interpretation, have been studied primarily in linguistics (Frawley 1992), literary comput­ ing (Meister 2003), and numerous stucturalist approaches (from the Russian formalists to the French and American narratologists of the 1960s to the 1970s). The concept of the type II event, on the other hand, has been discussed above all in the context of Lotman’s idea of plot concept, in research on everyday narratives (Labov 1972), in psy­

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chology (Bruner 1991), in literary theory, and also in historiography (Suter & Hettling 2001; Rathmann 2003). 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 The Concept of Event in the Poetics of the Tragedy and the Novella The earliest theoretical conceptualization of type II eventfulness spe­ cifically refers to drama, Aristotle’s description, in Poetics (Halliwell 1987: chaps. X, XI, XIII), of the plot in tragedies as defined by a decisive turning point. He distinguishes three types of change which singly or—ideally—combined constitute a tragic plot: reversal (peripeteia); recognition (anagnorisis); and suffering (pathos). While peripeteia is to be understood as the formal designation of eventful change, anagnorisis and pathos specify its concrete―cognitive and existential―manifestations. The tragic hero thus undergoes a (primarily negative) eventful change from prosperity to adversity, but also from ignor­ ance to knowledge. As to narrative fiction proper, there is a close connection between the event II concept and the genesis and development of the novella genre, implicitly with respect to plot structure and explicitly, if rarely and only at a late stage, with respect to poetological reflection. The rel­ evant authors include, above all, Boccaccio and Goethe. In Boccaccio’s Decameron, the plot frequently involves the violation of a pro­ hibition or the crossing of a boundary imposed by moral norms (the af­ firmation of sexuality) or the social order (the flaunting of class differ­ ences). This implies a revolt against literary tradition (Pabst 1953: 1– 7). The power of natural desire, frequently assisted by the role of chance, leads to an anarchic break with the established order that has the character of an event (Schlaffer 1993: 22–3). The obvious eventful­ ness of the narratives, however, is not as such a theme of the author’s theoretical statements (to be found in the introductory passages); it is instead hidden behind his apologetic stance, which plays down the dis­ ruption of norms by diverting attention to the inferiority of the genre (with its orality, colloquial language, conversational style, and function of providing entertainment; Pabst 1953: 27–41, esp. 37). Contrasting with the cases of eventfulness, however, we also find narratives aligned with the medieval exemplum tradition. In this respect, the genre term “novella” is not specific; it refers to what is new, but also to trivial and contemporary affairs, frequently presented with the help of earlier sub­ ject matter.

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Eventfulness II is first mentioned explicitly as a defining feature of the Novelle by Goethe and participants in the German Novelle debate of the 19th century, although they refer only to certain aspects of it and then only in a formulaic manner (Swales 1977: 16, 21–6; Aust [1990] 2006: 26–36). The most concise formulation is to be found in Goethe’s conversations with Eckermann (29 January 1827): “what is a Novelle if not an unheard-of occurrence [Begebenheit] that has taken place.” These words stress both the exceptional nature of an event and its spe­ cial, singular character of facticity (Perels 1998: 179–80, 181–89): in Goethe’s usage, Begebenheit means a disquieting, decisive turn that takes place in the public sphere or is significant in constituting the sub­ ject (cf. “Begebenheit,” in Goethe Wörterbuch 1989). This is also the sense in which the term is used in the Conversations of German Refugees (Goethe [1795] 1960: 188). In the 19th century, Tieck and Heyse stand out for making the event the defining property of the Novelle in their turning point and falcon theories respectively. Tieck describes the central feature of the Novelle as the “turn in the story, that point at which it unexpectedly begins to take an entirely new course” (1829, reprinted in Kunz ed. [1968] 1973: 53). Heyse highlights the anomalous, the unusual as a defining feature of the event, especially in his reference to the falcon (drawn from a Boccaccio novella), in which he says that “the story, not the states, the event, not the world-view reflected in it, are what matters here,” and “the ‘falcon’ [is] the special quality that distinguishes this story from a thousand others” (1871, reprinted in Kunz ed. [1968] 1973: 67–8; ital­ ics in original). 3.2 The Concept of Event in the Context of Tellability and the “Point of the Narrative” The event II concept has played no more than a peripheral role in nar­ rative studies to date. Aspects of the phenomenon, however, have been highlighted in other contexts and in the guise of different terminology. Discussions of tellability and the “point of the narrative” (Labov 1972: 366) are the main examples of such contexts; they have led to the sug­ gestion that events are one of the reasons why stories are narrated. An early approach to describing narrative noteworthiness, in which the term “tellability” was introduced, was put forward by Labov (1972: 363–70) in his study of everyday narratives. He used evaluation (366– 75) as a category for covering the means that the narrator uses to mark what he calls the point of the narrative, its raison d’être. These include external evaluation (direct identification), embedding (of utterances of

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a character or the narrator in the narrated happenings), evaluative ac­ tion (in which case emotional involvement in the decisive action is re­ ported), and evaluation by suspension of the action (in which case the central aspect is highlighted by interrupting the reported action). Pratt (1977: 63–78) transfers Labov’s approach to literature and shows that his categories apply to literary narrative texts as well; the tellability of a literary narrative, she suggests, is also dependent on the presence of deviation from what is normal and on the relevance of such deviation (132–51). In contrast to Labov’s concentration on mediation techniques, Ryan (1991: 148–66) develops a theory of tellability concerning the level of the narrated happenings. Particularly relevant to eventfulness is her dis­ tinction between three types of progression in the narrated happenings (155–56): (a) sudden switches in the plot, contrasts between the goals and results of characters’ actions, and self-contradiction; (b) repetition of narrative sequences (e.g. the three wishes or three attempts found in fairy tales); and (c) elements of the narrated happenings that have mul­ tiple meanings (e.g. the marriage of Oedipus and Jocasta functions as a reward, as a case of incest, and as the fulfillment of a prophecy). In a second take on this issue, Ryan defines tellability in terms of the com­ plexity of the plot sequences that she situates in an “underlying system of purely virtual embedded narratives” (156)—in, that is to say, a net­ work of realized and alternative, unrealized (desired, rejected, ima­ gined) courses of action. In this way, as with event II, but without the term itself being used, the tellability of a story is derived from the structure of its course and the complexity of that structure. However, the equation of structural complexity with tellability is problematic, as is the isolation of textual structures from (cultural, literary) contexts. As a result, the definitions involved remain unspecific; for it is ques­ tionable whether complex texts are tellable simply because they are complex, and whether tellability is really determined by the text alone. A different kind of approach to defining tellability turns to conven­ tionalized genres rather than individual stories in its study of the cru­ cial points in plot development, which it examines in terms of structur­ al switches or contrasts. Kock (1978) represents an example of such an approach. He draws a direct link between the interest that genres such as tragedy, the story of quest or trickery in the fairy tale, and the detective novel awake in the reader and the genre-specific plot structures of those genres. Kock describes the plot structures concerned with the help of the concept of the narrative trope, which he uses to refer to as­ pects of the narrated happenings that have two functions, thereby gen­ erating tension between two levels (intention vs. outcome, appearances

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vs. reality, surface vs. depth, etc.), and thus serve as the central motiva­ tion for reading. An example of this occurs when the protagonist in a tragic or comic text unwittingly brings about a setback through his own actions. This approach does, it is true, identify the crucial switches or changes in the genres in question, but it too is nonetheless vulnerable to the criticism outlined above regarding a definition of eventfulness that is based purely on textual structure-cultural dependency, like the relevance of text-internal norms, is ignored. 3.3 The Concept of Event in Historiographical Theory The concept of event has a long, albeit changeable heritage in histori­ ography. The event, which usually lacked the foundations of an explicit definition, was an accepted historiographical category until the turn of the 19th century. Thereafter, however, it was subjected to increasing theoretical criticism, first in France, later in Germany, too (Rathmann 2003: 3–11). This criticism, marked by concern for scientific accuracy, was directed at aspects of the historical event that depend on interpreta­ tion: its singularity; its instantaneous nature; and the involvement of the subject. Event-based history was superseded by structural history and the history of ordinary life. Long-term tendencies, processes, struc­ tures, collective mentalities, and superindividual regularities were now the object of attention. However, a renaissance of the event can be ob­ served in recent historiography; one factor at work here is the realiza­ tion that events are an irrefutably relevant aspect of historical pro­ cesses. Historical changes do not take place simply because of structur­ al conditions; they are set in motion as unpredictable and unique occur­ rences by individuals and individual actions (Rathmann 2003; Suter & Hettling 2001; see also the volumes edited by these scholars). The definition of eventfulness proposed in this context displays af­ finities with the narratological concept of the type II event (3.4 below). Suter & Hettling (2001: 24–5) use three criteria to distinguish events from simple happenings: (a) contemporaries must experience a se­ quence of actions as disquieting and breaking with expectations; (b) the grounds on which the sequence of actions is considered surprising and disquieting must be collective in nature—part, that is, of a social hori­ zon of expectations; and (c) the sequence of actions must result in structural changes that are perceived and discursively processed by those involved. Rathmann (2003: 12–4) argues that fulfillment of cri­ terion (c) alone, without criteria (a) and (b), is enough to constitute an event if the change is presented and discursively mediated as a case of major upheaval. This definition seeks to connect structure and the

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event, long held to be incompatible with one another, as mutually de­ pendent categories. The affinities with the narratological type II event lie in contextual reference, the importance of deviation, the role of relevance, the need for interpretation and perception, and the discursive foundations of the event. Differences exist regarding the point of reference, however: Suter & Hettling and Rathmann suggest primarily that reference is made to the consciousness of contemporaries, whereas narratologists distinguish various points of reference: a change can be eventful for characters, the narrator, the abstract author, or the intended (or actual) reader. Equally, though, since incidents may turn out to be eventful only in retrospect, the historian or a later generation can be postulated as a possible frame of reference in the case of historical events. 3.4 Discussion of the Concept of Event in Literary Theory The use of the concept of event to define narrativity in the debates of literary theory supersedes (in most cases earlier) attempts to capture the special quality of narration by referring to the role of mediation (e.g. Friedemann 1910; Stanzel 1955; → mediacy and narrative mediation). Event-based approaches are supported by the insight that, although rep­ resentations in language or other media—narratives, for example, but also descriptions and arguments—are always mediated, narration alone is set apart from other forms of discourse by the fact that what is rep­ resented is marked by temporality (Sternberg 2001: 115; Schmid 2003, 2005: 11–6). Accordingly, the representation of a change (of state, of situation, of a form of behavior) that takes place in time has been iden­ tified as constitutive of narration, as in Ryan’s (1991: 124) explanation of her “narrative as state-transition diagram:” “the most widely accepted claim about the nature of narrative is that it represents a chronolo­ gically ordered sequence of states and events.” Similarly Herman (2005: 151): “Events, conceived as time- and place-specific transitions from some source state S […] to some target state S’ […], are thus a prerequisite for narrative.” Approaches to a definition that are based on changes in time can be divided into two basic types (cf. “Explication” above): event I (general changes of any kind) and event II (changes that meet further qualitative conditions). 3.4.1 Event I The approaches to defining narrativity based on event I are many and varied. Numerous theorists define the minimal story or identify the event as a basic element of narration in the context of an operational

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explication of the phenomenon of change of state. This is the back­ ground against which Prince (1973: 31) describes changes as causalchronological sequences of three elements: “A minimal story consists of three conjoined events: The first and third events are stative, the second active. Furthermore, the third event is the inverse of the first.” “Event” here refers to stative and dynamic states of affairs (17). In a later take on the issue, in his programmatic definition of a minimal story, Prince ([1987] 2003: 28; emphasis in original) uses event to mean a change: “event. a change of STATE manifested in DISCOURSE by a process statement in the mode of Do or Happen.” Stempel (1973: 328– 30) defines the minimal narrative schema syntactically as a sequence of sentential statements that meet the following conditions: the subjects must have the same reference; it must be possible to contrast and cor­ relate the predicates; and the predicates must be chronologically ordered. The same idea of the event is put forward, on a higher level of abstraction, by Meister (2003: 116; emphasis in original): “by an EVENT we understand the attribution of distinct properties to an identical event object under a stable EVENT FOCUS” (the term “event focus” refers to the point of reference for the change involved). Todorov (1971: 39) defines change in time as a necessary component of narration by referring to two principles of narrative: successive­ ness and transformation. By further distinguishing between different kinds of transformation, he arrives at a typology of narrative organiza­ tion that should be understood as involving different kinds of event: mythological, gnoseological, and ideological transformations—changes, that is, involving situation, cognition, or behavioral norms (40, 42). With respect to the basic elements of the structure of narrative pro­ gression, Todorov ([1968] 1977: 111) proposes a three-stage configura­ tion: initial equilibrium—destabilization—new equilibrium. Bremond ([1966] 1980: 387–88) sets out a more flexible dynamic way of model­ ing change in which alternatives are also considered. He puts forward the idea of a three-part elementary sequence of events leading from the virtuality (of a goal or an expectation), via the act of (non-) actualiza­ tion, to manifest (non-)realization, the attainment or non-attainment of the goal, with amelioration or degradation as variants of change (390– 92). Ryan (1991: 127–47) uses a similar kind of sequential structure with multiple stages to classify events with reference to the causes or driving forces behind them, particularly in terms of the level of inten­ tionality involved. Actions are contrasted with happenings (changes with and without human causation respectively) and moves with passive moves (plan-based action and lack of action, respectively, as con­

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flict resolution). Ryan’s system also includes outcomes (the successes or failures that result from actions) and plans (the planning of actions). The study of linguistics has witnessed comparable efforts to draw up predicate-based typologies of events or their components. Examples in­ clude Frawley (1992: 182–95), who distinguishes between statives, actives, inchoatives, and resultatives, and Vendler (1967), who distin­ guishes between activity, accomplishment, achievement, and state. Drawing on Frawley and Vendler, Herman (2002: 27–51) refers to the selection and linking of such event components in an attempt to define individual narrative genres (e.g. the epic, newspaper articles, ghost stories) in terms of their event structures. The undertaking is not a con­ vincing success, for it seems likely that the specific type of eventful­ ness associated with a genre can be identified only hermeneutically—in terms of event II, that is—rather than on a linguistic level. It is also questionable whether the distinctive nature of a genre can be delineated so clearly from that of other genres or be captured in simple, general formulas of this kind. All these different ways of conceptualizing event I have two fea­ tures in common. (a) If they define narrativity in terms of temporality, they do so with reference to the presence of change on the level of the represented happenings. The necessity of linguistic mediation is high­ lighted in the process, but in the vast majority of cases this implies ref­ erence to changes in the narrated world alone, not to changes on the level of discourse (presentation). The proposals regarding sentencebased definitions (Stempel 1973; Todorov 1968; Prince 1973, 1987) are no different in this respect. In the terminology of Meister (2003: 107–08, 114–16), we are dealing with object events, which he distin­ guishes from what he refers to as discourse events, wherein the changes take place on the discourse level; the difference, though, con­ cerns merely the recipient’s acts of cognitive interpretation involving the events. At any rate, all these definitions seek to achieve an objectiv­ izing operationalization of the definition of the event on the basis of linguistic expressions without considering the scope of reference to lit­ erary contexts and normative social contexts as a source of meaning. The hermeneutic role of the reader, that is to say, is excluded. (b) If dif­ ferent types of event are distinguished from one another, the aim is either to provide no more than a qualitative classification of kinds of change or to distinguish between different types of narrative on the basis of such a classification (which, however, is inadequate as far as the dimension of meaning is concerned). It was recognized at an early date (Culler 1975: 205–07; Chatman 1978: 92–5) that the crucial pro­ cesses and aspects of meaning in narrative texts cannot be grasped by

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means of categories, such as these, that can be formalized independ­ ently of interpretation and context. 3.4.2 Event II Use of the concept of event in literary theory requires that type II events meet certain additional conditions. Such conditions have been identified from various perspectives, which will now be reviewed not in historical order but systematically, progressing from approaches concerned with definition to ones involving methodology and analysis, in particular Lotman’s plot model, which has proved particularly pro­ ductive in practice. In his discussion of the role of narration in structuring reality as part of human existence, Bruner (1991) draws attention to all the central di­ mensions of eventfulness involved in event II: the hermeneutic com­ ponent; the modality of deviation; the place of norms as a point of ref­ erence; and context sensitivity. Bruner uses the idea of “hermeneutic composability” (7–11) to stress the fact that stories do not exist in the world, but depend for their existence on human consciousness to provide the horizon against which they stand. He uses the phrase “ca­ nonicity and breach” (11–3) to describe how a precipitating event, resulting in a break with expectations, a deviation from what is normal and from routine scripts, is a necessary condition of tellability. Breaks of this kind always involve norms (15–6). Finally, these features give rise to the context sensitivity (16–8) that makes real-world narration “such a viable instrument for cultural negotiation” (17). In order to distinguish event II from event I, Schmid (2003, 2005: 20–7) defines additional criteria that a change of state must fulfill in order to qualify as an event in this narrower sense. First, facticity and resultativity are specified as necessary conditions. Eventfulness, that is to say, requires that a change actually take place (rather than being simply desired or imagined) and that it reach a conclusion (rather than having simply begun or being in progress). These binary conditions are supplemented by five properties that can be present to different degrees and must also be displayed by a change, if it is to qualify as eventful in the manner of a type II event. Changes, that is to say, are more or less eventful depending on the extent to which these five properties are present. Specifically, the criteria are those of relevance (significance in the represented world), unpredictability (deviation from what is expected, from the principles of the general order of the world), effect (im­ plications of the change for the character concerned or the narrated world), irreversibility (persistence and irrevocability of the change’s consequences), and non-iterativity (singularity of the change).

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In theory, the necessary conditions of facticity and resultativity are binary and context-independent, whereas the nature and magnitude of the five additional criteria are predominantly dependent on cultural, historical, or literary contexts and can be interpreted in different ways by the various participants in narrative communication (→ author, → narrator, → characters, → reader). The extent to which a change in the narrated world qualifies as significant, unpredictable, momentous, or irreversible depends on the established system of norms, the conven­ tional ideas about the nature of society and reality, current in any given case, but also on literary, e.g. genre-specific, conventions, and can therefore vary historically between different mentalities and cultures. This is ultimately true of facticity and resultativity as conditions for full type II eventfulness, too. In certain historical cultural contexts, changes that are only imagined or not fully realized can acquire (re­ duced) eventful status in so far as the act of imagining, planning, or similar functions as a sign of a (beginning or faltering) change in a character. The relevance of a change can be evaluated differently from differ­ ent standpoints. Thus, the level of relevance often differs depending on whether the point of reference is the real author, the narrator, or one or more characters. In the case of unpredictability, we must distinguish the expectations of protagonists from the scripts of author and reader. What for a hero is an unpredictable event can for the reader be a central part of a genre’s script. These criteria allow the role of interpreta­ tion, the modality of deviation, context sensitivity, and the relevance of norms, as also suggested by Bruner, to be broken down into a spread of features. Lotman’s plot model (1970) offers a comprehensive approach that combines a context-sensitive and norm-related concept of type II event­ fulness with a practical apparatus for analyzing texts in terms of their event structures (Titzmann 2003: 3077–84; Hauschild 2009). Lotman explicitly distinguishes two kinds of event: a basic concept of event of the event I variety, described as “the smallest indivisible unit of plot construction” (Lotman [1970] 1977: 233), and a concept of event of the event II variety, assembled on a higher level, which he defines in terms of spatial semantics as a “unit of plot construction,” writing that “an event in a text is the shifting of a persona across the borders of a se­ mantic field” (233). By plot, Lotman means an eventful action se­ quence with three components: “1) some semantic field divided into two mutually complementary subsets; 2) the border between these sub­ sets, which under normal circumstances is impenetrable, though in a given instance (a text with a plot always deals with a given instance) it

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proves to be penetrable for the hero-agent; 3) the hero-agent” (240; em­ phasis in original). A semantic field represents a normative order, sub­ divided like any other order into two binary subsets, set apart, that is, from what it is not. Lotman uses topological terms as the basis for his definition of an event, but he stresses the normative relevance of the definition by pointing out that normative values (e.g. good vs. evil, rul­ ing vs. serving, valuable vs. worthless) tend to be described using spa­ tial images and oppositions (e.g. above vs. below, right vs. left, open vs. closed, near vs. far, moving vs. stationary). Thus, Lotman’s spatial semantics should be understood as a metaphor for non-spatial, normative complexes. The concept of the semantic field is shaped by Lotman’s belief that artistic language represents a “secondary modeling system” (9), that is, that its function in creating world structure is culturally and historically specific and in this respect embodies the link between text and context. In this way, Lotman takes the semantic field with its binary subdivi­ sions as a point of reference for establishing and elucidating the normative dimension of eventfulness and also its dependence on cultural and social historical contexts. Whether or not a change (e.g. the marriage of a female servant and a nobleman) is eventful depends on the histori­ cally variable class structure of society (such a marriage was eventful in 18th-century England; it would be so to a far lesser degree, if at all, in the 21st century). Determining eventfulness is therefore a hermeneut­ ic process. Lotman defines as plotless a text that simply describes a normative framework and anchors the characters in both subspaces without the possibility of change—a text, that is to say, whose only function is one of classification. By adding the mobility of one or several characters, a boundary crossing, to this plotless substrate, a text that possesses plot is created and an event produced (237–38). An event therefore represents a violation of the established order, a deviation from the norm, in extreme cases a “revolutionary event” (238). The boundary between the subsets can, according to how strict the system of norms is and how stable its order, be more or less impermeable, making it possible for events to have different levels of eventfulness, to be positioned at vari­ ous points on the plot scale (236). Lotman’s plot model provides a powerful set of tools that makes it possible to describe with precision the many forms and degrees of eventfulness in narrative texts. The protagonist, for example, can be in­ tegrated into the second semantic subset, and thereby become immobile, after the boundary crossing has taken place; but he can also return to the first subset and negate the event (meaning that the established or­

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der and norms are affirmed) or remain in motion, set forth again, and go through another important change, triggering a realignment of field structure (what was the second subset becomes the first subset of a new overall and differently defined field; 240–41). Renner (1983, 2004), Titzmann (2003), and Krah (1999) seek to in­ crease the practical suitability of Lotman’s model for textual analysis by refining its concepts and formalizing its categories. Renner (1983, 2004) reformulates Lotman’s spatial metaphor in terms of set theory, describing the normative regularities of the semantic space as a set of “ordering statements” so that spatial change can be redefined as a suc­ cessive process of disruption, removal, or replacement of such ordering statements. This picture of how the boundary crossing takes place provides a more precise impression of it as a potentially progressive, as opposed to instantaneous, phenomenon. An important prerequisite for this refinement lies in the observation that spaces are not homogeneous but can display a graded structure with respect to their ordering prin­ ciples: at some stage, changing position within the space, the protagonist, because of his cumulative opposition to the dominant ordering statements, reaches an extreme point that qualifies as an event (the ex­ treme point rule). It is questionable, however, whether Renner’s ex­ treme formalization of Lotman’s categories really represents a step for­ ward for analysis in practice. Titzmann (2003) puts forward two addi­ tional categories to supplement those of Lotman. First, he introduces the concept of the meta-event, which involves not only the passage of the protagonist from the first to the second subset as a result of his boundary crossing, but also the modification of the entire field, the world order itself (if, for example, the boundary crossing results in the social opposition between the subsets being reconfigured as a morally defined division in the field). Second, Titzmann introduces the concept of the modalization of semantic spaces, which accounts for the fact that it is possible for subsets to differ from one another in terms of their modality (as dreams, fantasies, wishes contrasting with reality). Sub­ categories of spatial opposition and boundary crossing, in particular, are suggested by Krah (1999: 7–9) in the context of a closer study of certain aspects of the concept of space. Subspaces can represent autonomous alternatives in formal terms, or they can be related to one another functionally as contrastive spaces or by their relationship to a certain standpoint (system/environment, inside/outside). Spatial subdi­ visions can also be conceptually defined in many ways, in terms, for example, of nature vs. culture, home vs. foreign, normality vs. deviation, past vs. present, everyday vs. exotic, as well as from a gender-spe­ cific perspective. An event can take place in the form of a boundary

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crossing by a character in which that character retains his features un­ changed or, alternatively, adopts opposing ones (adapts to the other field); or an event can also—as a meta-event (Titzmann 2003)—take place as a transformation of the spatial opposition. This corresponds to forms of event-leveling (by which Krah means ways of continuing after an event has taken place): return to the initial space, absorption into the opposing space, or metaleveling (retracting the reorganization of the spatial opposition). Typologies of this kind allow the phenomenon of eventfulness to be identified more precisely in texts, thereby supplying a prerequisite for a closer analysis of it. Members of the Narratology Research Group in Hamburg have combined Lotman’s plot and concept of events with schema theory (→ schemata) to produce a text model designed around narrative the­ ory and a practical model for narratological analysis that includes a de­ tailed typology of events (Hühn & Schönert 2002; Hühn & Kiefer 2005; Hühn 2005, 2008; Schönert et al. 2007). Reference is made to lyric poetry on the one hand, to narrative literature on the other. The approach stresses the fact that eventfulness is dependent on cultural and historical context, and it proposes that the relevant contexts be treated in terms of the schemata (frames and scripts) called to mind and activated by the text—that is, the meaning-bearing cultural or literary patterns relevant in each case (such as conventional patterns for how to proceed in choosing a partner, etc., or literary, genre-specific plot schemata). The presence of eventfulness results from deviation from a script, from a break with expectations. With this in mind, schema theory (whose script concept makes it possible to model processes of change) and plot theory in the Lotman style (which uses the boundary crossing to model deviation and break with the norm) can be combined in the search for a precise definition of eventfulness (Hühn 2008). As levels of deviation can be more or less pronounced, eventfulness is not an absolute quality, but relative and a matter of degree: a text can be more or less eventful depending on the amount of deviation involved (Schmid 2003, 2005). Eventful changes involve a participant in the action (an agent or a patient) and can be located on various levels of textual structure (→ narrative levels). Correspondingly, three types of event can be dis­ tinguished (Hühn, in Hühn & Kiefer 2005: 246–51, 2008). In events in the happenings, the crucial change affects the protagonist on the level of the narrated happenings, i.e. one or more characters in the narrated world. Presentation events involve the extradiegetic level, since they concern the narratorial figure as an agent, the story of the narrator (Schmid 1982). In reception events, the crucial change takes place

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neither on the level of the happenings nor on that of presentation, since its occurrence involves neither the protagonist nor the narrator as agent. Instead, it must be enacted by the (ideal) reader in place of the protagonist or the narrator because they are unwilling or unable to do so, as in the dramatic monologue (Browning, Tennyson) or in Joyce’s Dubliners. In such cases, a full expression of the event is distinctively omitted from the text. This prompts readers to undergo an eventful mental change or arrive at a decisive increase in understanding—in both cases ‘against’ the text. In the context of practical analysis, this differentiation between event types, based on the structure of the nar­ rative text, can be combined with Krah’s concrete categorizations. 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The historical dimension of the category of event, i.e. its relation­ ship to different types of culture and social world orders, remains open to study: does it appear—as a sign of the new—more frequently in periods when traditional orders are disintegrating or being weakened (in the modern and modernist periods)? Are events to be found in tradi­ tion-bound societies or cultures that operate in terms of tradition and continuity? It would be interesting in this respect to provide a comparison with narrative texts from ‘distant’ cultures not yet affected by the West (South America, Asia, Africa). (b) The potent concept of event forged by Lotman is particularly well suited for use with literary narrative texts. How might we describe points of eventfulness, or tellability, in the case of other text types (anecdotes, news reports, newspaper articles, jokes, gossip, etc.) that also involve surprises and the unexpected? (c) The expression of the concept of event in other literary genres, such as drama and lyric poetry, requires consideration. (d) It is also neces­ sary to investigate the expression of the concept of event in other me­ dia, particularly film and painting. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Aust, Hugo ([1990] 2006). Novelle. Stuttgart: Metzler. Bremond, Claude ([1966] 1980). “The Logic of Narrative Possibilities.” New Literary History 11, 387–411. Bruner, Jerome (1991). “The Narrative Construction of Reality.” Critical Inquiry 18, 1–21.

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Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Culler, Jonathan (1975). Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics and the Study of Literature. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Frawley, William (1992). Linguistic Semantics. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum. Friedemann, Käte ([1910] 1965). Die Rolle des Erzählers in der Epik. Darmstadt: WBG. Goethe, Johann W. von ([1795] 1960). Goethes Werke. Vol. VI: Romane und Novellen. Eds. B. v. Wiese & E. Trunz. Hamburg: Wegner. Goethe Wörterbuch (1989). 2 Vols. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Halliwell, Stephen (1987). The Poetics of Aristotle: Translation and Commentary. London: Duckworth. Hauschild, Christiane (2009). “Jurij M. Lotmans semiotischer Ereignisbegriff: Versuch einer Neubewertung.” W. Schmid (ed). Slavische Narratologie: Russische und tschechische Ansätze. Berlin: de Gruyter, 141–86. Herman, David (2002). Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (2005). “Events and Event-Types.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclope­ dia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 151–52. Hühn, Peter (2005). “Plotting the Lyric: Forms of Narration in Poetry.” E. MüllerZettelmann & M. Rubik (eds). Theory into Poetry: New Approaches to the Lyric. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 147–72. – (2008). “Functions and Forms of Eventfulness in Narrative Fiction.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 141–63. – & Jens Kiefer (2005). The Narratological Analysis of Lyric Poetry: Studies in English Poetry from 16th to the 20th Century. Berlin: de Gruyter. – & Jörg Schönert (2002). “Zur narratologischen Analyse von Lyrik.” Poetica 34, 287–305. Kock, Christian (1978). “Narrative Tropes: A study of points in plots.” G. D. Caie et al. (eds). Occasional Papers 1976–1977. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 202–52. Krah, Hans (1999). “Räume, Grenzen, Grenzüberschreitungen: Einführende Überle­ gungen.” Kodikas/Code 22, 3–12. Kunz, Josef, ed. ([1968] 1973). Novelle. Darmstadt: WBG. Labov, William (1972). Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Ver­ nacular. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P. Lotman, Jurij M. ([1970] 1977). The Structure of the Artistic Text. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P. Meister, Jan Christoph (2003). Computing Action: A Narratological Approach. Berlin: de Gruyter. Pabst, Walter (1953). Novellentheorie und Novellendichtung: Zur Geschichte ihrer An­ tinomie in den romanischen Literaturen. Hamburg: Cram, de Gruyter. Perels, Christoph (1998). “Der Begriff der Begebenheit in Goethes Bemerkungen zur Erzählkunst.” Ch. P. Goethe in seiner Epoche. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 177–89. Pratt, Mary Louise (1977). Towards a Speech Act Theory of Literary Discourse. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Prince, Gerald (1973). A Grammar of Stories: An Introduction. The Hague: Mouton.

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– ([1987] 2003). A Dictionary of Narratology. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Rathmann, Thomas (2003). “Ereignisse Konstrukte Geschichten.” Th. R. (ed). Ereig­ nis: Konzeptionen eines Begriffs in Geschichte, Kunst und Literatur. Köln: Böhlau, 1–119. Renner, Karl Nikolaus (1983). Der Findling: Eine Erzählung von Heinrich von Kleist und ein Film von George Moorse. Prinzipien einer adäquaten Wiedergabe narra­ tiver Strukturen. München: Fink. – (2004). “Grenze und Ereignis: Weiterführende Überlegungen zum Ereigniskonzept von J. M. Lotman.” G. Frank & W. Lukas (eds). Norm―Grenze―Abweichung: Kultursemiotische Studien zu Literatur, Medien und Wirtschaft. Passau: Stutz, 357–81. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Schlaffer, Hannelore (1993). Poetik der Novelle. Stuttgart: Metzler. Schmid, Wolf (1982). “Die narrativen Ebenen ‘Geschehen,’ ‘Geschichte,’ ‘Erzählung’ und ‘Präsentation der Erzählung’.” Wiener Slawistischer Almanach 9, 83–110. – (2003). “Narrativity and Eventfulness.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 17–33. – (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schönert, Jörg, et al. (2007). Lyrik und Narratologie: Text-Analysen zu deutschspra­ chigen Gedichten vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert. Berlin: de Gruyter. Stanzel, Franz (1955). Die typischen Erzählsituationen im Roman. Dargestellt an Tom Jones, Moby-Dick, The Abassadors, Ulysses u.a. Wien: Braumüller. Stempel, Wolf-Dieter (1973). “Erzählung, Beschreibung und der historische Diskurs.” R. Koselleck & W.-D. Stempel (eds). Geschichte―Ereignis und Erzählung. München: Fink, 325–45. Sternberg, Meir (2001). “How Narrativity Makes a Difference.” Narrative 9, 115–22. Suter, Andreas & Manfred Hettling (2001). “Struktur und Ereignis―Wege zu einer So­ zialgeschichte des Ereignisses.” A. Suter & M. Hettling (eds). Struktur und Ereig­ nis. Geschichte und Gesellschaft. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 7–32. Swales, Martin (1977). The German ‘Novelle.’ Princeton: Princeton UP. Titzmann, Michael (2003). “Semiotische Aspekte der Literaturwissenschaft: Literatur­ semiotik.” R. Posner et al. (eds). Semiotik / Semiotics. Berlin: de Gruyter, vol. 3, 3028–103. Todorov, Tzvetan ([1968] 1977). “The Grammar of Narrative.” T. T. The Poetics of Prose. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 108–19. – (1971). “The 2 Principles of Narrative.” Diacritics 1, 37–44. Vendler, Zeno (1967). Linguistics in Philosophy. Ithaca: Cornell UP.

5.2 Further Reading
Audet, René, et al. (2007). Narrativity: How Visual Arts, Cinema and Literature are Telling the World Today. Paris: Dis Voir.

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Czucka, Eckehard (1992). Emphatische Prosa: Das Problem der Wirklichkeit der Er­ eignisse in der Literatur des 19. Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart: Steiner. Hühn, Peter & Jens Kiefer (2007). “Approche descriptive de l’intrigue et de la construction de l’intrigue par la théorie des systèmes.” J. Pier (ed). Théorie du ré­ cit. L’apport de la recherche allemande. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 209–26. Kędra-Kardela, Anna (1996). “An (Un)Eventful Story: ‘Events’ in Frank O’Connor’s Short Story ‘The Frying Pan’.” L. S. Kolek (ed). Appoaches to Fiction. Lublin: Fo­ lium, 71–80. Korthals, Holger (2003). Zwischen Drama und Erzählung: Ein Beitrag zur Theorie ge­ schehensdarstellender Literatur. Berlin: Schmidt. Koselleck, Reinhart & Wolf-Dieter Stempel, eds. (1973). Geschichte―Ereignis und Erzählung. München: Fink. Lotman, Jurij M. (2009). “Zum künstlerischen Raum und zum Problem des Sujets.” W. Schmid (ed). Russische Proto-Narratologie. Texte in kommentierten Übersetzun­ gen. Berlin: de Gruyter, 261–89. Meuter, Norbert (2004). “Geschichten erzählen, Geschichten analysieren. Das narrati­ vistische Paradigma in den Kulturwissenschaften.” F. Jäger & J. Straub (eds). Handbuch der Kulturwissenschaften: Paradigmen und Disziplinen. Stuttgart: Metzler, vol. 2, 140–55. Naumann, Barbara (2003). “Zur Entstehung von Begriffen aus dem Ungeordneten des Gesprächs.” Th. Rathmann (ed). Ereignis: Konzeptionen eines Begriffs in Ge­ schichte, Kunst und Literatur. Köln: Böhlau, 103–18. Nünning, Ansgar (2007). “Grundzüge einer Narratologie der Krise: Wie aus einer Situation ein Plot und eine Krise (konstruiert) werden.” G. Grunwald & M. Pfister (eds). Krisis! Krisenszenarien, Diagnosen und Diskursstrategien. München: Fink, 48–71. Scherer, Stefan (2003). “Ereigniskonstruktionen als Literatur.” Th. Rathmann (ed). Er­ eignis: Konzeptionen eines Begriffs in Geschichte, Kunst und Literatur. Köln: Böhlau, 63–84.

Fictional vs. Factual Narration
Jean-Marie Schaeffer 1 Definition Factual and fictional narrative are generally defined as a pair of opposites. However, there is no consensus as to the rationale of this opposi­ tion. Three major competing definitions have been proposed: (a) se­ mantic definition: factual narrative is referential whereas fictional narrative has no reference (at least not in “our” world); (b) syntactic definition: factual narrative and fictional narrative can be distinguished by their logico-linguistic syntax; (c) pragmatic definition: factual nar­ rative advances claims of referential truthfulness whereas fictional nar­ rative advances no such claims. One could add a fourth definition, narratological in nature: in factual narrative author and narrator are the same person whereas in fictional narrative the narrator (who is part of the fictional world) differs from the author (who is part of the world we are living in) (Genette [1991] 1993: 78–88). But this fourth definition is better seen as a consequence of the pragmatic definition of fiction. 2 Explication 2.1 The Validity of the Fact/Fiction Opposition Poststructuralist philosophers, anthropologists and literary critics have questioned the validity of the fact/fiction distinction as such, some­ times contending, in a Nietzschean vein, that fact itself is a mode of fiction (a fictio in the sense of a “making up”). Applied to the domain of narrative, this approach insists on the “fictionalizing” nature of nar­ rative because every narrative constructs a world. But at least in reallife situations, the distinction between factual and fictional narrative seems to be unavoidable, since mistaking a fictional narrative for a fac­ tual one (or vice versa) can have dramatic consequences. One could object to this common-sense assertion that not all societies produce fictional narratives and that often the socially most important narratives, notably myths, cannot be accounted for in terms of the

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dichotomy between fact and fiction. But even if it may be true that fic­ tional narrative as a socially recognized practice is not an intercultur­ ally universal fact, all human communities seem to distinguish between actions and discourses that are meant to be taken “seriously” and others whose status is different: they are recognized as “playful pretense” or as “make-believe.” Furthermore, developmental psychology and com­ parative ethnology have shown that the distinction between representa­ tions having truth claims and “make-believe” representations is crucial in the ontogenetic development of the cognitive structure of the infant psyche and that this phenomenon is transcultural (see Goldman & Em­ mison 1995; Goldman 1998). Finally, as far as myth is concerned, it is clearly considered a type of factual discourse: people adhere to it as serious discourse referring to something real (this is also the case of the Bible; see Sternberg 1985, 1990). As shown by Veyne (1983), the so­ cial construction of “truthful discourse” posits an array of “truth pro­ grams” linked to various ontological domains (e.g. the profane as distinct from the sacred). Thus “myth” can be “true” (i.e. treated as serious and referring to some reality), even if believing in its truth enters into conflict with what in another ontological domain is accepted as truthful. For example, in myth and its corresponding reality, people can be endowed with powers nobody would imagine them having in every­ day life. This does not imply that there is no distinction between fact and fiction, but that what counts as a fact may be relative to a specific “truth program.” The poststructuralist criticism of the fact/fiction dichotomy has pointed out that every (narrative) representation is a human construc­ tion, and more precisely that it is a model projected onto reality. But the fact that discourse in general, and narrative discourse in particular, are constructions does not by itself disqualify ontological realism or the distinction between fact and fiction. To rule out ontological realism, it would be necessary to show independently that the constructive nature of discourse in general or of narrative in particular makes them fiction­ al or at least implies a “fictionalizing” dynamics. This proof has never been delivered, and so the common-sense hypothesis remains the de­ fault option. 2.2 Fact and Fiction, Narrative and Non-narrative The relationship between → narratology and theory of fiction long re­ mained inexistent, in part because classical narratology rarely ad­ dressed the question of the fact/fiction difference. The theory was intended to be valid for all narratives, although in reality the classical

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narratologists drew only on fictional texts. The classical models by Genette (1972, 1983) and Stanzel (1964, 1979), for example, were gen­ eral narratologies whose sole input was fictional texts. It was only at a later stage that narratologists explicitly investigated the relationship between narrative techniques and the fictionality/factuality distinction (Genette 1991; Cohn 1999). It is important, therefore, that the problem of the distinction between factual and fictional narrative be placed in its wider context. First, not every verbal utterance is narrative, nor is every referential ut­ terance narrative. Thus discursive reference cannot be reduced to nar­ rative reference. More generally, reference is not necessarily verbal: it can also be visual (e.g. a photograph makes reference claims without being of a discursive nature). The same holds for fiction. Not every fic­ tion is verbal (paintings can be, and very often are, fictional), and not every fiction, or even every verbal fiction, is narrative: both a painted portrait of a unicorn and a verbal description of a unicorn are fictions without being narrations. Factual narrative is a species of referential representation, just as fictional narrative is a species of non-factual rep­ resentation. And of course not every verbal utterance without factual content is a fiction: erroneous assertions and plain lies are also utter­ ances without factual content. Indeed, fiction, and its species narrative fiction, are best understood as a specific way of producing and using mental representations and semiotic devices, be they verbal or not. This means that narrative and fiction are intersecting categories and must be studied as such (see Martínez & Scheffel 2003). 2.3 Types of Fiction The difficulty of getting a clear picture of the distinction between fac­ tual and fictional narrative results in part from a long history of shifting uses of the term “fiction.” The sense which is most current today—that of a representation portraying an imaginary/invented universe or world —is not its original nor its historically most prominent domain of refer­ ence. In Latin, fictio had at least two different meanings: on the one hand, it referred to the act of modeling something, of giving it a form (as in the art of the sculptor); on the other hand, it designated acts of pretending, supposing, or hypothesizing. Interestingly, the second sense of the Latin term fictio did not put emphasis on the playful dimension of the act of pretending. On the contrary, during most of its long his­ tory, “fiction,” stemming from the second sense of the Latin meaning, was used in reference to serious ways of pretending, postulating, or hy­

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pothesizing. Hence the term has usually been linked to questions of ex­ istence and non-existence, true and false belief, error and lie. In classical philosophy, “fiction” was often used to designate what we today would call a cognitive illusion (→ illusion). Hume used the term in this sense when he spoke about causality or about a unified self, calling them “fictions” (Hume [1739] 1992: Bk I, Pt IV, Sec VI). Now, this type of fiction, as Hume himself explicitly stated, is quite different from fiction in the artistic field. It is part of the definition of a cognitive fiction that it is not experienced as a fiction. A narrative fic­ tion, by contrast, is experienced as a fiction. This means that narrative fictions, contrary to cognitive fictions, should not produce real-world beliefs (even if in fact they sometimes do: fiction has its own patholo­ gies). The term fiction has also often been used to designate willful acts of deception intended to be misleading or to produce false beliefs. In this sense, deceptive fiction resembles cognitive fiction. But in the case of willful deception, the production of a false belief depends at least partly on the existence of true beliefs entertained by the person en­ gaged in deceiving others: to induce willfully false beliefs, one must hold at least some correct beliefs concerning the state of affairs about which false beliefs are to be produced, for otherwise the result of will­ ful deception will be haphazard. Willful deception (lies and manipula­ tions) are, once again, quite different from narrative fiction, which im­ plies that at some level pretense is experienced as pretense. In science, the term is sometimes applied to theoretical entities pos­ tulated to account for observational regularities which otherwise would be unexplainable. Electrons and other elementary particles have been called “fictions” in this sense. “Fiction,” used this way, does not desig­ nate something known to be non-existent, but is rather the hypothetical postulation of an operative entity whose ontological status remains in­ determinate. Theoretical fictions are postulated entities whose ontolo­ gical status remains unclear but which operate in real-world cognitive commitments. Here again, the situation is quite different from fictional entities in the context of narrative fiction: such entities do not operate in real-world commitments. On the other hand, and contrary to theoret­ ical entities, narrative fictional entities are entities which, if they existed, or if their existence were asserted, would have a canonical ontological status, part of the real stuff of reality. So the difference is the fol­ lowing: in the case of theoretical fictions, fictionality is due to the fact that the ontological status (theoretical terms/real entities) of the entities is indeterminate; in the case of narrative fictions, fictionality is due to

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the fact that the entities are not inferentially linked to real-world existential propositions. Finally, the term is also used to designate thought experiments. Searle’s Chinese Room thought experiment and Putnam’s Brain in a Vat or Twin Earth thought experiments are fictions in this sense of the word. Thought experiments are generally counterfactual deductive devices giving rise to valid conclusions which are integrated into the real-world belief system. Superficially, this may seem to be a situation which resembles that of narrative fiction, but in fact, a narrative fiction cannot be a thought experiment in the technical sense. The principal reason why this assimilation is impossible is that the mental experience induced by a narrative fiction and its validation are very different from those of a thought experiment, for the attitude adopted when creating or reading a thought experiment is an attitude of logical discrimination: we have to verify its formal validity, determine whether or not it is con­ clusive, think about how its relevance could be increased or refuted, etc. Validating (or rejecting) a thought experiment is achieved through technical controversies between specialists who accept it or not, refor­ mulate or modify it using criteria of logical consistency and necessity. A narrative fiction, by contrast, is activated in an immersive way: it is “lived” and stored in the reader’s or spectator’s memory as a universe closed on itself. As far as validating it is concerned, this is also quite different from validating a thought experiment, since one would not say of an narrative fiction that it is conclusive or faulty, but rather that it is successful or unsuccessful in terms of its “effectiveness” as a vec­ tor of immersion, its richness as a universe, etc. In other words, its “fe­ licity conditions” are tied primarily to its immersion-inducing effectiveness and to its capacity for producing an aesthetically satisfying ex­ perience of its mimetic and artifactual properties. Admittedly, narrative fictions can be evaluated in terms of the consistency of the fictional universe or in those of their plausibility in relation to supposed realworld situations or in terms of the desirable character or not of their ex­ plicit or implicit standards. But all this has nothing to do with validat­ ing a thought experiment. To state the difference more bluntly: a thought experiment is an experimental device of a logical nature, a sup­ positional or counterfactual propositional universe intended to help re­ solve a philosophical problem; a narrative fiction, by contrast, invites mental or perceptual immersion in an invented universe, engaging the reader or the spectator on an affective level with the persons and events that are depicted or described.

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2.4 Mimesis and the Fact/Fiction Distinction Historically (at least in Western culture), the key concept for analyzing and describing fiction in the sense of artistic and, more specifically, narrative fiction has not been the Latin concept of fictio, but the Greek concept of mimesis. Unfortunately, mimesis, like fictio, is far from be­ ing a unified notion. In fact, the first two important discussions of mimesis, in Plato’s Republic (1974: chap. III and X) and a little later in Aristotle’s Poetics, develop two quite divergent conceptions which have structured Western attitudes toward fiction up to this day. Plato’s theory of representation is founded on a strong opposition between im­ itation of ideas and imitation of appearances (the empirical world): rep­ resentation of events as such, contrary to rational argument, is an imita­ tion of appearances, which means that it is cut off from truth. He fur­ ther posits a strong opposition between mimesis and diegesis. Speaking about stories and myths, he distinguishes between: (a) a pure story (haple diegesis), in which the poet speaks in his own name (as in dithy­ rambs) without pretending to be someone else; (b) a story by mimesis (imitation), in which the poet speaks through his characters (as in tragedy and comedy), meaning that he pretends to be someone else; (c) a mixed form combining the two previous forms (as in epic poetry, where pure narration is mixed with characters’ discourse). Plato’s pref­ erence goes to pure narration, for he disapproves of representation by mimesis (in Book X of The Republic, he goes so far as to exclude mi­ metic artists from the “ideal city”). Mimesis is a simulacrum, an “as if,” and as such it is opposed to truth: mimesis can never be more than a “make-believe” (for the concept of “make-believe,” see Walton 1990). The concept of mimesis developed by Aristotle in his Poetics di­ verges from Plato in several important regards. For the fact/fiction problem, only one is of interest: according to Aristotle, mimesis is a specific form of cognition. Mimetic representation is even considered by Aristotle to be superior to history because poetry expresses the gen­ eral (i.e. the probable or necessary relations between events), while his­ tory only expresses the particular (that which has happened): history relates the life of the individual Alcibiades, while poetry is a mimetic rendering of the typical actions that an Alcibiades-like individual would probably or by necessity carry out (1996: chap. 9, 1451b). This means not only that, according to Aristotle, mimesis triggers cognitive powers of a different kind from those of history, but also that these powers are of a higher order than those of factual discourse. Most clas­ sical literary theories which assert that fiction possesses its own truth

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value do so by reactivating some form or another of the Aristotelian distinction between “mere” factual truth representing contingent actu­ alities and a more “general” type of truth, that of verisimilitude or of necessity, representing onto-logical possibilities. The Aristotelian conception must be distinguished from “possible worlds” theories of fiction (Pavel 1986; Ryan 1991; Ronen 1994; Doležel 1998, 1999), inspired by the possible worlds logics of Kripke (1963, 1980) or Lewis (1973, 1978). In terms of possible worlds theories, a fictional world is a counterfactual world, but this counterfactual world is as individual as the world we live in: the counterfactual world is not of a superior kind to our actual world (whereas in Aristotle mi­ metic reference attains a higher order of truth than factual reference), but simply an alternative world. In fact, the real world is also a possible world. According to modal fictionalism, it differs from other possible worlds because it is the only one which is also actual, whereas accord­ ing to the modal realism defended by Lewis, it differs from other pos­ sible worlds (which are as real as “our” world) only by the contingent fact that we happen to live in it. Possible worlds theories of fiction therefore do not claim that fictional truth is more general than factual truth: it is simply true in another world or universe. 3 History of the Concepts and their Study 3.1 The Semantic Definition of the Fact/Fiction Difference The semantic definition of the distinction between factual and fictional narrative is the most classical one. It was defended by Frege in his famous “On Sense and Reference” (1892) and by Russell in the no less famous “On Denoting” (1905), two seminal papers of 20 th-century philosophical theories of reference. It emphasizes the ontological status of represented entities and/or the truth value status of the proposition or the sequence of propositions which assert these entities. The ontolo­ gical status of entities and the truth value status of propositions are re­ lated, since an assertion which states something about an entity that is non-existent is ipso facto referentially void. But it is important to bear in mind, firstly, that some types of fiction assign “fictive” properties and actions to proper names that refer to existing entities. This is the case for example of the subgenre of counterfactual novels which, like counterfactual history (see Ferguson ed. 1997), ascribe fictional actions to historical persons (e.g. Hitler winning World War II). Autofiction can be seen as a special case of such counterfactual fictions. Secondly, historical persons and descriptions of their real historical actions figure

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prominently in fictional texts, as in historical novels that often contain a fair amount of factual information. These mixed situations are difficult to integrate into a semantic definition of the fact/fiction distinction (see e.g. Zipfel 2001), since se­ mantic definitions (with the exception of possible worlds semantic definitions: see Doležel 1999) are by necessity “segregationist” (Pavel 1986: 11–7). Counterfactual fictions seem on the face of it easy to manage, at least in terms of possible worlds semantic models. These models being ontologically holistic, it can be said, for example, that a narrative in which Napoleon wins the battle of Waterloo is not an ex­ ample of outright falsehood, but refers to a possible world in which Na­ poleon wins the battle of Waterloo. But is it the same Napoleon? The principle of “minimal departure” (Lewis 1973; Ryan 1991) suggests a positive answer, but the holism of the possible worlds approach (each possible world being complete) suggests a negative answer. Whatever the answer, it is difficult to distinguish counterfactual fiction from counterfactual history on these grounds. Other mixed situations are even more difficult to handle. For example, the sentence “Napoleon lost the battle of Waterloo” seems to express a plain simple truth. Does its status change when it is read in a historical novel as compared to when it is read in a biography of, say, Chateaubriand or Stendhal? Does it lose its truth value when it is integrated into a novel? Most ad­ vocates of semantic definitions of the fact/fiction dichotomy give a positive answer to this question: the proper name Napoleon, when used in the novel, does not refer to the real Napoleon but to some fictional counterpart (e.g. Ryan 1991; Ronen 1994). However, this seems coun­ terintuitive, for in a historical novel it is important for the reader that the proper names referring to historical persons really do refer to the historical persons as he knows them outside of fiction, and not to some fictional homonym of those real persons (see Searle 1975). Counterfac­ tual fictions give rise to an analogous problem: it seems counterintuitive to say that in an autofiction, for example, proper names lose their referential power, since the point of autofiction is precisely the idea that fictional assertions apply to an existing person (the author himself). This does not amount to saying that semantic criteria are irrelevant, for the idea that there is a semantic difference between fact and fiction certainly is part of our conception of fiction. Thus a narrative in which every sentence is true (referentially) and which nevertheless pretends to be a fiction would not be easily accepted as a fiction. Invented entities and actions are the common stuff of fiction, and for this reason the idea of the non-referential status of the universe portrayed is part of our

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standard understanding of fictional narrative. Even so, this does not ne­ cessarily mean that a semantic definition of fiction is workable. 3.2 Syntactic Definitions Syntactic definitions of the distinction between factual and fictional narrative commend themselves by their promise of economy: if it were possible to distinguish factual and fictional narrative on purely syntactic grounds, there would be no need to take a position as far as semantic problems are concerned, be they epistemological or ontological. It would then be possible to arrive at a purely “formal” definition of the two domains. The best-known theories that seek to define fiction on a syntactic level have been elaborated by Hamburger (1957) and Banfield (1982). Both theories define fictional narrative by syntactic traits which, in the­ ory, are excluded from factual narrative. Hamburger famously stated that the domain of what is usually regarded as fiction divides into two radically disjoined fields: “pretense,” which is a simulation of real ut­ terances and defines the status of first-person non-factual narrative; and “fiction proper,” which is a simulation of imaginary universes indexed to perspectively organized mental states and which defines non-factual third-person narrative. In other words, according to Hamburger, in the narrative realm only third-person narrative is fictional, non-factual first-person narrative belonging to another logical field, that of pretended utterances. Hamburger, at least in the first edition of her book (1957), contends that, contrary to pretense, fiction is narratorless, a view sharply opposed to mainstream narratology according to which the narrator (not necessarily personified) is a structural element of any narration, be it factual or fictional, first-person or third-person. Ban­ field, although her theory is formulated in a much more technical way (based on Chomskyan generative grammar), defends a position similar to that of the German critic. She develops a “grammatical definition” (Banfield 1982, 2002) of the genre “novel,” which in fact is a defini­ tion of internally focalized heterodiegetic fiction. Among the anomalies defining the novel understood this way, Banfield puts particular em­ phasis on the specific use of deictics and free indirect discourse. Ac­ cording to her theory, the specific grammar of the novel consists in a double phenomenon: elimination of the first person except in inner direct speech coinciding with the construction of a special third-person pronoun (called “the E-level shifter” by Banfield). This special shifter suspends the “one text / one speaker” rule that governs discourse out­ side of fiction and which is grounded in the principle that deictics shift

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referent with each new E (each new speaker). In a novel, a new point of view need not correspond to a new referent of the first person and hence to a new text. This situation is of course impossible in real-life communication, where each point of view is tied to a specific person. Therefore, fictional sentences are “unspeakable.” In fact, Banfield’s “E-level shifter” is functionally equivalent to Hamburger’s floating “narrative function” which can move freely between different “I-ori­ gins.” Hamburger and Banfield have clearly identified linguistic processes which are typical of internally focalized heterodiegetic fiction (→ fo­ calization) and which cannot be easily accounted for in terms of pre­ tense in third-person factual narrative. This is especially true of free in­ direct discourse and grammatical anomalies of spatial and temporal deictics. All of these phenomena are tied to what Banfield aptly calls a “special” third-person pronoun which is able to shift freely between different Egos. They invite an analysis of fictional narrative in terms of direct simulation of imaginary universes presented perspectively and (on the side of the reader) in terms of immersion (see Ryan 2001: 89– 171). The symptoms of fictionality (see Schmid 2005: 37–46) analyzed by Hamburger and Banfield all share the same characteristic: they use a third-person grammatical perspective to present a first-person mental (perceptual, etc.) perspective (Schaeffer 1998: 148–66, 1999: 179–97). On the side of the writer, these deviating practices are in fact the gram­ matical third-person transcription of the imaginative simulation of “fictive I-origins” (→ character). On the side of the reader, they activate an immersive dynamics: the reader “slips into” the characters, ex­ periencing the fictional world as it is seen perspectively by the charac­ ters from within or sometimes, as Banfield suggests, from a point of view that remains empty (in terms of a specific “I”). Contra Hamburger and Banfield, however, it is no less true that the majority of heterodiegetic fictions also contain elements that are best described as simulations of factual narrative statements (Schaeffer 1999: 61–132). The textual passages which Banfield calls “pure narra­ tion,” and which correspond to Plato’s haple diegesis, are a case in point. Furthermore, if we look at the history of narrative fiction, the systematic use of internal (variable) focalization is fairly recent (as Banfield and Hamburger acknowledge). If we take a broad historical and intercultural outlook, it appears that heterodiegetic fictions without any element of formal mimesis in third-person factual narrative are relatively rare except in some 19th-century fiction and, more frequently, in the 20th-century fiction. So instead of interpreting the symptoms of fictionality in an essentialist way and trying to use them as definitional

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criteria of fiction, as Hamburger and Banfield do, we should study them in a historical, cultural, and cognitive perspective: why did verbal fiction in the course of its evolution develop devices aimed at neutraliz­ ing the enunciative structure of language in favor of a purely “presenta­ tional” use? To our best knowledge, the answer to this question has to do with the processes of immersive simulation induced by narrative and maximized by fictional narrative. Whatever the importance of the insights gained by syntactic defini­ tions of the fact/fiction distinction, as definitions they have severe shortcomings: to accept them, it would be necessary either to exclude first-person narration from the realm of fiction (Hamburger) or to dis­ tinguish between a grammar of epic narration and a grammar of the novel (Banfield). More generally, it would be necessary to accept the counterintuitive conclusion that most fictional texts fall short of the definition of fiction. If semantic definitions of fiction are generally too weak (they fail to distinguish between a fiction and a lie), syntactic definitions are generally too strong (many texts must be excluded which common sense considers to be fictional). 3.3 The Pragmatic Status of Narrative Fiction: Imagination and Playful Pretense

The pragmatic definition of fiction is generally linked to the name of Searle, who is certainly its most important proponent, even though the idea of defining fiction pragmatically is much older than Searle. A pragmatic theory of narrative fiction was implicitly defended by Hume. It could be argued, more generally, that wherever and whenever public representations function as fictions, people link them to their pragmatic specificity because it is only by treating representations in this particu­ lar way that they become fictional representations (instead of false statements or lies). Even so, Searle’s definition of verbal fiction in terms of pretended speech acts ([1975] 1979: 58–75) is certainly one of the most important and influential contemporary pragmatic analyses of the fact/fiction distinction in the domain of verbal narrative. Walton, whose contribution to a pragmatics of fiction is as important as Searle’s, objected to the latter’s definition that the notion of a pretended speech act cannot yield a general definition of fiction be­ cause it has no application in, among other things, the domain of pictorial depiction: paintings cannot be described in terms of pretended speech acts because pictorial depiction is not a speech act (1990: Part I, 2.6). It could be argued, however, that Searle’s theory operates at two levels: a definition of verbal narrative fiction in terms of pretended

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speech acts, and a general definition of fiction in terms of intended playful pretense. It has also been objected to Searle that his definition of fiction as intended playful pretense is unable to explain the fact that many texts intended to be factual end up being read as fictions. Walton argues that fictional intention cannot be a defining property of fiction: a fiction is any object which serves as a prop in a game of make-be­ lieve, meaning that a fiction is a fiction because it functions as such in­ dependently of the question of whether or not somebody intended it to function in that way. Walton is surely right, but Searle’s interest lies primarily in the canonical public status of narrative fiction, and most of the time narrative texts which publicly function as props in a game of make-believe or as playful pretenses are intended to function in this way and, more importantly, have been specifically designed to do so. So if it is true that fictional intention cannot define fiction as a prag­ matic stance, it is nevertheless the existence of a shared intention which explains the fact that the emergence of fictional devices has the cultural and technical history it has. It is important to distinguish the question of the structural function of intentionality from that of the communication of that intentionality. According to Searle, public representations only possess derived inten­ tionality, which implies that mental intentionality is not transparent across minds: it has to be communicated by conventional means, i.e. using verbal or other signals. This is true also for the intention of fic­ tionality: as shown by Koselleck (1979), the intention to create a factu­ al or a fictional text has to be communicated by signals to be effective. These signals are often paratextual, but for the competent reader there also exist many textual “signposts” (Cohn 1990) signaling fictionality or factuality (see Iser 1983: 121–52). The pragmatic definition of fiction also highlights the difference between narrative fiction qua playful or artistic fiction and the types of fiction which are tied to the question of truth value and belief. Narrative fiction qua artistic fiction is not opposed to truth in the way cognitive illusion, error, and manipulation are opposed to truth, nor is it con­ strained by real-world truth conditions in the way the suppositional and counterfactual fictions of thought experiments are. As propounded by Searle, it is best characterized by the irrelevance of real-world truth conditions. In the light of this pragmatic definition, what distinguishes fictional narrative from factual narrative is not that the former is refer­ entially void and the latter referentially full. What distinguishes them is the fact that in the case of fictional narrative the question of referential­ ity is irrelevant, whereas in non-fictional narrative contexts it is impor-

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tant to know whether the narrative propositions are referentially void or not. Searle has been criticized for excluding the possibility of any syn­ tactical criterion of fictionality (Cohn 1990). In fact, he only claims that syntactical markers of fictionality are neither necessary (a fictional text can be textually indistinguishable from a factual counterpart) nor sufficient (a factual text may use fictional techniques). The same fact was pointed out long ago by Hume: one and the same text may be read both as fiction and non-fiction. The text (in its syntactic and semantic dimensions) remains the same whatever the type of pragmatic attitude, but the use to which it is put will differ according to the pragmatic atti­ tude (see Hume [1739] 1992: Bk I, Pt III, Sec VII). So Searle’s thesis is compatible with the fact that fictional texts and factual texts generally differ syntactically. A more important criticism is that Searle’s pragmatic definition is only negative: it tells us what fiction is not, but not what fiction is. Genette (1991: chap. 2), while accepting Searle’s definition of fiction as a series of non-serious utterances, proposed to amend it by distin­ guishing two levels of illocution: a literal level—the level of the pre­ tended speech acts—concealing a figural or indirect level that transmits a serious speech act (a declaration or a demand) which declares fiction­ ally that such and such an event occurred, or, alternatively, invites the reader to imagine the content transmitted by the pretended speech acts (see Crittenden 1991: 45–52; Zipfel 2001: 185–95). In conclusion, the pragmatic definition claims that the syntactic status of fiction depends on its formal make-up, its semantic status on its relationship to reality, but that its status as fiction (or not) depends on the way the representations implemented by the text are processed or used. This would imply that the pair fact/fiction is logically hetero­ geneous. The conditions for satisfying the criteria of factual narrative are semantic: a factual narrative is either true or false. Even if it is will­ fully false (as is the case if it is a lie), what determines its truth or its untruth is not its (hidden) pragmatic intention, but that which is in fact the case. The conditions for satisfying the criteria of fictional narrative are pragmatic: the truth claims a text would make if it (the same text, from the syntactic point of view) were a factual text (be these claims true or false) must be bracketed out. 3.4 Simulation, Immersion and the Fact/Fiction Divide In recent years, theories of fiction and narratology have been renewed by cognitive science (→ cognitive narratology). The notion of simula­

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tion and its cognate immersion seem especially fruitful and may well lead to a better understanding of both the distinction between fact and fiction in narrative and their interplay. Simulation and playful pretense are basic human capacities whose roots are situated in mental simulation, a partly sub-personal process (Dokic & Proust 2002: intro., vii). Could it be that the mental spe­ cificity of fictional narrative is to be found in mental simulation? Actu­ ally, simulation is a very broad concept which encompasses much more than fiction. Theories of mental simulation were originally developed in order to account for “mind reading,” i.e. the ability to explain and predict the intentional behaviors and reactions of others. The assump­ tion of simulation theories is that the competence of mind reading makes it possible to put oneself imaginatively “into someone else’s shoes.” It is true that mind reading has a strong narrative component, as the “mind reader” immerses himself in scenarios and scripts. But, of course, not every narrative is fictional. Basically it can be said that if every fiction results from a process of mental simulation, the opposite is not the case, i.e. that every simula­ tion produces a fiction. Mind reading has a strong epistemic compon­ ent: (a) it simulates the mental states of a really existing person; (b) simulation must reproduce that person’s intentional states in a reliable way, i.e. it is constrained by the necessity of correctly identifying and assessing the real properties of the person whose mental states are be­ ing simulated as well as by the context in which that person is found. In the case of fictional simulation, however, the agents and actions are in­ vented in and through the process of simulation. This process is not ref­ erentially constrained and cannot be validated or invalidated in a direct way (e.g. by a comparison between behaviors predicted by the simula­ tion and an actually occurring behavior). This means that, contrary to the results of mind reading, the results of a fictional narrative simula­ tion are not fed into ongoing real-world interactions. Fictional (narrative) simulation is not only off-line representational activity (as is every simulation), but also a pragmatically encapsulated activity of simulation. Except for pathological cases, the postulated entities of fic­ tional representations are not fed into our belief system concerning the trappings of the real world. Among other things, mental representations triggered by fictional simulation are not fed into real-world feedback loops. This does not mean that make-believe beliefs do not play into the inferential processes concerning real-world situations, but that this “playing into” is pretty much indirect. Cognitive science also has shown that simulation and immersive processes are not limited to fictional narratives. Every narrative in­

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duces varying degrees of immersive experience. As Ryan has convin­ cingly shown, both fictional and non-fictional narrative texts invite readers to imagine a world (2001: 93): this “recreative” imagination (Currie & Ravenscroft 2002) is a process of immersive simulation. Of course, contrary to referentially oriented representing devices, fictional devices are generally (but not always and not necessarily) constructed so as to maximize their immersion-inducing power. Nevertheless, nar­ rative immersion is not limited to fiction. Another point where simulation theories could be illuminating con­ cerns the ongoing debate in narrative studies as to whether, as is the case in factual narrative, narrative (heterodiegetic) fiction implies the existence of a → narrator or not. What is at stake here is in fact the question of the target domain of narrative immersion: does the reader or spectator immerge into a (fictional) world, or into a narrative act de­ picting a world? Does narrative fiction induce immersion through mi­ metic primers feigning descriptive utterances, or simply through a perspectively organized mentally centered and phenomenologically sat­ urated presentation of a universe? As Currie & Ravenscroft (2002) have shown, both options are open, depending on the structure of the text. Finally, simulation theories may also help to achieve a better under­ standing of the grammatical deviations or anomalies of internal focalization in heterodiegetic fictional narrative as studied by Hamburger and Banfield. These “deviations” are not the result of conscious stipu­ lations or decisions, but rather they have arisen slowly out of the prac­ tice of writing fiction. At the same time, they are not random, but on the contrary structurally coherent and functionally pertinent. It could therefore be hypothesized that they are the result of deep-level linguistic rearrangements due to cognitive-representational pressures stem­ ming from the immersive process of mental simulation. If such were the case, and if these linguistic anomalies were to be read as a coopta­ tion of language by fictional simulation, this would imply that at some deep level the immersion induced by verbal narrative is never only pro­ positional, but also phenomenological and imaginative. The fact that the evolution of third-person fiction has given rise to techniques for neutralizing the enunciative anchoring of sentences could be inter­ preted as a symptom of the fact that narration as such induces this type of phenomenological immersion. The difference between factual and fictional narrative as far as simulation is concerned could thus be ex­ plained by the fact that once narrative is liberated from the epistemic constraints of truth value, the real aim of the immersive process be­

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comes how to maximize it. This in turn would serve to account for the development of the anomalies studied by Hamburger and Banfield. 4 Bibliography 4.1 Works Cited
Aristotle (1996). Poetics. Tr. M. Heath. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Banfield, Ann (1982). Unspeakable Sentences: Narration and Representation in the Language of Fiction. Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul. – (2002). “A Grammatical Definition of the Genre ‘Novel’.” Polyphonie—lin­ guistique et littéraire / Lingvistik og litterær polyfoni N° 4, 77–100. Cohn, Dorrit (1990). “Signposts of Fictionality.” Poetics Today 11, 753–74. – (1999). The Distinction of Fiction. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Crittenden, Charles (1991). Unreality: The Metaphysics of Fictional Objects. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Currie, Gregory & Ian Ravenscroft (2002). Recreative Minds. Oxford: Oxford UP. Dokic, Jérôme & Joëlle Proust (2002). Simulation and Knowledge of Action. Amster­ dam: Benjamins. Doležel, Lubomír (1998). Heterocosmica: Fiction and Possible Worlds. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (1999). “Fictional and Historical Narrative: Meeting the Postmodernist Challenge.” D. Herman (ed.). Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Colum­ bus: Ohio State UP, 247–73. Ferguson, Niall, ed. (1997). Virtual History: Alternatives and Counterfactual. London: Picador. Frege, Gottlob ([1862] 1960). “On Sense and Reference.” P. Geach & M. Black (eds). Translations from the Philosophical Writings of Gottlob Frege. Oxford: Blackwell. 56–78. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Cornell: Cornell UP. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – ([1991] 1993). Fiction and Diction. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Goldman, Laurence (1998). Child’s Play: Myth, Mimesis and Make-Believe. New York: Berg. – & Michael Emmison (1995). “Make-Believe Play among Huli Children: Perform­ ance, Myth, and Imagination.” Ethnology 34, 225–55. Hamburger, Käte ([1957] 1973). The Logic of Literature. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Hume, David ([1739] 1992). Treatise of Human Nature. Buffalo: Prometheus Books. Iser, Wolfgang (1983). “Akte des Fingierens. Oder: Was ist das Fiktive im fiktionalen Text?” D. Henrich & W. Iser (eds). Funktionen des Fiktiven. München: Fink, 121– 52. Koselleck, Reinhard (1979). Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp.

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Kripke, Saul (1963). “Semantical Considerations on Modal Logic.” Acta Philosophica Fennica 16, 83–94. – (1980). Naming and Necessity. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Lewis, David (1973). Counterfactuals. Cambridge: Harvard UP. – (1978). “Truth in Fiction.” American Philosophical Quarterly 15, 37–46. Martínez, Matías & Michael Scheffel (2003). “Narratology and Theory of Fiction: Re­ marks on a Complex Relationship.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narra­ tology: Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 221–38. Pavel, Thomas (1986). Fictional Worlds. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Plato (1974). The Republic. Tr. L. Desmond. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Ronen, Ruth (1994). Possible Worlds in Fictional Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Russell, Bertrand ([1905] 2005). “On Denoting.” Special Issue: 100 Years of “On De­ noting.” Mind 114, 873–87. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – (2001). Narrative as Virtual Reality. Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Schaeffer, Jean-Marie (1998). “Fiction, Pretense and Narration.” Style 32, 148–66. – (1999). Pourquoi la fiction? Paris: Seuil. Schmid, Wolf (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Searle, John ([1975] 1979). “The logical status of fictional discourse.” J. S. Expression and Meaning. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 58–75. Stanzel, Karl K. (1964). Typische Formen des Romans. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. – ([1979] 1984). A Theory of Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Sternberg, Meir (1985). The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – (1990). “Time and Space in Biblical (Hi)story Telling: The Grand Chronology. ” R. Schwartz (ed). The Book and the Text: The Bible and Literary Theory. Ox­ ford: Blackwell. Veyne, Paul (1983). Les Grecs croyaient-ils à leurs mythes? Paris: Seuil. Walton, Kendall (1990). Mimesis as Make-Believe. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Zipfel, Frank (2001). Fiktion, Fiktivität, Fiktionalität: Analysen zur Fiktion in der Literatur und zum Fiktionsbegriff in der Literaturwissenschaft. Berlin: Schmidt.

4.2 Further Reading
Palmer, Alan (2002). Fictional Minds. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Pratt, Mary Louise (1977). Towards a Speech Act Theory of Narrative Discourse. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Vaihinger, Karl ([1911] 1984). The Philosophy of “As If”. A System of the Theoretical, Practical and Religious Fictions of Mankind. London: Routledge. Zunshine, Lisa (2006). Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Colum­ bus: Ohio State UP.

Focalization
Burkhard Niederhoff 1 Definition Focalization, a term coined by Genette (1972), may be defined as a selection or restriction of narrative information in relation to the experience and knowledge of the narrator, the characters or other, more hy­ pothetical entities in the storyworld. 2 Explication Genette introduced the term “focalization” as a replacement for → “perspective” and “point of view.” He considers it to be more or less synonymous with these terms, describing it as a mere “reformulation” ([1983] 1988: 65) and “general presentation of the standard idea of ‘point of view’” (84). This, however, is an underestimation of the con­ ceptual differences between focalization and the traditional terms. Genette distinguishes three types or degrees of focalization—zero, internal and external—and explains his typology by relating it to previ­ ous theories. “The first term [zero focalization] corresponds to what English-language criticism calls narrative with omniscient narrator and Pouillon ‘vision from behind,’ and which Todorov symbolizes by the formula Narrator > Character (where the narrator knows more than the character, or more exactly, says more than any of the characters knows). In the second term [internal focalization], Narrator = Charac­ ter (the narrator says only what a given character knows); this is narrative with ‘point of view’ after Lubbock, or with ‘restricted field’ after Blin; Pouillon calls it ‘vision with.’ In the third term [external focaliza­ tion], Narrator < Character (the narrator says less than the character knows); this is the ‘objective’ or ‘behaviorist’ narrative, what Pouillon calls ‘vision from without’” ([1972] 1980: 188–89). The passage synthesizes two models: a quasi-mathematical one in which the amount of narrative information is indicated by the formulas derived from Todorov; and a more traditional one based on the meta­ phors of vision and point of view, which is derived from Pouillon and

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Lubbock. That these two models are not equivalent has been shown by Kablitz (1988). If a novel begins by telling us who a character is, to whom she is married, and for how long she has been living in a certain town, it will reveal no more than the character knows herself, but no one would describe such a beginning as an example of “vision with” or character point of view. To tell a story from a character’s point of view means to present the events as they are perceived, felt, interpreted and evaluated by her at a particular moment. Genette himself leans in the direction of the Todorovian, informa­ tion-based model. On occasion, he talks about focalization in terms of the point-of-view paradigm, e.g. when he describes it as placing narrative focus at a particular “point” ([1983] 1988: 73); but in general, he thinks of focalization in terms of knowledge and information. He thus defines it as “a restriction of ‘field’ […], a selection of narrative in­ formation with respect to what was traditionally called omniscience” ([1983] 1988: 74). This emphasis is also implied by the very term itself and the preposition that goes along with it. Genette consistently writes “focalisation sur” in French: while a story is told from a particular point of view, a narrative focuses on something. This preposition indicates the selection of, or restriction to, amounts or kinds of information that are accessible under the norms of a particular focalization. If focal­ ization is to be more than a mere “reformulation” of point of view, it is this aspect of the term, the information-based model, which should be emphasized. Genette’s emphasis on knowledge and information is also revealed by his extensive treatment of alterations ([1972] 1980: 194–98), defined as a transgression of the informational norm established by the focalization of a text. Alterations take two forms: paralepsis, the inclu­ sion of an event against the norm of a particular focalization; and paralipsis, a similarly transgressive omission of such an event. Accord­ ing to Genette, the norms that are violated by these transgressions can­ not be defined in advance (e.g. by commonsensical inferences as to what a particular narrator may have learnt about the story he or she tells). Instead, the norms are established by each particular text: “The decisive criterion is not so much material possibility or even psycho­ logical plausibility as it is textual coherence and narrative tonality” (208). Shen disagrees with this view, arguing that it boils down to a merely quantitative approach, a measurement of the relative length of the normative and the transgressive portions of the text; she suggests that there is a more general “legitimacy” that is violated by alterations (2001: 168–69). However, her examples and her analyses show that “legitimacy” in matters of focalization is far from self-evident. In her

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case, it rests on rather arbitrary assumptions about the limited knowledge of first-person narrators and the unlimited knowledge of third-per­ son narrators. A major point in Genette’s theory is his rigorous separation between focalization and the narrator (referred to with the grammatical meta­ phor of “voice”). Most previous theories analyze such categories as first-person narrator, omniscience, and camera perspective under one umbrella term, usually point of view. Genette believes that such cava­ lier treatments of the subject “suffer from a regrettable confusion […] between the question who is the character whose point of view orients the narrative perspective? and the very different question who is the narrator—or, more simply, the question who sees? and the question who speaks?” ([1972] 1980: 186). What follows from the separation of the two questions is a plea for a relatively free combination of narrator types and focalization types, a position that has ignited a considerable amount of controversy. 3 History of the Concept and its Study Genette’s theory was welcomed as a considerable advance on the pre­ vious paradigm of perspective or point of view, and the neologism of focalization has been widely adopted, at least by narratologists. Genette himself claims that his term is preferable because it is less visual and metaphorical than the traditional ones ([1972] 1980: 189). Other critics prefer it because it is not part of everyday speech and thus more suitable as a technical term with a specialized meaning (Bal [1985] 1997: 144; Nünning 1990: 253; Füger 1993: 44). However, the main argument is that the term dispels the confusion of the questions who sees? and who speaks? This argument has become a veritable commonplace (e.g. Bal [1985] 1997: 143; Edmiston 1991: X; O’Neill 1992: 331; Rimmon-Kenan [1983] 2002: 71; Nelles 1990: 366; Nün­ ning 1990: 255–56). Finney states it as follows: “‘Focalization’ is a term coined by Gérard Genette to distinguish between narrative agency and visual mediation, i.e. focalization. ‘Point of View’ confuses speak­ ing and seeing, narrative voice and focalization. Hence the need for Genette’s term” (1990: 144). It is true that Genette introduces the term focalization immediately after his polemics against the typological con­ flation of who sees? and who speaks?, but he does not establish a con­ nection between these polemics and his neologism—nor is there such a connection. As a term, focalization dispels the confusion of seeing and speaking no more than the traditional terms do. On the contrary, the connection between the question who sees? and point of view should be

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a little more evident than between who sees? and focalization. It is per­ fectly possible to embrace Genette’s scheme, including the separation and free combination of narrator and focalization types, while referring to his three focalizations as points of view. The case that the advocates of focalization have made for its superi­ ority to point of view is by no means beyond dispute. Nor is it im­ proved by the fact that some of them use the new term while still think­ ing along the lines of the old, overlooking the semantic differences between them and neglecting the new conceptual emphasis of the neologism. Füger, for example, explains that internal and external focalization can be distinguished by the “situation of the agent of the pro­ cess of perception” (1993: 47), which is nothing but a roundabout para­ phrase of point of view. A characteristic instance of the reinterpretation of focalization in terms of point of view is a change of preposition in the English translation of Genette’s study: “[L]e mode narratif de la Recherche est bien souvent la focalisation interne sur le héros” (1972: 214). “[T]he narrative mood of the Recherche is very often internal fo­ calization through the hero” ([1972] 1980: 199). The rendering of sur as through speaks volumes. It seems that the translator is under the spell of the point-of-view paradigm. Instead of thinking about focaliza­ tion as a selection of or a focusing on a particular region of the story­ world—in this case the mind of the protagonist—the translator regards this mind as a kind of window through or from which the world is per­ ceived. Bal’s influential revision of Genette’s theory is another example of the reinterpretation of focalization in terms of point of view, although she is more aware of this than others. Thus she admits that perspective “reflects precisely” what she means by focalization ([1985] 1997: 143), and she points out that Genette ought to have written “focalisation par” instead of “focalisation sur” (1977: 29). The continuing influence of the point-of-view paradigm also seems to underlie Bal’s reconceptual­ ization of Genette’s typology in terms of focalizing subjects and focal­ ized objects. According to her, the distinction between Genette’s zero focalization and his internal focalization lies in the agent or subject that “sees” the story (the narrator in the first case, a character in the second); the difference between Genette’s internal and external focalization, however, has nothing to do with the subject that “sees” but with the object that is “seen” (thoughts and feelings in the first case, actions and appearances in the second). Thus she ends up with a system of two binary distinctions that replace Genette’s triple typology. There are two types of focalization: character-bound or internal (Genette’s in­ ternal focalization) and external (Genette’s zero and external focaliza­

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tion combined into one). Furthermore, there are two types of focalized objects: imperceptible (thoughts, feelings, etc.) and perceptible (ac­ tions, appearances, etc.). At least some of the elements in this reconceptualization result from Bal’s adherence to the point-of-view paradigm, notably the elimination of the distinction between Genette’s zero and external types (merged by Bal into external focalization). Within the point-of-view model, this change makes some sense. If one thinks about Genette’s zero and ex­ ternal focalization in terms of a point from which the characters are viewed, this point would appear to lie outside the characters in both cases. However, if one thinks in terms of knowledge and information, zero and external focalization are worlds apart. The first provides us with complete access to all the regions of the storyworld, including the characters’ minds, whereas in the second the access is extremely lim­ ited and no inside views are possible. While it is possible to explain the motivation of Bal’s modifications of Genette’s theory by pointing out her adherence to point of view, it must be said that, in themselves, these modifications are hardly com­ pelling. It is simply erroneous to claim that Genette’s zero and external types are distinguished by the focalizing subjects, whereas his internal and external types differ in the focalized objects. All of Genette’s fo­ calizations vary, among other things, in the range of objects that can be represented; his zero focalization and his internal focalization (distin­ guished in terms of the focalizing subjects by Bal) are also dissimilar in this respect. Furthermore, the “focalized object” is a misleading concept: the crucial distinction concerning such objects is between “perceptible” and “imperceptible” ones, which means that the subjective element of perception that Bal has previously eliminated is reintro­ duced by way of the adjective. As Edmiston writes: “[T]he focalizer can be characterized by his objects of focalization, despite Bal’s efforts to separate them [...]. Subject and object [of focalization] may be analyzed separately, but they cannot be dissociated totally, as though there were no correlation between them” (1991: 153). Another feature of Bal’s theory, pointed out and criticized by Jahn, is “that […] any act of perception (brief or extended; real, hypothetical or fantasized) presented in whatever form (narrated, reported, quoted, or scenically represented) counts as a case of focalization” (Jahn 1996: 260). This is a problematic premise, which perhaps stems from taking Genette’s question who sees? rather too literally. It ultimately reduces the analysis of focalization to a paraphrase of narrative content, to identifying acts of perception. However, if a narrative tells us that Mary sees John, it would appear to depend very much on how this is

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told and what the context is whether the narrative is also focalized “by” (to use Bal’s preferred preposition) Mary. However, Bal is not the only one to equate focalization with perception. This premise is also shared by Herman & Vervaeck (2004), Margolin (2009) and Prince, who ex­ plicitly states that his “discussion links focalization only to the percep­ tion of the narrated by (or through, or ‘with’) an entity in that narrated” (2001: 47). The equation of focalization with perception is also made by David Herman in “Hypothetical Focalization” (1994), a critical reading of this article revealing the problems inherent in the equation. Drawing on possible-worlds semantics, Herman examines passages that explicitly describe what might have been seen at a particular point in the story if there had been someone to see it. Thus, in Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher,” the narrator invokes an imaginary onlooker of this kind when he describes the house: “Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observ­ er might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall […]” ([1839] 1956: 97–8). There is a basic problem with Herman’s article. What he discusses is not hypothetical focalization, but hypothetical perception. The discovery of the fissure by Poe’s imaginary ob­ server is hypothetical only in comparison with the case of a character actually seeing this fissure. In terms of the focalization of Poe’s story, the discovery is not hypothetical at all for the simple reason that the narrator utters it. It has an effect on the focalization in that it contrib­ utes to the distancing of the narrating I from the experiencing I: the narrating I knows there was a fissure because he has seen it very clearly at the end of the story, whereas the experiencing I seems to be unaware of it when he approaches the house for the first time. Gener­ ally speaking, instances of hypothetical perception would appear to point in the direction of zero focalization (or narratorial point of view in the traditional paradigm), just like the “report [of] what a character did not in fact think or say” discussed by Chatman ([1978] 1980: 225). Hypothetical focalization in the strict sense is a focalization option that is conceivable but not realized in a text, such as an internally focalized version of Fielding’s Tom Jones. Whether a text itself can achieve or suggest such hypothetical focalization is an interesting question await­ ing an answer. While Bal’s revision of Genette’s theory involves deletions such as “external focalization,” it also contains additions, notably the “focal­ izer,” i.e. the “agent that sees” in a given focalization (Bal [1985] 1997: 146). This concept has spawned a considerable amount of controversy, including a more specific debate about the question of whether narra-

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tors can be focalizers. Bal, Phelan (2001) and many others assume that both characters and narrators can be focalizers; Chatman (1990) and Prince (2001) argue that characters can focalize while narrators cannot. Genette, on the other hand, rejects character focalizers but concedes, with some reluctance, the possibility of regarding the narrator as a fo­ calizer ([1983] 1988: 72–3). However, he does not see any great need for the term, an attitude shared by Nelles, who considers it redundant (1990: 374). The skepticism of the latter two critics seems to be justi­ fied. To talk about characters as focalizers is to confuse focalization and perception. Characters can see and hear, but they can hardly focal­ ize a narrative of whose existence they are not aware. This leaves us with the narrator (or the author?) as the only focalizer, an inference whose interest is primarily scholastic. If all the different focalization options can be attributed to one agent, this attribution does not provide us with any conceptual tools that we can use in distinguishing and analyzing texts. Furthermore, the concept of focalizer is misleading because it sug­ gests that a given text or segment of text is always focalized by one person, either the narrator or a character. But this is a simplification. Consider the famous beginning of Dickens’s Great Expectations in which Pip, the first-person narrator, tells us how, as a little orphan, he visited the graves of his family and drew some highly imaginative con­ clusions about his relatives from the shape of their tombstones. This passage focuses on the thoughts and perceptions of the boy, but it also communicates the knowledge and the attitude of the adult narrator, primarily through style (elaborate language, ironically inflated lexis, etc.). It makes little sense here to ask whether or not the boy is the fo­ calizer in this passage. It is more appropriate to analyze focalization as a more abstract and variable feature of the text, wavering between the knowledge and the attitudes of the adult narrator and the experience of the child character. To sum up, the various theoretical innovations introduced by the ad­ vocates of focalization are fraught with considerable problems; focalization is hardly so much superior to point of view that the old term can be discarded. Niederhoff (2001) compares the meanings and merits of the terms, making a case for peaceful coexistence of and complementarity between the two. There is room for both because each highlights different aspects of a complex and elusive phenomenon. Point of view seems to be the more powerful metaphor when it comes to narratives that attempt to render the subjective experience of a character; stating that a story is told from the point of view of the character makes more sense than to claim that there is an internal focalization on the charac­

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ter. Focalization is a more fitting term when one analyses selections of narrative information that are not designed to render the subjective ex­ perience of a character but to create other effects such as suspense, mystery, puzzlement, etc. If focalization theory is to make any pro­ gress, an awareness of the differences between the two terms and of their respective strengths and weaknesses is indispensable. 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The most pressing need is for an analysis of the specific conceptual features of the focalization metaphor in comparison with related meta­ phors such as perspective, point of view, filter, etc. This needs to be complemented by a thorough, non-dogmatic analysis of texts that shows which of these terms is more appropriate to which kind of text. (b) The question raised by Herman’s article remains to be investigated: Is there such a thing as hypothetical focalization? In other words, can a text suggest or imply a focalization that is not present in this text? 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Bal, Mieke (1977). Narratologie: Essais sur la signification narrative dans quatre ro­ mans modernes. Paris: Klincksieck. – ([1985] 1997). Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Chatman, Seymour ([1978] 1980). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1990). Coming to Terms: The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Edmiston, William F. (1991). Hindsight and Insight: Focalization in Four EighteenthCentury French Novels. University Park: Pennsylvania State UP. Finney, Brian (1990). “Suture in Literary Analysis.” LIT: Literature Interpretation Theory 2, 131–44. Füger, Wilhelm (1993). “Stimmbrüche: Varianten und Spielräume narrativer Fokalisa­ tion.” H. Foltinek et al. (eds). Tales and their “telling difference”: Zur Theorie und Geschichte der Narrativik. Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Franz K. Stanzel. Heidelberg: Winter, 43–59. Genette, Gérard (1972). “Discours du récit.” G. G. Figures III. Paris: Seuil, 67–282. – ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse. Oxford: Blackwell. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Herman, David (1994). “Hypothetical Focalization.” Narrative, 230–53.

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Herman, Luc & Bart Vervaeck (2004). “Focalization between Classical and Postclas­ sical Narratology.” J. Pier (ed). The Dynamics of Narrative Form: Studies in An­ lgo-American Narratology. Berlin: de Gruyter, 115–38. Jahn, Manfred (1996). “Windows of Focalization: Deconstructing and Reconstructing a Narratological Concept.” Style 30, 241–67. Kablitz, Andreas (1988). “Erzählperspektive—Point of View—Focalisation: Überle­ gungen zu einem Konzept der Erzähltheorie.” Zeitschrift für französische Sprache und Literatur 98, 237–55. Margolin, Uri (2009). “Focalization: Where Do We Go from Here?” P. Hühn et al. (eds). Point of View, Perspective, and Focalization. Modeling Mediation in Nar­ rative. Berlin: de Gruyter 48–58. Nelles, William (1990). “Getting Focalization into Focus.” Poetics Today 11, 363–82. Niederhoff, Burkhard (2001). “Fokalisation und Perspektive: Ein Plädoyer für fried­ liche Koexistenz.” Poetica 33, 1–21. Nünning, Ansgar (1990). “‘Point of view’ oder ‘focalization’? Über einige Grundlagen und Kategorien konkurrierender Modelle der erzählerischen Vermittlung.” Literatur in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 23, 249–68. O’Neill, Patrick (1992). “Points of Origin: On Focalization in Narrative.” Canadian Review of Comparative Literature / Revue Canadienne de Littérature Comparée 19, 331–50. Phelan, James (2001). “Why Narrators Can Be Focalizers—and Why It Matters.” W. van Peer & S. Chatman (eds). New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective. Al­ bany: SUNY, 51–64. Poe, Edgar Allan ([1839] 1956). Selected Writings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Prince, Gerald (2001). “A Point of View on Point of View or Refocusing Focalization.” W. van Peer & S. Chatman (eds). New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective. Al­ bany: SUNY, 43–50. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Routledge. Shen, Dan (2001). “Breaking Conventional Barriers: Transgressions of Modes of Fo­ calization.” W. van Peer & S. Chatman (eds). New Perspectives on Narrative Per­ spective. Albany: SUNY.

5.2 Further Reading
Rossholm, Göran, ed. (2004). Essays on Fiction and Perspective. Bern: Lang. van Peer, Willie & Seymour Chatman, eds. (2001). New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective. Albany: SUNY.

Heteroglossia
Valerij Tjupa 1 Definition This term results from a translation (Morson & Emerson 1990) of Mixail Baxtin’s neologism raznorečie. According to Baxtin’s under­ standing of language use, a “social person,” who is also a “speaking person,” operates not with language as an abstract regulatory norm, but with a multitude of discourse practices that form in their totality a dy­ namic verbal culture belonging to the society concerned: “language is something that is historically real, a process of heteroglot development, a process teeming with future and former languages, with prim but moribund aristocrat-languages, with parvenu-languages and with countless pretenders to the status of language which are all more or less success­ ful, depending on their degree of social scope and on the ideological area in which they are employed” (Baxtin [1934/35] 1981: 356–57). 2 Explication The category of heteroglossia has entered the scholarly apparatus of narratology because the verbal presentation of the narration necessarily possesses certain linguistic characteristics that create the effect of a voice. Narration not only takes place from a particular standpoint in time and space, but also inevitably has a certain stylistic color, a certain tone of emotion and intention that can be described as “glossality.” This is directed at the reader’s ability to hear (Tjupa 2006: 35–7). Heteroglossia is a “dialogical,” agonal structure of verbal commu­ nication whose essence lies in the fact that “within the arena of almost every utterance an intense interaction and struggle between one’s own and another’s word is being waged” (Baxtin [1934/35] 1981: 354), a struggle, that is, involving two or more codes between which links of selection and connotation emerge. The former kind of link is based on the use of different words to describe one and the same reality in dif­ ferent languages; the latter kind of link on the description of different realities using the same words in different languages.

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The phenomenon of heteroglossia is relevant to narratology in so far as the narrative text is composed of two elements, the → narrator’s text and the → characters’ text (Doležel 1960, 1973; Schmid 1973, 2005). The second of these “heteroglot” texts that are “alien” to one another presents itself as “utterance within utterance,” whereas the first is en­ countered as “utterance about utterance” (Vološinov [1929] 1973: 115), as a “framing context” that, “like the sculptor’s chisel, hews out the rough outlines of someone else’s speech, and carves the image of language out of the raw empirical data of speech life” (Baxtin [1934/35] 1981: 358). The text framed by narrative can be a diverse one (a bundle of het­ erogeneous texts produced by various characters) or a zero text (in the case of a silent hero whose position within the event is not verbalized). In the latter case, the character’s text is indeed pushed out of the presentation of the narration, but it cannot be eliminated from the story of narration of whose chain of events it is a part. As a silent dialogizing background to the narrator’s speech, it can have a crucial influence on that speech, on its stylistically relevant lexical features, its syntax, and its tonality of emotion and intention (consider Dostoevskij’s “Gentle Spirit”). And in the opposite case, that of a text stylized as skaz, in which “the narrator’s speech has at one and the same time the function of representing and of being represented” (Schmid 2003: 191), the role of an actively silent dialogizing background is performed by the virtual zero text of the → author, who would have told the story in question in different words. The effect of heteroglossia can be used in widely different ways by the presentation of the narration, ranging from a “war of languages” (Barthes 1984) to their tautology (zero heteroglossia). Between these poles we find various ways of incorporating intratextual discourses into the narrator’s text in the manner of quotation, as well as various forms of “textual interference” (Schmid 2003: 177–222) or, as Baxtin ([1934/35] 1981: 304) puts it, “hybrid construction,” namely “an utter­ ance that […] contains mixed within it two utterances, two speech manners, two styles, two ‘languages,’ two semantic and axiological be­ lief systems.” The discourse related by the narrator can, for him, have the status of an authoritative linguistic action. The turn to the authoritative text-be­ hind-the-text (the reading of the Gospel at the end of Tolstoj’s Resur­ rection, or the psalter in Bunin’s story “Exodus”) creates the effect of a hierarchically constructed heteroglossia. The opposite of this kind of hierarchy occurs when a narrator occupies a position of power where he appears as “editor” (Uspenskij [1970] 1973: 43) of the characters’

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direct speech, transforming it as he sees it and thereby reducing the overall level of heteroglossia in the text. Following the norm established in the classical realism of the 19th century, the direct speech of a character often serves to express that character’s linguistic view of the world, which can differ to a greater or lesser extent from the view of the world on which the narration is based. In such cases, the lexical, grammatical, and intonation-related syntactic features of the character’s text contrast with the narrator’s text and combine to form a certain voice belonging to a different sub­ ject. The quoted voice does not have the same compositional standing as the quoting voice: fragments of the characters’ speech are extracted from the flow of the characters’ verbal activity by the narrator in a manner similar to the way in which the narrator makes selections from the flow of connected events belonging to (historically real or invented) reality. The axiological hierarchy need not be present here, though. In certain special cases, texts-in-texts of this kind can be presented in a different national language, e.g. French in Tolstoj’s War and Peace: “When foreign and irregular speech is represented […], the author stresses the distance between the speaking character and the describing observer” (Uspenskij [1970] 1973: 51). Even in the context of a single national language, however, the heteroglossia that results from the dis­ tance between two or more “socio-linguistic belief systems” (Baxtin [1934/35] 1981: 356) can act as an effective means of organizing the narrative world of a work. Thus, in Lermontov’s “The Fatalist” (a chapter of the novel A Hero of our Times), the words of the Cossacks on the one hand and of Maksim Maksimyč on the other are stylistically brief, but clearly set apart from the speech of Pečorin (the narrator). They are the voices of another life, the life of the “others.” The replies by Vulič and the unnamed officers, on the other hand, cannot be stylistically distinguished from the text of the narrator. In this case, zero het­ eroglossia points not to the anonymity of an act of narration that is in­ extricably bound to the world of transmission it shares with the charac­ ters (as in Homer’s Iliad), but to the potential power of the narrator where discourse is concerned: for him, the characters (primarily Vulič, Pečorin’s inner Doppelgänger) seem in some way to be actors in a drama taking place inside his lonely mind. This is the zero heteroglos­ sia of Romantic discourse. By providing other characters with lexical, grammatical, and intonation-related syntactic voices, however, Ler­ montov brings his prose beyond the boundary of the cultural paradigm of romanticism. Interference, or “contaminations” (Uspenskij [1970] 1983: 32), between the narrator’s text and the characters’ text can take place

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through forms of indirect speech and free indirect speech (→ speech representation), for which Schmid (2003: 216–39, 2005: 177–222) sug­ gests a detailed classification. The leading role in a textual interference with many forms is performed by the narrator’s text, which can be characterized with reference to its intention regarding the characters’ text (its language, its style, its horizon of values). Using Baxtin’s terms, we can distinguish here between (a) “assimilation,” (b) “demarcation” (razmeževanie), and (c) “dialogized interillumination” as fundamental intentions. In the case of (a), we are concerned with the incomplete ab­ sorption of the characters’ text by the narrator’s text: a lexical, gram­ matical, or syntactic remnant of a foreign discourse can be identified in the narrator’s speech. In the case of (b), there is an axiological diver­ gence, a confrontation of horizons in which every foreign word is care­ fully preserved but given an undertone of caricature in the narrator’s speech. In the case of (c), we would speak of a convergence of horizons that have equal axiological status and contain “truths” of equal value complementing each another. The types of textual interference just described can be mutually in­ terrelated and intertwined in a complex manner. In Dostoevskij’s story “Mr Prokharčin,” for example, this leads to mental conflict, intensified to extremes, between the eponymous hero, characterized by his ego­ centric, self-directed speech, and his surroundings, the brotherhood of the officials who formulate their views of life in a flowery style. In the process, the narrator (a biographer who represents the story with a side­ ways glance at the lovers of a noble style) manipulates all three pos­ sible intentions of heteroglossia with virtuosity in his efforts to estab­ lish a balance between the opposing positions. More recent prose (since Čechov) has seen the possibility of having mutually complementary narrative entities emerge and establish them­ selves; this makes the convergence of narrator’s text and characters’ text an all-encompassing principle of narration. Here, without losing its crucial compositional function, the “voice of the narrator” draws near to the “axiological and linguistic horizon of the hero” (Schmid 2003: 233); the narrator, declining to exercise his power, does not give him­ self the last word, leaving no more than meaningful pointers behind in­ stead (consider Solženicyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovič). This device, which bears a superficial resemblance to skaz but is really the opposite of skaz styling, has been given the name “free indirect au­ thorial narration” (nesobstvenno-avtorskoe povestvovanie; Koževnikova 1994). This choice of term, though, does not seem entirely appro­ priate: the narrative text, as the result of the aesthetic verbal activity of “indirect speaking” (Baxtin [1959/60] 1996: 314, 1986: 110), is never

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directly correlated with the author; there are always mediating entities, and so the narrative text is always an indirect authorial utterance. For the most part, the phenomenon of heteroglossia in narrative dis­ course is treated as an aspect of the more general problem of point of view (Uspenskij 1970); it is described in such cases as “phraseological perspective” (Korman 1975) or “linguistic” perspective (Schmid 2003, 2005). Assuming that the terms are equivalent in this way, though, can give cause for objection. The discursive practice to which a text (or the quoted words of a text) belongs does not end with perspective: behind the discourse there lies a certain axiological and cultural, ideological and linguistic, socio-psychological horizon attached to those who are speaking/writing. This horizon contains all the potential objects, found by the mind in question, of a subjective stance concerning them; it is a potential field of reference for the discourse. Perspective, on the other hand, is always actual: it represents a “single (unique, ‘immediate’) re­ lationship between subject and object” (Korman [1975] 2006: 184), it activates a certain segment of the horizon and positions the subject it­ self within that horizon. As a narratological category, it may well be sufficient to define narrative perspective as a “position of the ‘observer’ (the narrator, the character) in the represented world,” as a position that “expresses the author’s evaluative stance toward this subject and its mental horizon” (Tamarčenko 2004: 221). Even in the text, the hori­ zon of a narrating entity itself has only a potential existence: it is rep­ resented by the stylistic “symptoms” of its boundaries which are activated by the contrapuntal and/or polyphonic heteroglossia of the multivoiced text. In Lermontov’s novel, for example, the fatalist Vulič is provided with an ideological and chronotopic perspective, but does not have a voice of his own, since his axiological horizon is, as that of a special being, potentially equivalent to the horizon of Pečorin the nar­ rator himself, another special being who remains a doubting officer. 3 History of the Concept and its Study Baxtin’s pupil and successor Vološinov (1926, 1929) must be credited with providing the first fundamental formulation of the problem of het­ eroglossia. In particular, he set up the term “speech interference” (Vološinov [1929] 1973: 148). In Russian literary studies, the terms “voice” and “socio-linguistic horizon” have become established in the wake of Baxtin’s work on Dostoevskij (1929, 1963) and of his studies on the genre of the novel (Baxtin 1934/35). Baxtin conceives of voice in two dimensions at once: as one of the products of the general lan­ guage-producing “language-intention” of the speaker and as a special

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stylistically realized “language” of a speaker, a language with its own picture of the world (“its own world inextricably bound up with the parodied language” [1934/35] 1981: 364). The term “voice” was introduced to Western literary studies by Lubbock ([1921] 1957: 68), who believes that the author can make use of both his own language and the languages (of the minds) of his char­ acters. Western scholarship became acquainted with Baxtin’s ideas about heteroglossia via the work of Kristeva (1966, 1970), whose writ­ ings have enjoyed a wide and favorable international reception. In en­ thusiastically adapting Baxtin’s theory to the emerging ideology of postmodernism, however, this French scholar distorted his ideas signi­ ficantly: she replaced Baxtin’s “plentitude of speech” with the concept of intertextuality; she speaks of an “insight first introduced into literary theory by Baxtin: any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another. The notion of in­ tertextuality replaces that of intersubjectivity, and poetic language is read as at least double” (Kristeva [1966] 1980: 66; italics in original). In reality, Baxtin saw intersubjectivity as one of the fundamental con­ cepts of his ontological and gnoseological deliberations, and the text was never conceived of as an anonymous “mosaic” (in the sense of Kristeva’s thesis that “any text is constructed as a mosaic of quota­ tions”). For Baxtin, the text was a compositionally unitary utterance of a particular (in literature fictive) subject, a subject within which there are foreign words and entire foreign intratextual discourses that can enter into various relationships with the discourse surrounding them: subordinated and subordinating relationships, relationships of discus­ sion as equals, and relationships of solidarity. Somewhat later, without turning to Baxtin for support, Barthes (1984) considered the phenomenon of heteroglossia in his essays “The Division of Languages” and “The War of Languages.” Barthes, though, treated it as a negative phenomenon, one that must be overcome by “progressive” écriture (Barthes [1984] 1986: 124). In his Encyclopedia entry “Texte,” Barthes (1973)—who similarly to Baxtin conceives of language as a multiplicity of voices surrounding the text on all sides— treats the text as no more than a “new fabric woven out of old quota­ tions.” This is the path that led to deconstruction, which replaces het­ eroglossia with intertextuality and thereby effectively suspends the nar­ ratological problem of narrating as a positioning of the narrator in dis­ course. Among the works that have restored an appropriate understanding of Baxtin’s “plentitude of speech,” special mention must be made of a book by the creators of the English term “heteroglossia” (Morson &

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Emerson 1990). This study has had a visible influence on contemporary narratology, despite the authors’ critical stance toward the narrato­ logical approach to the study of literature. Close reading and an appro­ priate development of the possibilities contained in Baxtin’s typology of the prose word are typical of Schmid’s narratology (2005). In Russi­ an-language scholarship, Baxtin’s narratological ideas, particularly that of heteroglossia, have been developed by Tamarčenko (2004) and Tjupa (2006), as well as in Schmid’s book (2003, 2005). 4 Topics for Further Investigation An important starting point for narratological studies is the need to dis­ tinguish between the categories of perspectivization (the system of points of view) and glossality (the system of voices), which are of equal status and complement each other. Genette ([1972] 1980: 186) had already begun making this distinction when he separated the ques­ tion “who sees?” from that of “who speaks?” (Translated by Alastair Matthews) 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Barthes, Roland (1973). “Texte.” Encyclopædia universalis. Paris: Seuil, vol. 15, 1013–17. – ([1984] 1986). The Rustle of Language. Oxford: Blackwell. Baxtin, Mixail (1929). “Problemy tvorčestva Dostoevskogo.” Sobr. soč. v 7 tt., vol. 2. Moskva: Russkie slovari, 5–175. – (Bakhtin, Mikhail) ([1934/35] 1981). “Discourse in the novel.” M. M. The Dialo­ gic Imagination: Four Essays. Austin: U of Texas P, 259–422. – ([1959/60] 1996). “Problema teksta.” Sobr. soč. V 7 tt.. Moskva: Russkie slovari, vol. 5, 306–26. – (Bakhtin, Mikhail) ([1963] 1984). M. M. Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Min­ neapolis: U of Minnesota P. – (1986). Speech Genres and Other late Essays. Austin: U of Texas P. Doležel, Lubomír (1960). O stylu moderní ceské prózy. Vystavba textu. Praha: Nakl. Československé Akad. Věd. – (1973). Narrative Modes in Czech Literature. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. Korman, Boris O. ([1975] 2006). “Zametki o točke zrenija.” Teorija literatury. Iževsk: Izd. Udmurtskogo un-teta, 180–85.

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Koževnikova, Natal’ja A. (1994). Tipy povestvovanija v russkoj literature XIX–XX vv. Moskva: Nauka. Kristeva, Julia ([1966] 1980). “Word, Dialogue and Novel.” J. K. Desire in Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art. New York: Columbia UP, 64–91. – (1970). Le texte du roman. Approche sémiologique d’une structure discursive transformationelle. La Haye: Mouton. Lubbock, Percy ([1921] 1957). The Craft of Fiction. London: Cape. Morson, Gary Saul & Caryl Emerson (1990). Mikhail Bakhtin. Creation of a Prosaics. Stanford: Stanford UP. Schmid, Wolf ([1973] 1986). Der Textaufbau in den Erzählungen Dostoevskijs. Amsterdam: Grüner. – (2003). Narratologija. Мoskva: Jazyki slavjanskoj literatury. – (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Tamarčenko, Natan D. (2004). “‘Sobytie rasskazyvanija’: struktura teksta i ponjatija narratologii.” N. D. T. et al. (eds). Teorija literatury, t. 1. Moskva: Academia, 205– 42. Тjupa, Valerij I. (2006). Analiz khudožestvennogo teksta. Moskva: Academia. Uspenskij, Boris A. ([1970] 1973). A Poetics of Composition. Berkeley: U of Califor­ nia P. Vološinov, Valentin N. ([1926] 1995). “Slovo v žizni i slovo v poėzii.” Filosofija i so­ ciologija gumanitarnykh nauk. S-Peterburg: Asta-Press, 59–87. – (Voloshinov) ([1929] 1973). Marxism and the Philosophy of Language. New York: Seminar P.

5.2 Further Reading
Padučeva, Elena V. (1996). “Semantika narrativa.” Semantičeskie issledovanija. Мosk­ va: Jazyki russkoj kul’tury, 193–418. Schmid, Wolf (1998). Proza kak poėzija. S-Peterburg: Inapress. Todorov, Tzvetan ([1981] 1984). Mikhail Bakhtin: The Dialogic Principle. Minneapol­ is: U of Minnesota P. van den Heuvel, Pierre (1985). Parole, mot, silence: Pour une poétique de l’énonci­ ation. Paris: Corti. Zbinden, K. (1999). “Traducing Bakhtin and Missing Heteroglossia.” Dialogism: An International Journal of Bakhtin Studies 2, 41–59.

Identity and Narration
Michael Bamberg 1 Definition Identity designates the attempt to differentiate and integrate a sense of self along different social and personal dimensions such as gender, age, race, occupation, gangs, socio-economic status, ethnicity, class, nation states, or regional territory. Any claim of identity faces three dilemmas: (a) sameness of a sense of self over time in the face of constant change; (b) uniqueness of the individual vis-à-vis others faced with being the same as everyone else; and (c) the construction of agency as constituted by self (with a self-toworld direction of fit) and world (with a world-to-self direction of fit). Claims to identity begin with the continuity/change dilemma and from there venture into issues of uniqueness and agency; self and sense of self begin by constructing agency and differentiating self from others and then go on to navigate the waters of continuity and change. Engaging in any activity requires acts of self-identification by rely­ ing on repertoires that identify and contextualize speakers/writers along varying socio-cultural categories, often compared to mental or linguistic representations (→ schemata) that are less fixed depending on con­ text and function. Narrating, a speech activity that involves ordering characters in space and time, is a privileged genre for identity construc­ tion because it requires situating characters in time and space through gesture, posture, facial cues, and gaze in coordination with speech. In addition, narrating, whether in the form of → fictional or factual narra­ tion, tends toward “human life”—something more than what is report­ able or tellable (→ tellability), something that is life- and live-worthy (Taylor 1989). Thus, narrating enables speakers/writers to disassociate the speaking/writing self from the act of speaking, to take a reflective position vis-à-vis self as → character.

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2 Explication Taking a reflective position on self as character has been elaborated in the narratological differentiation between → author, → narrator, and character. The reflective process takes place in the present but refers to past or fictitious time-space, making past (or imagined) events relevant for the act of telling, pointing toward the meaningfulness of relation­ ships and worthwhile lives, and exemplifying “the human good” (Aristotle 1996: 1461a). It is against this backdrop that narrating in recent decades has established itself as a privileged site for identity analysis— a new territory for inquiry (cf. Ricœur 1990; Strawson 2004). Designing characters in fictitious timespace has the potential of opening up territory for exploring identity, reaching beyond traditional boundaries, and testing out novel identities. Narratives rooted in factual past-time events, by contrast, are dominated by an opposite orientation. The delineation of what happened, whose agency was involved, and the potential transformation of characters from one state to another serve to demarcate the identity of the reflective self under investigation. If pasttime narration is triggered by the question “Who am I?,” having the narrator’s quest for identity or sense of self as its goal, the leeway for ambiguity, transgression of boundaries, or exploration of novel identities is more restricted: the goal is rather to condense and unite, to re­ solve ambiguity, and to deliver answers that lay further inquiry into past and identity to rest. However, the reduction of identity to the depiction of characters and their development in a story leaves out the communicative space within which identities are negotiated in interaction with others. Limiting nar­ ratives to what they are about restricts identity to the referential or cog­ nitive level of speech activities and disregards real life, where identities are under construction, formed, performed, and change over time. It is within the space of everyday talk in interaction with others that narra­ tion plays its constitutive role in the formation and navigation of iden­ tities as part of everyday practices and that the potential for orientation toward human values takes form. When considering the emergence of identity, the narrating subject must be regarded: (a) as neither locked into stability nor drifting through constant change, but rather as some­ thing that is multiple, contradictory, and distributed over time and place, held together contextually and locally; (b) in terms of member­ ship positions vis-à-vis others that help to trace the narrator’s identity within the context of social relationships, groups, and institutions; and (c) as the active and agentive locus of control, though simultaneously attributing agency to outside forces that are situated in a broader socio-

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historical context. Along these lines, identity is not confined by just one societal discourse but open to change. Identity is able to transform itself and adapt to the challenges of growing cultural multiplicities in increasingly globalizing environments. Based on the assumption that narration at its origin was a verbal act performed locally in interactional contexts and from there evolved to­ ward other, differently constituted and contextualized media (writing, electronic, and digital media, etc.; cf. Ryan 2006), the function of nar­ ration in identity formation processes cannot be reduced to the verbal means used or to the messages conveyed. Rather, the local interactional environments in which narrative units emerge form the foundation for inquiry into identity formation and the sense of self. While transforma­ tions from oral to written forms of expression have been studied (e.g. Ong 1982) and text-critical analysis has been undertaken from the per­ spective of the hermeneutic circle, work with transcripts from audio re­ cordings is relatively new. More recent are concerted efforts to record narratives audio-visually and to analyze the way they emerge in inter­ action, including the sophisticated ways in which they are performed. Audio-visual material, of course, can be more fully (micro-analytically) scrutinized in terms of the contextualized coordination of narrative form, content, and performance features (→ performativity) in the ser­ vice of identity formation processes. Recently, this type of micro-analytic analysis has been applied to identity as achieved in narration under the heading of “positioning analysis” (Bamberg 1997, 2003; Bamberg & Georgakopoulou 2008) in order to focus more effectively on the situated nature of identification processes that emerge from the three identity dilemmas mentioned above. Navigating and connecting temporal continuity and discontinu­ ity, self and other differentiation, and the direction of fit between per­ son and world, take place in the small stories told on everyday occa­ sions in which tellers affirm a sense of who they are. It is precisely this sense of self and identity grounded in sequential, moment-by-moment interactive engagements, largely undertheorized and often dismissed in traditional identity inquiry, that operates on verbal texts or cognitive representations (→ cognitive narratology). 3 History of the Concept and its Study Self and identity are traditionally bound up with what is taken to be the essence of the individual person which continues over time and space in phylo- as well as in socio- and onto-genetic terms. However, this overlooks how conceptions of self and identity have evolved histori-

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cally and culturally and also how each individual’s personal ontogenesis undergoes continuous change. In addition, essentialist views of self and identity camouflage the links between these concepts and their counterparts in narration and narrative practices. Section 3.1 will fur­ ther explore the connection between self and identity dilemmas (b) and (c), while section 3.2 will be devoted to identity and dilemma (a). 3.1 Self and Narration Although self, like “I” and “me,” are highly specific morphological items of the English lexicon, they are commonly assumed to refer uni­ versally to corresponding concepts in other languages—an assumption that has been contested, however. A closer look reveals that these con­ cepts most often have a history of their own that varies in illuminating ways (cf. Heelas & Lock eds. 1981; Triandis 1989). Modern notions of self and individuality (cf. Elias 1987; Gergen 1991) are taken to be closely intertwined with the emergence of local communities, nation states, new forms of knowledge and reflection (“rationalization”), feel­ ing, and perception—all in conjunction with increasing interiorization and psychologization. In this process of becoming individualized, self-narration (autobio­ graphy, life-writing, autofiction) springs to the fore as the basic prac­ tice-ground for marking the self off from “I” as speaker/agent and “me” as character/actor (cf. the narratological distinctions between “narrating self” and “narrated self” and between narrator and protagonist). Acts of thematizing and displacing the self as character in past time and space become the basis for other self-related actions such as selfdisclosure, self-reflection and self-criticism, potentially leading to selfcontrol, self-constraint, and self-discipline. What further comes to light in this process is an increasing differentiation between (and integration of) “I” and “me” (James 1890), and simultaneously between “I-we-us” and “them-other” (Elias 1987). Thus, self, apparently, is the product of an “I” that manages three processes of differentiation and integration: (a) it can posit a “me” (as distinct from “I”); (b) it can posit and bal­ ance this “I-me” distinction with “we”; and (c) it can differentiate this “we” as “us” from “them” as “other.” This process of differentiation must be taken into account when talking about “self” as different from “other” and viewing self “in relation to self” (as in self-reflection and self-control). Self, as differentiated from other by developing the abil­ ity to account for itself (as agent or as undergoer), to self-reflect, and to self-augment, can now begin to look for something like temporal con­

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tinuity, unity, and coherence, i.e. identity across a life (cf. Ricœur 1990). 3.2 Identity and Narration: Biography and Life-Writing The ability to conceive of life as an integrated narrative forms the cornerstone for what Erikson (1950) called “ego identity.” The under­ lying assumption here is that life begins to co-jell into building blocks that, when placed in the right order, cohere: important moments tie into important events, events into episodes, and episodes into a life story. It is this analogy between life and story—or better: the metaphoric process of seeing life as storied (in narratological terms: story and dis­ course) that has given substantive fuel to the narrative turn. The strength of how scholars (and laypeople) in the past have made use of this connection, though, varies: on the one hand, there is a relatively loose connection according to which we tell stories of lives by using particular narrative formats. Lives can be told as following an epic script or as if consisting of unconnected patches. Most often, though, lives are told by depicting characters and how they develop. Character, particularly in modern times, rests on an internal and an external form of organization. The former is typically a complex interiority, a set of traits organizing underlying actions and the course of events as out­ comes of motives that spring from this interiority. The latter, an external condition of character development, takes plot as the overarching principle that lends order to human action in response to the threat of a discontinuous and seemingly meaningless life by a set of possible con­ tinuities (often referred to by cognitive narratologists as “schemata” or “scripts”; cf. Herman 2002: chap. 3). This interplay of human (and hu­ mane) interiority and culturally available models of continuity (plots) gives narrative a powerful role in the process of seeing life as narrative. It also should be noted that the arrangement of interiority as governed by the availability of plots gives answers—at least to a degree—to the “direction-of-fit” or “agency” identity dilemma. With narration thus defined, life transcends the animalistic and unruly body so that narra­ tion gains the power to organize “human temporality” (Punday 2003; see also Ricœur 1985): the answer to non-human, a-temporal, and dis­ continuous chaos. Another, and probably stronger reason for employing the narrative metaphor for life starts with the assumption of a “narrative mode of thinking.” Bruner (1986) and Polkinghorne (1988) similarly vie for the argument that there is a particular cognitive mode of making sense of the (social) world which is organized “narratively” (an important theme

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in cognitive psychology; cf. Herman 2002, 2009). Freeman’s (1993) and Mishler’s (1986) work with autobiographical memories focuses particularly on the interrelationship between memory, autobiographical memory, and narrative. Mishler early on propagated the use of autobio­ graphic narrative interview data in the form of a “contextual approach” which is not limited to recording data about human experience or to looking “behind” the author, but that focuses on interaction and rela­ tionships. McAdams (1985), building on narrative theorists such as Bruner, Polkinghorne, and Sarbin, has turned the assumption of selves plotting themselves in and across time into a life-story model of identity. His model clearly states that life stories are more than recapitulations of past events and episodes, that they have a defining character: “our nar­ rative identities are the stories we live by” (McAdams et al. 2006: 4). McAdams’ efforts to connect the study of lives to life stories is par­ alleled in a wider turn to biographic methods in the social sciences, leading to Lieblich & Josselson’s eleven-volume series titled The Nar­ rative Study of Lives. The origins of these efforts stretch across a wide range of disciplines including psychology, sociology, and anthropology. Goodson & Sikes (2001: 129) date the origins of life history methods in the form of autobiographies back to the beginning of the 20th century. Since then, life history methods have spread from the study of attitudes in social psychology to community studies in sociology, particularly within the Chicago School, and forty years later back into psychology. Retro­ spectively, it can be argued that the early studies by the members of the Chicago School, and in particular “oral history” popularized by the works of Studs Terkel, lacked the analytic component of modern day narrative inquiry. However, without these origins and the works of Ber­ taux (1981) and Plummer (1983), the foundation of the Research Com­ mittee on Biography and Society (within the International Sociological Association) would have been unthinkable. The methodological prin­ ciples were laid out in the early work by Schütze (1977) and later picked up and refined in current narrative interview approaches by Fischer-Rosenthal & Rosenthal (1997). Thanks to these developments, it is clearer how the relatively massive turn in the social sciences toward biography and life writing was able to gain ground as a new approach to identity research. It emerged as a concerted attempt to wed self-differentiation (self that can reflect upon itself) and narration (plotting a sense of characterhood across time)—in narratological terms: “narrating self” and “narrated self”— into an answer that addresses the three dilemmas of identity laid out

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earlier. A teller accounts for how s/he (a) has emerged (as character) over time, (b) as different from others (but same), and simultaneously (c) how s/he views her-/himself as a (responsible) agent. Managing these three dilemmas in concert is taken to establish what is essential to identity. Consequently, life-writing and biography, preferably as auto­ biography or life story, become privileged arenas for identity research. 3.3 Problems of Linking Life, Narration, and Identity The link between life and narration and the exploration of lives (in­ cluding selves and identity) through the exploration of narratives have traditions going back to Freud (1900), Allport (1937), and Murray (1938). However, this close connection between life and narrative is said to require a particular retrospectiveness that values “life as reflected” and discredits “life as lived.” Sartwell (2000) has questioned (a) whether life really has the purpose and meaningfulness that narrative theorists metaphorically attempt to attribute to it and (b) whether nar­ ratives themselves have the kind of → coherence and telic quality that narrative theorists often assume. The problem Sartwell sees in this kind of approach is that the lived moment, the way it is “sensed” and experi­ enced, is said to gain its life-worthy quality only in light of its sur­ rounding moments. Rather than empowering the subject with meaning in life, Sartwell argues, narrative, conceived this way, drains and blocks him or her from finding pleasure and joy in the here-and-now. The subject is overpowered by narrative as a normalizing machine. Another difficulty resulting from the close linkage between life, narration, and identity consists in what Lejeune (1975) termed “the autobiographical pact.” According to Lejeune, what counts as autobio­ graphy is somewhat blurry, since it is based on a “pact” between author and reader that is not directly traceable down into the textual qualities. Thus, while a life story can employ the first-person pronoun to feign the identity of author, narrator, and character, use of the third-person pronoun may serve to camouflage this identity (cf. narrative unreliability). Autobiographical fiction thrives on the blurring of these bound­ aries. Of interest here are “the perennial theoretical questions of au­ thenticity and reference” (Porter 2008: 25) leading up to the larger is­ sue of the connection between referentiality and narration (cf. Genette’s 1990 distinction between fictional narrative and factual nar­ rative). While most research on biography has been quite aware of the situated and locally occasioned nature of people’s accounts (often in in­ stitutional settings) and the problems this poses for claims with regard

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to the speaker/narrator’s sense of self or identity, a number of research­ ers have launched a large-scale critique of the biographic turn as redu­ cing language to its referential and ideational functions and thereby overextending (and simplifying) narration as the root metaphor for the person, (sense of) self, and identity. At the core of these voices is the call for a much “needed antidote to the longstanding tradition of ‘big stories’ which, be they in the form of life stories or of stories of land­ mark events, have monopolized the inquiry into tellers’ representations of past events and themselves in light of these events” (Georgako­ poulou 2007: 147; cf. Strawson 2004). 3.4 Narration as Identity Formation in Narrative Practice Attempts to transport interactional context and performance-oriented aspects of narration into the analysis of identities reach back to Burke (1945) and Goffman (1959) and have been reiterated repeatedly by oth­ ers in the field of biography research (e.g. Mishler 1986; Riessman 2008). More recent attempts to integrate this acknowledgment into em­ pirical analysis center around a number of key positions. First is the proposal to resituate narration as performative moves (cf. Langellier & Peterson 2004), calling for the analysis of embodied practices and ma­ terial conditions of narrative productions. Similarly, Gubrium & Hol­ stein (2008) argue for a narrative ethnography—one that is able to analyze the complex interplay between “experience, storying practices, descriptive resources, purposes at hand, audiences, and the environ­ ments that condition storytelling” (250). Georgakopoulou (2006, 2007) and Bamberg (1997, 2003; Bamberg & Georgakopoulou 2008) have tried to develop an alternative approach to big story narrative research that takes “narratives-in-interaction,” i.e. the way stories surface in everyday conversation (small stories), as the locus where identities are continuously practiced and tested out. This approach allows for exploring self at the level of the talked-about and at the level of tellership in the here-and-now of a storytelling situation. Both of these levels feed into the larger project at work in the global situatedness within which selves are already positioned, i.e. with more or less implicit and indirect referencing and orientation to social posi­ tions and discourses above and beyond the here-and-now. Placing emphasis on small stories allows for the study of how people as agentive actors position themselves—and in doing so become positioned. This model of positioning affords the possibility of viewing identity constructions as two-fold: analyzing the way the referential world is constructed, with characters (self and others) emerging in time

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and space as protagonists and antagonists. Simultaneously, it is pos­ sible to show how the referential world (what the story is about) is con­ structed as a function of interactive engagement, i.e. the way the refer­ ential world is put together points to how tellers “want to be under­ stood,” how they index their sense of self. Consequently, it is the action orientation of the participants in small story events that forms the basic point of departure for this functionalist-informed approach to narration and, to a lesser degree, what is represented or reflected upon in the stories told. This seems to be what makes this type of work with small stories crucially different from work with big stories: the aim is to analyze how people use small stories in their interactive engagements to construct a sense of who they are, while big story research analyzes the stories as representations of world and identities within them. Behind this way of approaching and working with stories is an ac­ tion orientation that urges the analyst to look at constructions of self and identity as necessarily dialogical and relational, fashioned and re­ fashioned in local interactive practices (cf. Antaki & Widdicombe eds. 1998) (→ dialogism). At the same time, it recognizes that small story participants generally attune their stories to various local, interpersonal purposes, sequentially gauging themselves to prior and upcoming talk, continuously challenging and confirming each others’ positions. It is in and through this type of relational activity that representations in the form of content, i.e. what the talk is intended to be about, are brought off and come into existence. By contrast, story analyses that remain fixated on the represented contents of the story in order to conclude from there how the teller reflects on him-/herself miss out on the very interactive and relational constructedness of content and reflection. Furthermore, this kind of analysis aims at scrutinizing the inconsisten­ cies, ambiguities, contradictions, moments of trouble and tension, and the tellers’ constant navigation and finessing between different ver­ sions of selfhood and identity in local interactional contexts. However well-established the line of identities-in-interaction may be in the con­ text of the analysis of conversational data, this emphasis still contrasts with the longstanding privileging of coherence by traditional ap­ proaches to narrative theory. Through the scrutiny of small stories in a variety of sites and contexts, the aim becomes to legitimize the man­ agement of different and often competing and contradictory positions as the mainstay of identity through narrative. A final aim is to advance a project of documenting identity as a process of constant change that, when practiced over and over again, has the potential to result in a sense of constancy and sameness, i.e. big stories that can be elicited un­ der certain conditions.

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4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) Whether narratives actually constitute a privileged territory for in­ quiry into life and identity requires further theoretical and empirical in­ quiry. Usually, this question is decided on the basis of a pre-theoretical, epistemological (if not ontological) stance. But the question itself may be open to different interpretations. (b) The use of narrative methods in the exploration of hybrid or hyphenated identities constitutes an inter­ esting new development in recent trends of social science research in a turn to questions of citizenship, cultural exclusion, imagined com­ munities, symbolic representations of belonging, and even general pro­ cesses of globalization. (c) Illness and traumatic experiences are typically viewed as disruptions of continuity and coherence, posing chal­ lenges to the formation of a sense of self and (biographic) identity as well as to our sense of agency. Recent discussions about the plot-types employed in illness narratives and how patients’ narrative accounts can be made use of more productively in narrative medicine bring up inter­ esting questions with regard to the construction of paths and trajectories of experiences, their inherent action potential, and the relationship to mapping out possible reconstructions from being re-active to becom­ ing pro-active in the construction of patients’ “healing dramas.” (d) The increasing diversification into different narrative methods and ap­ proaches (content/thematic vs. structural/formal methods, now joined by discursive/performative approaches) has led to the question whether there is still a common core to the original “narrative approach” as an alternative to the study of subjectivity, self, and identity—the way, in retrospect, it seemed to have begun about thirty-five years ago. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Allport, Gordon W. (1937). Personality: A Psychological Interpretation. New York: Holt. Antaki, Charles & Sue Widdicombe, eds. (1998). Identities in Talk. London: Sage. Aristotle (1996). Poetics. Tr. M. Heath. Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics. Bamberg, Michael (1997). “Positioning between Structure and Performance.” Journal of Narrative and Life History 7, 335–42. – (2003). “Positioning with Davie Hogan: Stories, Tellings, and Identities.” C. Daiute & C. Lightfoot (eds). Narrative Analysis: Studying the Development of Individuals in Society. London: Sage, 135–57. – & Alexandra Georgakopoulou (2008). “Small Stories as a New Perspective in Nar­ rative and Identity Analysis.” Text & Talk 28, 377–96.

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Bertaux, Daniel (1981). Biography and Society: The Life History Approach in the So­ cial Sciences. London: Sage. Bruner, Jerome (1986). Actual Minds, Possible Worlds. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Burke, Kenneth (1945). A Grammar of Motives. New York: Prentice-Hall. Elias, Norbert ([1987] 1991). The Society of Individuals. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Erikson, Erik H. ([1950] 1963). Childhood and Society. New York: Norton. Fisher-Rosenthal, Wolfram & Gabriele Rosenthal (1997). “Narrationsanalyse biographischer Selbstrepräsentation.” R. Hitzler & A. Horner (eds). Sozialwissenschaft­ liche Hermeneutik. Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 133–64. Freeman, Mark P. (1993). Rewriting the Self. History, Memory, Narrative. London: Routledge. Freud, Sigmund ([1900] 1913). The Interpretation of Dreams. New York: Macmillan. Genette, Gérard (1990). “Fictional Narrative, Factual Narrative.” Poetics Today 11, 755–74. Georgakopoulou, Alexandra (2006). “The Other Side of the Story: Towards a Narrative Analysis of Narratives-in-Interaction.” Discourse Studies 8, 265–87. – (2007). Small Stories, Interaction and Identities. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Gergen, Kenneth (1991). The Saturated Self: Dilemmas of Identity in Contemporary Life. New York: Basic Books. Goffman, Erving (1959). The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Garden City: Doubleday. Goodson, Ivor F. & Pat Sikes (2001). Life History Research in Educational Settings: Learning from Lives. Buckingham: Open UP. Gubrium, Jaber F. & James A. Holstein (2008). “Narrative Ethnography.” S. B. HesseBiber & P. Leavy (eds). Handbook of Emergent Methods. New York: Guildford P, 241–64. Heelas, Paul & Andrew Lock, eds. (1981). Indigenous Psychologies: The Anthropology of the Self. London: Academic P. Herman, David (2002). Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (2009). Basic Elements of Narrative. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. James, William ([1890] 1900). Principles of Psychology. Vol. I. New York: Holt & Co. Langellier, Kristin M. & Eric E. Peterson (2004). Storytelling in Daily Life: Perform­ ing Narrative. Philadelphia: Temple UP. Lejeune, Philippe ([1975] 1989). On Autobiography. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. McAdams, Dan P. (1985). Power, Intimacy, and the Life Story: Personological Inquiries into Identity. New York: Guildford P. – et al. (2006). “Introduction.” D. P. McA. et al. (eds). Identity and Story. Washing­ ton: American Psychological Association, 1–11. Mishler, Elliot G. (1986). Research Interviewing. Context and Narrative. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Murray, Henry A. (1938). Explorations in Personality. New York: Oxford UP. Ong, Walter (1982). Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Methuen. Plummer, Kenneth (1983). Documents of Life. London: Allen & Unwin.

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Polkinghorne, Donald (1988). Narrative Knowing and the Human Sciences. Albany: State U of New York P. Porter, Roger J. (2008). “Introduction to World Narrative.” M. Fuchs & C. Howes (eds). Teaching Life Writing Texts. New York: Modern Language Association of America, 23–31. Punday, Daniel (2003). Narrative Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Narratology. New York: Palgrave. Ricœur, Paul ([1985] 1988). Time and Narrative. Vol. 3. Chicago: U of Chicago P. – ([1990] 1992). Oneself as Another. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Riessman, Catherine Kohler (2008). Narrative Methods for the Human Sciences. Thou­ sand Oaks: Sage. Ryan, Marie-Laure (2006). “Narrative, Media, and Modes.” M.-L. R. Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 3–30. Sartwell, Crispin (2000). End of Story. Toward an Annihilation of Language and His­ tory. Albany: State U of New York P. Schütze, Fritz (1977). Die Technik des narrativen Interviews in Interaktionsfeldstudien dargestellt an einem Projekt zur Erforschiung von kommunikativen Machtstruktu­ ren. Universität Bielefeld: Department of Sociology. Strawson, Galen (2004). “Against Narrativity.” Ratio n.s. 17, 428–52. Taylor, Charles (1989). Sources of the Self: The Making of Modern Identity. Cam­ bridge: Harvard UP. Triandis, Harry Ch. (1989). “The Self and Social Behavior in Differing Contexts.” Psy­ chological Review 96, 506–20.

5.2 Further Reading
Bamberg, Michael, ed. (2007). Narrative—State of the Art. Amsterdam: Benjamins. – et al. eds. (2007). Selves and Identities in Narrative and Discourse. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Brockmeier, Jens & Donal Carbaugh, eds. (2001). Narrative and Identity: Studies in Autobiography, Self and Culture. Amsterdam: Benjamins. de Fina, Anna, et al. eds. (2006). Discourse and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Holstein, James A. & Jaber F. Gubrium (2000). The Self We Live By: Narrative Identity in a Postmodern World. New York: Oxford UP. McAdams, Dan P., et al. eds. (2006). Identity and Story. Washington: American Psy­ chological Association.

Illusion (Aesthetic)
Werner Wolf 1 Definition Aesthetic illusion is a basically pleasurable mental state that emerges during the reception of many representational texts, artifacts or per­ formances. These representations may be fictional or factual, and in particular include narratives (2.3 and 4). Like all reception effects, aes­ thetic illusion is elicited by a conjunction of factors that are located (a) in the representations themselves, (b) in the reception process and the recipients, and (c) in cultural and historical contexts. Aesthetic illusion consists primarily of a feeling, with variable intensity, of being imaginatively and emotionally immersed in a represented world and of ex­ periencing this world in a way similar (but not identical) to real life. At the same time, however, this impression of immersion is counterbal­ anced by a latent rational distance resulting from a culturally acquired awareness of the difference between representation and reality. 2 Explication 2.1 The Nature of Aesthetic Illusion Aesthetic illusion is distinguished from real-life hallucinations and dreams in that it is induced by the perception of concrete representa­ tional artifacts, texts or performances. Moreover, it is distinct from de­ lusions in that it is neither a conceptual nor a perceptual error, but a complex phenomenon characterized by an asymmetrical ambivalence. This ambivalence derives from the positioning of aesthetic illusion on a scale between two poles, mutually exclusive, of total rational distance (disinterested “observation” of an artifact as such [Walton 1990: 273]) and complete immersion (“psychological participation” [240–89]) in the represented world and moreover from the fact that the position between these poles always maintains a certain proximity to the pole of immersion. In view of this, the term “aesthetic illusion,” where “aes­ thetic” implies awareness that “illusion” is triggered by an artifact, is

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more satisfactory than the various synonyms used in research: “absorp­ tion” (Cohen 2001: 258); “recentering” and “immersion” (Ryan 1991: 21–3; cf. also Schaeffer 1999: 243 passim); “involvement” and “psy­ chological participation” (Walton 1990: 240–89); “transportation” (Gerrig 1993: 12 passim); “effet de réel” (Barthes 1968). Strictly speaking, it is even erroneous to call aesthetic illusion simply “illusion” or “immersion” except by way of abbreviation, since by this —as in all of these alternative terms (and also in the misleading at­ tempt to regard aesthetic illusion as a form of magic; Balter 2002)—the rational distance induced by the underlying awareness of the non-natur­ al character of representation is disregarded. Illusion, to the extent it is aesthetic, presupposes the implicit accept­ ance of a “reception contract,” one of whose stipulations Coleridge de­ scribed as “the willing suspension of disbelief for the moment” ([1817] 1965: 169). Aesthetic illusion thus involves several mental/psychic spheres and operates within two dimensions (cf. also Walton 1990: 273): (a) in the background as a latent, rational awareness “from without,” namely that the illusion-inducing artifact is a mere representation; and (b) in the foreground as a mainly intuitive mental simulation where this awareness is bracketed out in favor of an imaginary experi­ ence of represented worlds “from within.” This simulation involves emotions and sensory quasi-perceptions (including, but not restricted to, visual imagination), but also reason to the extent that a certain ra­ tionality is required to make sense of the represented world. Owing to its dual nature, aesthetic illusion is gradable according to the degree of immersion or distance and is thus unstable. Immersion, which in many cases seems to be the default option during the reception process of representations and therefore continues to hold on subsequent readings (Walton 1990: 262–63), can be suspended or undermined at any given moment by the actualization of the latent consciousness of representa­ tionality. This “willing construction of disbelief” (Gerrig 1993: 230) can be triggered not only by the recipient, but also by the work itself, thanks to → metalepsis and to other illusion-breaking devices em­ ployed by metafictionality (→ metanarration and metafiction), or due to interference by contextual factors. Since illusionist works provide a simulation of real-life experience, aesthetic illusion always has a quasi-experiential quality about it and sometimes, in addition, a referential dimension: the tendency to credit illusionist representation with having indeed taken place in the real world. This referential aspect is not always at issue, however, for fantasy or science fiction, which make no pretense at referring to reality, can nevertheless induce a powerful aesthetic illusion. In all cases,

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aesthetic illusion implies the subjective impression of being experien­ tially “re-centered” in a represented world, whether factual or fictional, an impression that amounts to a “side-participant stance” (Gerrig 1993: 108, 239) rather than to identification with a → character, the latter be­ ing a special case of feeling re-centered. Functionally, aesthetic illusion constitutes one of the most effective ways of ensuring the reception of representations, since it can cater to various human desires and offers vicarious experience without serious consequences. The general attractiveness of aesthetic illusion also qualifies it as a vehicle of persuasion for didactic, advertising or propa­ ganda purposes. A persuasive purpose may be seen also at work in the potential of aesthetic illusion to make the recipient accept more readily the tendency of aesthetic representations to introduce an unrealistic surplus of coherence and meaning, i.e. to present worlds whose closure and meaningfulness, through such devices as the use of coincidence, poetic justice, etc., may be regarded as deviating from the contingency of life. From a historical point of view, the persuasiveness of aesthetic illusion may even be regarded as related to the process of seculariza­ tion in the Western world, for the relevance of illusion appears to have increased proportionally as belief in the self-evident meaningfulness of the world and religiously inspired representations has decreased. It seems that with the increase of credibility invested in individual works, aesthetic belief has progressively filled the place occupied by philo­ sophical and religious beliefs as tacit basis of meaning, even though, outside deconstructionist and postmodernist circles, belief in the power of representation as such persists. 2.2 Factors Contributing to Aesthetic Illusion Aesthetic illusion is produced by several factors, described by Gom­ brich (1960: 169) as elements contributing to a “guided projection.” Such projection takes place in the mind of the recipient. When it is in a state of aesthetic illusion, however, the mind’s activity is not free-float­ ing, but rather guided by the illusionist representation, both recipient and representation being influenced by contexts which in turn also con­ tribute to the illusionist projection. Thus the representation, the recipi­ ent and the context (situational, cultural, etc.) must all be taken into ac­ count as factors in a theory of illusion. The individual representation is the guiding “script” that provides the raw material for what will appear on the mental “screen” and serves to trigger aesthetic illusion. Owing to the quasi-experiential nature of this state of mind, successful illusionist representations furnish formal

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analogies to the structures and features of real-life experience. Moreover, they offer contents that correspond to the objects and scripts encountered in, or applicable to, real-life experience, at least to a cer­ tain extent. Generally, illusionist representations are accessible with re­ lative facility. They offer potential recipients with material to lure them into the represented worlds and create a sense of verisimilitude, a pre­ requisite for the emergence of aesthetic illusion, although generic con­ ventions may serve to counteract improbable elements. While the illusionist representation provides the script, the recipi­ ents are called on to act as its (mental) “directors” or “producers,” us­ ing it along with their own world-knowledge and empathetic abilities for “projection” onto their mind’s “screen.” This activity, as well as the nature of the mental screen, results in the recipients and the reception process becoming decisive, albeit problematic, factors in the produc­ tion of aesthetic illusion. For even if it is conceded that the principal precondition of aesthetic illusion (namely the human ability to mentally dissociate oneself from the here-and-now and imagine being some­ where else, someone else, in some other time) is an anthropological constant, a recipient’s illusionist response to an artifact remains heavily dependent on individual factors. These include range of experience, age, gender, interests, cultural background, and the ability to read works of art aesthetically, but also the situation of reception and, of course, the recipient’s willingness to “participat[e] psychologically in [a] game of make-believe” (Walton 1990: 242). As for the latter factor, immersion seems to satisfy a powerful psychological predisposition, even enabling one, under the influence of generic conventions, to integrate into the reception such blatantly non-realistic phenomena as nondiegetic film music (Cohen 2001: 254). As for cultural and historical contexts—the “rooms” in which po­ tentially illusionist scripts are originally located and the locations where guided projections take place—a plurality of such contexts must always be assumed, although to a lesser degree when a text, its author and its reader are contemporary and form part of the same culture. This context dependence has significant consequences, for it means that aes­ thetic illusion can be conceived of as the effect of a relative correspondence or analogy between a representation and essential culturally and historically induced concepts of reality and schemata of percep­ tion. It is these schemata and epistemic frameworks together with cer­ tain experiential contents that govern verisimilitude as a prime condi­ tion of aesthetic illusion. Since there is no universally valid perception and experience of reality, let alone a worldview that is generally ac­ knowledged to be natural, any disparities between the contexts of pro­

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duction and those of reception may substantially affect aesthetic illu­ sion. Verisimilitude—and with it aesthetic illusion—is therefore to a large extent a historical and cultural variable. Another relevant and equally variable contextual factor is the set of frames, including gener­ ic conventions, that rule the production and reception of the arts and media in a given period. Most important, however, is the question of the extent to which aesthetic illusion itself and an aesthetic approach to artworks that implies aesthetic distance are practiced or known in a given culture or period or whether, for instance, a worldview that fa­ vors enchantment prevails, owing to which specific artifacts are re­ garded as numinous realities. With the two variables recipient and context in mind, everything that can be said about the core of all text-centered approaches to aes­ thetic illusion, namely illusionist representation itself, becomes prob­ lematic. For these variables make it difficult, if not impossible, to de­ cide on the actual illusionist effect of a given work, text, technique, etc. for all periods and all individuals. However, this does not mean that nothing at all can be said about the factor artifact or text, for given sim­ ilar recipients and similar reception contexts, representations will ap­ pear as more or less illusionist according to intra-compositional factors. One essential similarity among recipients, contributing to the theoretical construct of an “average” recipient, can in fact be postulated, namely that the recipient is prepared and able to “willingly suspend disbelief” when confronted with illusionist artifacts, but remains dis­ tanced enough not to become enmeshed in experiential or referential delusion. Historically and culturally, the average → reader as a factor in a theory of illusion can be restricted to the past few centuries of Western culture during which the evolution of aesthetic verisimilitude and re­ sponses to illusionist art are comparatively well documented. In fact, Western cultural history of this period offers an extensive corpus of primary works that continue to be read as illusionist, in contrast to works that obstruct illusionist access such as radically experimental postmodernist fictions. With this illusionist corpus and its features in mind, a number of points regarding the illusionist potential of a given representation can in fact be made. If, in the following argument, terms such as “characteristics” and “principles” are employed, they are not meant to function in the illusionist reception process as essences with fixed effects. Rather, the characteristics and principles of illusionist representation are to be regarded as deriving from prototypes that pos­ sess a particularly high degree of illusionist potential according to aes­

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thetic theory and testimonies of reception of the past and/or of personal experience. 2.3 Typical Characteristics of Illusionist Representations and the Principles of Illusion-making: the Case of Narrative Fiction Aesthetic illusion can be elicited by a broad range of texts and works. There is no restriction as to their being factual or fictional, narrative or descriptive (a fact often overlooked in narratological treatments of im­ mersion, as e.g. in Schaeffer & Vultur 2005), and they may occur in a wide variety of media and genres. Aesthetic illusion is therefore a transmedial, transmodal and transgeneric phenomenon. There is only one general proviso, namely that it be triggered by a representation, in­ cluding narrative fiction, drama, lyric poetry (Wolf 1998; MüllerZettelmann 2000: chap. 3.2.6; Hühn & Kiefer 2005), painting, sculp­ ture, photography, film, and contemporary virtual realities such as computer games (Ryan 2006: 181–203), while excluding (most) instru­ mental music (Ryan 2001: 15) from the range of potentially illuding media. Since describing aesthetic illusion in the various media would require, at least in part, a media-specific theory in each case and also because, as will become clear below, verbal narratives are character­ ized by a special affinity to aesthetic illusion, the following discussion will focus on certain features and principles at work in illusionist representations with reference to narrative fiction. In the history of prose fiction, one illusionist prototype is the 19thcentury realist novel, a genre that has always been credited with a par­ ticularly high potential for eliciting illusionist immersion. Realist nov­ els draw their readers into their worlds by maintaining a feeling of verisimilitude and experientiality while minimizing aesthetic distance. Considering illusionist texts such as these, it is possible to single out il­ lusion-relevant textual features and link them to principles of fictional illusion-making which contribute to producing these features through specific narrative devices. In narratological terms, typically illusionist novels (e.g. Eliot’s Adam Bede or Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles) display the following four characteristic features (Wolf 1993a: chap. 2.3): (a) their content or story level is the central text level, as their storyworlds are character­ ized by a certain extension and complexity, are consistent, tend to be life-like in their inventory and thus elicit the interest of the (contemporary) reader; (b) their transmission or discourse level remains comparatively inconspicuous and ‘transparent,’ serving mainly to depict the storyworld and to enhance the → tellability, consistency and life-like­

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ness of the story; (c) the content and its transmission tend to be serious; (d) illusionist texts are predominantly hetero-referential. As not all of these traits are self-explanatory, some comment is re­ quired. Highlighting of the content level (a) can be explained by the at­ tempt to portray a represented world in which recipients can become experientially immersed. A certain textual extension is typical of illu­ sionist worlds because aesthetic illusion is a state that emerges during a process in which a transition must occur from the perceptions normally experienced in everyday life to aesthetic reception. If this process is too short owing to a minimal text basis, immersion may fail to take place. This factor also accounts for the relative complexity of typical illusion­ ist worlds. Although this may seem a special feature of realist fiction only, it is in fact in keeping with the general illusionist effect of re-cen­ tering the recipient in a world whose quality as “world” is enhanced by both extension and complexity. The consistency and life-likeness (or probability) of realistic narratives are actually facets of a more general quality of illusionist worlds, namely their accessibility. Represented worlds can provide different degrees and types of accessibility (Ryan 1991: 32–3). It is obvious that enhanced accessibility facilitates illusionist immersion and that illu­ sionist works therefore tend to lower the threshold of access as much as possible. In realism, this tendency is manifest in the construction and presentation of fictional worlds that seem to be an extension of the re­ cipients’ real world in terms of spatial, temporal (contemporary) and social settings but also, for instance, in terms of norms, ideals and epi­ stemological preconceptions about the “readability” of reality. The relative inconspicuousness of the transmission level (b), which is responsible for the mediality (→ narration in various media) but also for the artificiality of representation and thus for potentially distancecreating factors, corresponds to the centrality of the content level and is closely related to the tendency of illusionist immersion to predominate over aesthetic distance. Therefore, typically illusionist works, and in particular realist novels, usually keep distancing elements to a minimum. The shunning of aesthetic distance can also be witnessed in a no less typical tendency of illusionist works toward seriousness (c), al­ though this does not exclude the comic from illusionism entirely. Com­ edy and laughter imply emotional distance, which runs counter to the strong affinity between emotional involvement and aesthetic illusion. The interrelation between illusion, emotions and seriousness can be seen not only in realist fiction, but also in drama: tragedy tends toward

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aesthetic illusion (Aristotle’s catharsis presupposes empathetic immer­ sion), while comedy frequently suspends illusion. The predominant hetero-referentiality of realist fiction (d) is a con­ sequence of the general fact that all illusionist artifacts, even those that ultimately play with illusion, are representational: they evoke or “represent” a world that seems to exist outside the artifact, and they appear to refer to something other than the works in question. As a special, historical kind of mimesis, the realistic novel is in fact strongly heteroreferential. This does not mean, however, that mimesis alone guaran­ tees the emergence of aesthetic illusion, nor that all illusionist texts must be either realistic (they may also be modernist) or mimetic in the sense of imitating a slice of life (science fiction, in defiance of such im­ itation, can also be illusionist). The basic characteristics found at the textual level of illusionist fic­ tion can be linked to a number of intra-compositional principles of illu­ sion-making, the cumulative effect of which is to produce its typical features of illusion-making as detailed above. These principles regulate the predominant immersive facet of illusionist works, while the latent distance also implied in aesthetic illusion is usually regulated by fram­ ing devices (e.g. the paratextual or metatextual marking of a novel as such [Wolf 2006]). Owing to the extra-compositional factors involved in the emergence of aesthetic illusion, however, these principles can only be regarded as tendencies that enhance a potential of aesthetic il­ lusion but cannot guarantee its realization per se. The following four principles, which shape the material, coherence and presentation of an illusionist world, plus two additional principles that contribute to the persuasiveness peculiar to the rhetoricity of illusionist texts, must be distinguished (Wolf 1993a: chap. 2.2, 2004). (a) The principle of access-facilitating construction and vivid presentation of the represented world’s inventory. The main function of this principle is to provide the inventory or repertoire of an illusionist world with activating concepts, schemata and scripts stored in the re­ cipient’s mind, stemming mostly from previous real-life experience. These → schemata are bound mainly to concrete phenomena (story ex­ istents in the case of narratives) rather than abstract ones. This prin­ ciple also ensures easy access to the worlds thus constructed and facilitates imaginative immersion by maintaining a certain balance between familiarity and novelty (cf. principle (e)) as well as by providing graph­ ic details about this world. (b) The principle of consistency of the represented world. Illusionist works enhance the probability of their worlds by linking their inventory according to abstract “syntactic” concepts (in narratives this includes

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chronology, causality, etc.) on the basis of fundamental logical and epi­ stemological rules that are compatible with, or identical to, the rules that (appear to) govern real life. All of this produces the impression of consistency and invites meaningful interpretations while avoiding con­ tradictions (the “natural” quality of the resulting representations is what renders the level of transmission relatively inconspicuous). Thus the overall tendency is to ensure a fundamental analogy between the il­ lusionist world and the perception of the real world. Consistency oper­ ates according to Ryan’s “principle of minimal departure” (1991: 51): it is a default option, although departures are possible and may even re­ main compatible with illusion, provided they are explained or linked to generic conventions, for example, thus obtaining a secondary kind of plausibility. (c) The principle of life-like perspectivity. The experientiality and probability of illusionist representations, which tend to provide recipi­ ents with “deictic centers” as a vantage point from which to experience the represented worlds (Zwaan 1999: 15), are the result of other prin­ ciples as well. Motivated by the perspectivity of everyday experience— i.e. the inevitable limitation of perception according to the point of view (→ perspective) and the horizon of the perceiver—one of the noteworthy characteristics in the history of illusionism (in both paint­ ing and literature) is the development and perfection of techniques that imitate this perspectivity. In Western fiction, this development has resulted in the increasing use of internal → focalization since the 18thcentury first-person epistolary novel and later in modernist third-person “figural narration” with its covert narrators and effect of immediacy. On the other hand—and this illustrates the fact that aesthetic illusion is frequently the result of a fine balance between the various principles of illusion—extreme curtailment of overt narrators can also threaten tex­ tual coherence. In this way, the principle of perspectivity may come into conflict with the principle of consistency. (d) The principle of respecting and exploiting the potentials of the representational macro-frames, media and genres employed. Representations rely on semiotic macro-frames (typically narrative and descriptive ones), and they also employ specific media and genres. All of these basic frames of individual representations have particular potentials and limits. The principle under discussion is responsible for keeping il­ lusionist representations within these limits in order to ensure easy ac­ cessibility and avoid self-reflexive foregrounding of the means of transmission, for instance. As a result, illusionist narratives show the basic features of → narrativity and employ descriptions in a way that is compatible with both the medium and the narrative macro-frame.

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Again, certain deviations may remain illusion-compatible, but going too much against the grain of these basic frames of representation (as in the hypertrophy of description in the French nouveau roman, for ex­ ample) would highlight mediality as such and foreground the conven­ tionality of narrative or of certain narrative genres. As a result, the reader’s focus would shift from the represented world as the center of aesthetic illusion to the conditions of its construction and transmission, thereby activating aesthetic distance and undermining immersion. (e) The principle of generating interest, and in particular emotional interest, in the represented world. This is an active rhetorical principle resulting from the use of various devices of persuasio that render representations attractive and keep distance at a minimum. It imitates reallife perception in that perception is usually motivated by certain in­ terests. The means by which the recipient’s interest is elicited are highly variable. They often include moderate departures from conven­ tions and expectations as mentioned in connection with other illusionist principles, and they may range from catering to recipients’ desires by providing certain inventory-elements (e.g. sex and crime) to topical ref­ erences and discursive devices intended to create suspense. In accord­ ance with the importance of feelings for illusionist immersion, one par­ ticular area of this principle is appeal to the recipient’s emotions. This principle is also responsible for the scarcity, in typically illusionist representations, of elements such as carnivalesque comedy, as this tends to reduce emotional involvement. (f) The principle of celare artem. The tendency of illusionist fiction to minimize aesthetic distance and the inconspicuousness of its dis­ course is regulated mainly by a principle which, in accordance with the rhetoric of antiquity and post-medieval aesthetics, may be called the principle of celare artem. Similarly to other illusionist principles, celare artem contributes to forming an analogy with a condition of real-life perception, namely the tendency to disregard the fact that per­ ception is limited owing to its inevitable mediacy. This principle favors immersion by concealing the mediacy and mediality of representation, but also, where applicable, fictionality by avoiding paradox-creating devices such as (non-naturalizable) metalepsis and abstaining from overly intrusive metatextual elements and, generally, from devices that lay bare scripts and clichés as constituents of the represented world (al­ though in some cases authenticity-enhancing metatextual devices may be illusion-compatible).

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3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 History of the Term In Latin, illusio (from illudere [in+ludere]: “make fun of,” “jeer,” “de­ ceive”) has both a negative sense (“deceit,” “jeering”) and a neutral or positive sense, notably in classical rhetoric, where illusio is an accept­ able device sometimes used as a synonym of “irony.” The negative sense acquires Christian overtones in post-classical times, as in illu­ siones diaboli (the devil’s deceits), and retains this negative meaning through Medieval Latin, Old French and Middle English to Shakespeare. A neutral or positive meaning re-emerges only in the 17 th cen­ tury, as can be seen in the title of Corneille’s comedy L’Illusion comique (1636). Shortly afterwards, the term can be encountered as an aesthetic notion denoting dramatic illusion in French aesthetic theory (e.g. in Abbé d’Aubignac’s Pratique du théâtre 1657). In French 18thcentury aesthetic theory from Dubos to Marmontel and Diderot, illu­ sion becomes a much discussed term, and it is also in the 18 th century that the term begins to be used in an aesthetic sense in German (often equated with Schein; Oelmüller ed. 1982). In English, Henry Home, Lord Kames called illusion an “ideal presence” (Home 1762), but Coleridge began to use the term “Dramatic Illusion” ([1804/05] 1960, vol. 1: 176). In the 20th century, it is the art historian Gombrich who, owing to his magisterial Art and Illusion (1960), perhaps, has done most to disseminate the term. It continues to be used in spite of Brinker’s plea that the “concept” (he actually means “term”) be “elim­ inate[d] from aesthetic theory” (1977/78: 191). Nowadays, “immer­ sion” is often used in place of illusion. 3.2 History of the Concept The beginnings of the Western tradition of aesthetic illusion (“illusion­ ism”) were located by Gombrich (1960: 108) for the visual arts in the so-called “Greek revolution” which took place between the 6th and the 4th centuries B.C. The transition from the magical and religious use of artworks (in which representational meaning was to be “read” without recourse to an illusionist “matching” to real-life appearance) to aesthet­ ic objects which aimed at persuasive life-likeness inaugurated the Western tradition of illusionist representation. The famous anecdote of the illusionist contest between the trompe-l’œil painters Parrhasios and Zeuxis is a good illustration of this new approach to art. With reference to literature, Aristotle’s theory of tragedy, which hinges on the notion of mimesis in conjunction with the triggering of

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the emotional effects of eleos and phobos, also points toward aesthetic illusion while further evidence of literary illusion can be found in the form of the playful incursions in classical Greek comedy. Most important, however, is Plato’s hostility toward the mimetic arts due to the il­ lusory nature of artistic representation. During the Renaissance, aes­ thetic illusion became a consciously produced effect in literature and was even the object of metatextual commentary (although not under this term), as can be seen in Cervantes’s Don Quixote and in Shakespeare (Wolf 1993b). In the history of fiction, Don Quixote is a particularly remarkable milestone, owing to its illusionist ambivalence (Wolf 1993a: chap. 4; Alter 1975): the novel is informed by both proillusionist elements (thanks to its realistic opposition to the improbable chivalric romances it parodies) and playful anti-illusionism (resulting from its obtrusive metafictional dimension). It can thus be said to in­ augurate two antagonistic traditions: the great tradition of illusionist fiction, which found its peak in the 19th-century realist novel, and an anti-illusionist counter-tradition in which various devices of “defamiliarization” (ostrananie) were developed, notably in Romanticism (in texts characterized by romantic irony), in modernism and in the experi­ mentations of radical postmodernism, the hitherto unsurpassed climax of anti-illusionism. In contemporary post-postmodernist fiction, a com­ promise seems to have been achieved in which an often ironic return to illusionism is combined with moderate illusion-breaking devices in double-layered ambivalent texts. 3.3 Influential Positions Ever since it has been cognized as such, aesthetic illusion has been ac­ companied by controversial evaluations, the first manifestation of which can be seen in the differing stances taken by Plato and Aristotle toward immersion as an effect of mimesis. From the 17th to the end of the 19th century, the pro-illusionist position prevailed with the aesthet­ ics of sensibility (represented inter alia by Diderot) and with realism (endorsed inter alia by Henry James) propagating an illusionism that was fuelled by an emphasis on the emotional and moral effects of literature and art as well as on a probabilistic persuasiveness rivaling non-fictional discourses. The illusion-critical position was motivated by equally diverse factors. With reference to literature, one factor was concern for the aesthetic appreciation of literature as an art (in his entry on “Illusion” in the Encyclopédie, Marmontel opposes Diderot’s ideal of complete illusion); another factor was distrust of complacent passiv­ ity in the reception of literature, which was thought to prevent its poli-

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tical efficiency (cf. Brecht)—a position overlooking the fact that all re­ ception is an active process. Yet another factor was the Romantic and, later, postmodernist diffidence with regard to the pre-condition of all aesthetic illusion, namely representation. It does not come as a surprise, however, that despite fierce opposition, particularly in recent cultural history, aesthetic illusion seems to be more alive than ever, notably in the mass media, since immersion appears to cater well to a fundamental human need for imaginary experience. Both aesthetic illusion and anti-illusionism (often designated by other terms such as “realism” and “immersion” for illusion, and “metafiction” for anti-illusionism) have been discussed from various angles. Up to the 1990s, historical approaches (e.g. in part, Gombrich 1960; Strube 1971; Alter 1975), phenomenological and reader-response approaches (e.g. Lobsien 1975; Smuda 1979) as well as text-centered approaches (Wolf 1993a) prevailed. More recently, aesthetic illusion has been viewed from the perspective of possible-worlds theory (Ryan 1991, 2001) as well as in the context of emotion research (Mellmann 2002, 2006), a focus which also informs part of empirical reader re­ sponse research (Miall 1995) and cognitive and/or psychological ap­ proaches (Walton 1990; Gerrig 1993; Anderson 1996; Zwaan 1999; Bortolussi & Dixon 2003). 3.4 Relevance for Narratology Aesthetic illusion is not restricted to narratives, as illustrated by im­ portant forms of non-narrative illusionist painting (portraits, still lives, genre scenes, landscape painting, etc.). However, there is a special rela­ tionship between aesthetic illusion and narrative and, consequently, a special relevance of this phenomenon to narratology. The link between illusion and narrative resides in the quasi-experiential quality of all aes­ thetic illusion and the characteristic experientiality of typical narratives. It is true that experience can relate merely to space, a moment in time or a static state, but that movement and change, especially if unex­ pected, have a particular affinity to experience (as the German Er­ fahrung suggests, containing fahren, “to move,” “to ride”), pointing to narrative as the most important cognitive macro-frame man has de­ veloped to make sense of experience in and of time. Experientiality has therefore justly been viewed as one of the fundamental elements of nar­ rativity (Fludernik 1996). Another link, closely related, is that aesthetic illusion provides life-like experience and that illusionist works provide analogies to structures and contents of real-life experience, while life is in turn often experienced according to narrative patterns.

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If there is indeed a special but not necessary relationship between narrative and aesthetic illusion, the question arises with reference to fiction as to which aspect or part of narrator-transmitted stories is most important for providing spaces for the “projection” of illusion. It has been claimed that this is the narrating process and thus the → narrator (Nünning 2000, 2001). While in some cases this may be true (e.g. in Tristram Shandy), privileging the narrator in this general way would render stories with covert narrators or narratives without narrators (drama, film) less prone to illusion, which is clearly not the case. We may experience a single voice (including a narrator’s voice), yet a whole world usually has a higher potential of experientiality, in partic­ ular if it is a narrative world with a high degree of tellability, and this shows that the primary center of illusion in narratives is the story, i.e. characters and events (→ event and eventfulness), rather than narra­ tion. 4 Topics for Further Investigation In spite of the fact that aesthetic illusion is an extremely widespread phenomenon in the reception of artistic representations, it has received amazingly scant attention in research, leaving open several areas for additional research. Investigations could focus on a broader systematic search for historical evidence of aesthetic illusion, its nature and func­ tions in the various media (narrative as well as descriptive media), and also on empirical testing of illusion-creating principles (3.3) by collecting responses of contemporary readers to certain representations and determining to what degree they reflect these principles. Cognitive psy­ chology, together with empirical enquiries, also seems to provide a promising approach to aesthetic illusion, particularly if it is focused on the link between immersion and emotion and the analogy between reallife experience and the experience provided by illusionist works. Last but not least, owing to the dependency of immersion on the semiotic macro-frames of narrative and description as well as on the media and the genres used, a desideratum for future research is certainly interdis­ ciplinary cooperation, not only between narratologists and cognitive psychologists, but also, and closer to aesthetic concerns, between nar­ ratology and drama theory, art history and film studies. For aesthetic il­ lusion is a transmedial, transmodal and transgeneric phenomenon, and if this is taken into account, a still better understanding of it will be achieved, ultimately leading, perhaps, to a general theory of aesthetic illusion that transcends individual genres, modes of representation and media.

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5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Alter, Robert (1975). Partial Magic: The Novel as a Self-Conscious Genre. Berkeley: U of California P. Anderson, Joseph D. (1996). The Reality of Illusion: An Ecological Approach to Cog­ nitive Film Theory. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP. Balter, Leon (2002). “Magic and the Aesthetic Illusion.” Journal of the American Psy­ choanalytical Society 50, 1163–196. Barthes, Roland (1968). “L’Effet de réel.” Communications No 11, 84–9. Bortolussi, Marisa & Peter Dixon (2003). Psychonarratology: Foundations for the Empirical Study of Literary Response. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Brinker, Menachem (1977/78). “Aesthetic Illusion.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 16, 191–96. Cohen, Annabel J. (2001). “Music as a Source of Emotion in Film.” P.N. Juslin & J. A. Sloboda (eds). Music and Emotion: Theory and Research. Oxford: Oxford UP, 249–72. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor ([1804/05] 1960). Elements of Shakespearean Criticism, 2 vols. Ed. Th. Middleton Raysor. London: Dent. – ([1817] 1965). Biographia Literaria. Ed. G. Watson. London: Dent. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Gerrig, Richard J. (1993). Experiencing Narrative Worlds: On the Psychological Activities of Reading. New Haven: Yale UP. Gombrich, Ernst H. (1960). Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Representation. Oxford: Phaidon. Home, Henry, Lord Kames ([1762] 1970). Elements of Criticism. Hildesheim: Olms. Hühn, Peter & Jens Kiefer (2005). The Narratological Analysis of Lyric Poetry: Studies in English Poetry from the 16th to the 20th Century. Berlin: de Gruyter. Lobsien, Eckhard (1975). Theorie literarischer Illusionsbildung. Stuttgart: Metzler. Mellmann, Katja (2002). “E-Motion: Being Moved by Fiction and Media? Notes on Fictional Worlds, Virtual Contacts and the Reality of Emotions.” PsyArt: A Hyper­ link Journal for the Psychological Study of the Arts. Article 020604. [http//www.­ clas.ufl.edu/ipsa/journal/2002_mellmann01.shtml] (accessed March 23, 2006). – (2006). “Literatur als emotionale Attrappe: Eine evolutionspsychologische Lösung des ‘paradox of fiction’.” U. Klein et al. (eds). Heuristiken der Literaturwissen­ schaft. Paderborn: Mentis, 145–66. Miall, David S. (1995). “Anticipation and Feeling in Literary Response: A Neuropsy­ chological Perspective.” Poetics 23, 275–98. Müller-Zettelmann, Eva (2000). Lyrik und Metalyrik: Theorie einer Gattung und ihrer Selbstbespiegelung anhand von Beispielen aus der englisch- und deutschsprachi­ gen Dichtkunst. Heidelberg: Winter. Nünning, Ansgar (2000). “‘Great Wits Jump’: Die literarische Inszenierung von Erzählillusion als vernachlässigte Entwicklungslinie des englischen Romans von Laurence Sterne bis Stevie Smith.” B. Reitz & E. Voigts-Virchow (eds). Lineages of the Novel: Essays in Honour of Raimund Borgmeier. Trier: WVT, 67–91.

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(2001). “Mimesis des Erzählens: Prolegomena zu einer Wirkungsästhetik, Typolo­ gie und Funktionsgeschichte des Akts des Erzählens und der Metanarration.” J. Helbig (ed). Erzählen und Erzähltheorie im 20. Jahrhundert: Festschrift für Wil­ helm Füger. Heidelberg: Winter, 13–47. Oelmüller, Willi, ed. (1982). Kolloquium Kunst und Philosophie. Vol. 2: Ästhetischer Schein. Paderborn: Schöningh. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – (2001). Narrative as Virtual Reality: Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Schaeffer, Jean-Marie (1999). Pourquoi la fiction? Paris: Seuil. – & Ioana Vultur (2005). “Immersion.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclope­ dia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 237–39. Smuda, Manfred (1979). Der Gegenstand in der bildenden Kunst und Literatur: Typo­ logische Untersuchungen zur Theorie des ästhetischen Gegenstands. München: Fink. Strube, Werner (1971). Ästhetische Illusion: Ein kritischer Beitrag zur Geschichte der Wirkungsästhetik des 18. Jahrhunderts. PhD Diss. U of Bochum. Walton, Kendall L. (1990). Mimesis as Make-Believe: On the Foundations of the Rep­ resentational Arts. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Wolf, Werner (1993a). Ästhetische Illusion und Illusionsdurchbrechung in der Erzähl­ kunst. Theorie und Geschichte mit Schwerpunkt auf englischem illusionsstörenden Erzählen. Tübingen: Niemeyer. – (1993b). “Shakespeare und die Entstehung ästhetischer Illusion im englischen Dra­ ma.” Germanisch-Romanische Monatsschrift, n.s. 43, 279–301. – (1998). “Aesthetic Illusion in Lyric Poetry?” Poetica 30, 251–89. – (2004). “Aesthetic Illusion as an Effect of Fiction.” Style 38, 325–51. – (2006). “Introduction: Frames, Framings and Framing Borders in Literature and Other Media.” W. Wolf & W. Bernhart (eds). Framing Borders in Literature and Other Media. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1–40. Zwaan, Rolf A. (1999). “Situation Models: The Mental Leap into Imagined Worlds.” Current Directions in Psychological Science 8, 15–8.

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5.2 Further Reading
Burwick, Frederick & Walter Pape, eds. (1990). Aesthetic Illusion: Theoretical and Historical Approaches. Berlin: de Gruyter. Grabes, Herbert (1978). “Wie aus Sätzen Personen werden ... Über die Erforschung li­ terarischer Figuren.” Poetica 10, 405–28. Grau, Oliver (2003). Virtual Art: From Illusion to Immersion. Cambridge: MIT P. Pape, Walter & Frederick Burwick eds. (1995). Perception and Appearance in Literat­ ure, Culture and the Arts. Berlin: de Gruyter. Strube, Werner (1976). “Illusion.” J. Ritter & K. Gründer (eds). Historisches Wörter­ buch der Philosophie. Darmstadt: WBG, vol. 4, 204–15. Walsh, Dorothy (1983). “The Non-Delusive Illusion of Literary Art.” British Journal of Aesthetics 23, 53–60. Wolf, Werner (2008). “Is Aesthetic Illusion ‘illusion référentielle’? ‘Immersion’ and its Relationship to Fictionality and Factuality.” Journal of Literary Theory 2.1, 99– 126, 171–73.

Implied Author
Wolf Schmid 1 Definition The concept of implied author refers to the author-image contained in a work and constituted by the stylistic, ideological, and aesthetic proper­ ties for which indexical signs can be found in the text. Thus, the im­ plied author has an objective and a subjective side: it is grounded in the indexes of the text, but these indexes are perceived and evaluated dif­ ferently by each individual → reader. We have the implied author in mind when we say that each and every cultural product contains an im­ age of its maker. The implied author is therefore not a category specific to verbal narration; it is, however, most often discussed in relation to linguistic texts, particularly in narratological contexts. 2 Explication The implied author has, after being introduced by Booth (1961), be­ come a widespread term for a concept referring to the author contained, but not represented, in a work. This concept presents itself in various forms. Many users treat it as a term for an entity positioned between the real → author and the fictive → narrator in the communication structure of narrative works. Those adopting a critical stance, on the other hand, use it as a term for a reader-generated construct without an equivalent pragmatic role in the narrative work. In neither of these us­ ages it is claimed that authors have the intention of creating an image of themselves in their works. Instead, the image is understood as one of the by-products that, in the sense of Bühler’s expressive function of language (1918/20), necessarily accompany each and every symbolic representation. Any of the acts that produced a work can function as an indexical sign bearing this indirect form of self-expression. In particu­ lar, these acts include the fabrication of a represented world; the inven­ tion of a story with situations, → characters, and actions; the selection of a particular action logic with a more or less pronounced world-view; the deployment of a narrator and his or her → perspective; the trans­

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formation of the story into a narrative with the aid of techniques such as flattening simultaneous events into a linear progression and rear­ ranging the order of episodes; and finally, the presentation of the nar­ rative in particular linguistic (or visual) forms. The concept has provoked questions above all because it has two dissimilar aspects. On the one hand, it has an objective component: the implied author is seen as a hypostasis of the work’s structure. On the other hand, it has a subjective component relating to reception: the im­ plied author is seen as a product of the reader’s meaning-making activ­ ity. The relative importance of these two aspects varies depending on how the concept is used: essentialists insist on the importance of the work’s structure in defining the implied author, whereas constructivists highlight the role played by the freedom of interpretation. At any rate, it must be remembered that, like the readings of different recipients, the various interpretations of a single reader are each associated with a dif­ ferent implied author. Depending on the function a work is believed to have had according to a given reading, the implied author will be re­ constructed as having predominantly aesthetic, practical, or ideological intentions. 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Russian Formalism, Czech and Polish Structuralism The concept of the implied author was first formulated systematically against the background of Russian formalism. The formalist Tynjanov ([1927] 1971: 75) coined the term “literary personality,” which he uses to refer to a work’s internal abstract authorial entity. Vinogradov, a scholar of language and style with links to the formalist movement, began developing the concept of the author’s image (obraz avtora) in 1926 (Čudakov 1992: 237–42; Gölz 2009). He later defined this image as “the concentrated embodiment of the essence of the work,” as “drawing together the entire system of the linguistic structures of the characters in their correlation with the narrator or narrators, and thereby being the conceptual stylistic centre, the focus of the whole” (Vinogradov 1971: 118). In the 1970s, Russian thought on the idea of the author in the text was taken further by Korman (Rymar’ & Skobelev 1994: 60–102). Drawing on Vinogradov’s concept of the author’s image and Baxtin’s theory of dialogic interaction between different points of meaning, Korman (1977) developed a method that he described as “systemically subject-based.” At its center lies the study of the author as the “con­

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sciousness of the work.” Korman’s approach differs from the theory of his predecessors in two ways. In Vinogradov’s writings, the author’s image is described stylistically and presented as the product obtained when the different styles brought into play in a work are drawn togeth­ er; Korman, on the other hand, concentrates primarily on the relations between the various centers of consciousness in the work. And whereas Baxtin’s interest in the problem of the author’s image is primarily philosophical and aesthetic in nature, Korman’s deliberations are dom­ inated by poetics. For Korman, the author in the work—which he calls the “conceived author”—is realized “in the correlation of all the con­ stituent textual elements of the work in question with its subjects of speech, i.e. those subjects to whom the text is attributed, and the sub­ jects of consciousness, i.e. those subjects whose consciousnesses are expressed in the text” (Korman 1977: 120). In the context of Czech structuralism, Mukařovský (1937: 353) spoke at an early date of the author in the work as an “abstract subject that, contained in the structure of the work, is merely a point from which it is possible to survey the entire work at a glance.” In any given work, Mukařovský adds, it is possible to find indications pointing to the presence of this abstract subject, which must never be identified with an actual individual such as the author or the recipient. He writes that the subject of the work “in its abstraction […] merely makes it possible to project these personalities into the internal structure of the work” (353). Taking the ideas of his teacher as his starting point, the second-gen­ eration Czech structuralist Červenka suggested that the “subject of the work,” or “personality”—the entity that Mukařovský called the “ab­ stract subject”—is the “signified,” the “aesthetic object” of the literary work, the work itself being treated as an index in the Peircean sense (Červenka 1969). For Červenka, the “personality” thus defined embod­ ies the principle by which all the semantic levels of the work are dy­ namically united, without forcing us to suppress the inner richness and personal color that points back to the concrete author. At the beginning of Polish research on the subject of the work we find Sławiński (1966, 1967), whose writings reflect the ideas of Vino­ gradov and Mukařovský. Where Vinogradov introduces the concept of the “author’s image,” Sławiński refers to the “subject of the creative acts” or the “maker of the rules of speech.” Balcerzan (1968) uses the term “internal author” to refer to the same entity. “Subject of the work” is the name given to the authorial entity in the work in the framework of literary communication outlined by Okopień-Sławińska (1971). Fieguth (1975: 16), Okopień-Sławińska’s German translator and com­

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mentator, describes it as the “subject of the use of literary rules in the work.” 3.2 Approaches in the West In Western narratology, the introduction of the implied author concept was linked to work on the notion of the unreliable narrator, in other words, the axiological disconnection of the narrator from the horizon of values against which a work operates. The paradigmatic form of the concept was developed by Booth (1961), an American literary scholar belonging to the Chicago School (Kindt & Müller 1999, 2006a, 2006b). Since Flaubert, there had existed a view according to which authors should be objective, that is to say neutral and impassionnate; Booth, in contrast, underlined the inescapable subjectivity of the au­ thor: “As he writes, [the real author] creates not simply an ideal, imper­ sonal ‘man in general’, but an implied version of ‘himself’ that is dif­ ferent from the implied authors we meet in other men’s works. […] the picture the reader gets of his presence is one of the author’s most im­ portant effects. However impersonal he may try to be, his reader will inevitably construct a picture of the [author] who writes in this manner” (Booth [1961] 1983: 70–1). These words have been understood by some as referring to a selfimage intentionally created by the author. However, it is more likely that Booth’s rather imprecise formulation was meant to capture the idea that the creator of every product is inevitably and involuntarily represented indexically in it. Booth, who subscribed to the criticism of the “intentional fallacy” presented by Wimsatt & Beardsley (1946), hoped to sidestep two tenets of the New Criticism with the help of the implied author concept: the doctrine of autonomy and the insistence on the need to concentrate solely on the work itself. As Booth (1968: 112–13) objected, the New Criticism’s fight against a string of “fallacies” and “heresies” served to rule out not just the author but also the audience, the “world of ideas and beliefs,” and even “the narrative interest” itself. The concept of au­ thorship in the work was meant to provide a way round these obstacles, to make it possible to talk about a work’s meaning and intention without falling foul of the criminal heresies. Booth’s approach has subsequently been taken up and refined on many occasions (cf. in particular Iser 1972; Chatman 1978: 147–49; Rimmon-Kenan [1983] 2002: 87–8). Equivalent concepts have also been introduced, some closely associated with Booth’s, others less so. Eco (1979), for example, speaks of the “model author,” which he treats

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as an interpretive hypothesis of the empirical reader, and Easthope (1983: 30–72) draws on the linguistic work of Émile Benveniste in sug­ gesting the term “subject of enunciation.” Building on the Slavic ori­ gins of the concept, Schmid (1973) introduced the term “abstract au­ thor” (taken up by, for example, Link 1976: 40; Lintvelt [1981] 1989: 17–22; Hoek 1981), which he has subsequently defended against criti­ cism (Schmid 1986: 300–06; cf. also the revision in Schmid [2005] 2008: 45–64). 3.3 The Implied Author Dispute The concept of the implied author has given rise to heated debate. Hempfer (1977: 10) passed categorical judgment over the concepts of the implied (in his words “implizit,” i.e. “implicit”) author and reader, writing that the two entities “not only seem to be of no theoretical use but also obscure the real fundamental distinction, that between the speech situation in the text and that outside it.” Over two decades later, Zipfel (2001: 120) presented a similar indictment of the implied author, condemning the concept as “superfluous to narrative theory,” “hope­ lessly vague,” and “terminologically imprecise.” Bal has established herself as a bitter opponent of Booth’s implied author and Schmid’s ab­ stract author. These “superfluous” concepts (1981a: 208–09), she be­ lieves, have fostered the misguided practice of isolating authors from the ideologies of their works. The implied author, she believes, is a de­ ceptive notion that promised to account for the ideology of the text. “This would have made it possible to condemn a text without con­ demning its author and vice versa—a very attractive proposition to the autonomists of the ’60s” (1981b: 42). More balanced criticism has been put forward in many forms. The objections raised can be summarized as follows: (a) Unlike the fictive narrator, the implied author is not a pragmatic agent but a semantic en­ tity (Nünning 1989: 33, 1993: 9); (b) the implied author is no more than a reader-created construct (Rimmon-Kenan [1983] 2002: 87; Toolan [1988] 2001: 64) and as such should not be personified (Nün­ ning 1989: 31–32); (c) despite repeated warnings against an overly an­ thropomorphic understanding of the implied author, Chatman (1978: 151) puts forward a model in which the implied author functions as a participant in communication—which is, according to Rimmon-Kenan ([1983] 2002: 89), precisely what the implied author is not; (d) in so far as it involves a semantic rather than a structural phenomenon, the concept of the implied author belongs to the poetics of interpretation rather than the poetics of narration (Diengott 1993: 189); (e) Booth and

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those who have used the concept after him have not shown how to identify the implied author of any given text (Kindt & Müller 2006b: 167–68). These criticisms are perfectly legitimate, but they are not sufficient to justify excluding the implied author from the attention of narratology. Many critics continue to use the concept, clearly because no better term can be found for expressing that authorial element whose pres­ ence is inferred in a work. It is also striking that those who advocate abandoning the implied author have put forward few convincing alternatives. Nünning, for ex­ ample, who believes that it is “terminologically imprecise,” “theoretically inadequate,” and “unusable in practice,” suggests replacing it with the “totality of all the formal and structural relations in a text” (1989: 36). In a chapter “In Defense of the Implied Author,” Chatman (1990: 74–89) suggests a series of alternatives for readers uneasy with the term implied author: “text implication”; “text instance”; “text design”; or simply “text intent.” Finally, Kindt & Müller (1999: 285– 86) identify two courses of action. We should, they suggest, either re­ place the term implied author with that of “author” itself (which would attract familiar objections from anti-intentionalistic quarters); or, if a non-intentionalistic concept of meaning is to be retained, we should speak instead of “text intention.” (Since texts as such do not have in­ tentions, the latter term brings with it an undesirable metonymic shift from maker to product.) The case of Genette sheds light on the double-sided view of the im­ plied author concept held by many theorists. Genette did not cover the implied author in his Narrative Discourse (1972), which led to a cer­ tain amount of criticism (e.g. Rimmon 1976: 58; Bronzwaer 1978: 3); he then devoted an entire chapter to it in Narrative Discourse Revisited ([1983] 1988: 135–54). Detailed analysis in the latter work leads to a conclusion that is not at all unfavorable to the implied author. Genette observes first that, because it is not specific to the récit, the auteur im­ pliqué is not the concern of narratology. His answer to the question “is the implied author a necessary and (therefore) valid agent between the narrator and the real author?” (139; emphasis in original) is ambival­ ent. The implied author, he says, is clearly not an actual agent, but is conceivably an ideal agent: “the implied author is everything the text lets us know about the author” (148). But we should not, Genette warns, turn this “idea of the author” into a narrative agent. This places Genette in a position not so different from that of the proponents of “full-blown models” of narrative communication to which he refers (Schmid 1973; Chatman 1978; Bronzwaer 1978; Hoek 1981; Lintvelt

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1981), none of whom intend to make the implied author a narrative agent. 3.4 Towards an Impartial Definition The implied author can be defined as the correlate of all the indexical signs in a text that refer to the author of that text. These signs mark out a specific world-view and aesthetic standpoint. The implied author is not an intentional creation of the concrete author and differs categorically in this respect from the narrator, who is always an explicitly, or even implicitly, represented entity. The implied author belongs to a dif­ ferent level of the work; the implied author stands for the principle be­ hind the fabrication of a narrator and the represented world in its en­ tirety, the principle behind the composition of the work (note here Hühn’s “subject of composition” [1995: 5], a development of East­ hope’s “subject of enunciation” [1983]). It has no voice of its own, no text. Its word is the entire text with all its levels, the entire work as a created object. Its position is defined by both ideological and aesthetic norms. The implied author has only a virtual existence in the work and can be grasped only by turning to the traces left behind in the work by the creative acts of production, taking concrete shape only with the help of the reader. The implied author is a construct formed by the reader on the basis of his or her reading of the work. If the process of construc­ tion is not to simply confirm to the meanings that readers want to find in the first place, it must be based on the evidence in the text and the constraints this places on the freedom of interpretation. It would there­ fore be more appropriate to speak of reconstruction instead of construc­ tion. The implied authors of various works by a single concrete author display certain common features and thereby constitute what we might call an œuvre author, a stereotype that Booth (1979: 270) refers to as a “career author.” There are also more general author stereotypes that relate not to an œuvre but to literary schools, stylistic currents, periods, and genres. Contrary to the impression given by the term “author’s image,” the relation between the implied author and the real author should not be pictured in such a way that the former becomes a reflection or copy of the latter. And despite the connotations of the German impliziter Autor (implicit author, which brings with it a shift from the reception-based orientation of implied to an ontologizing concept), the implied author cannot be modeled as the mouthpiece of the real author. It is not unusu­

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al for authors to experiment with their world-views and put their be­ liefs to the test in their works. In some cases, for example, authors use their works to depict possibilities that cannot be realized in the context of their real-life existence, adopting in the process standpoints on cer­ tain issues that they could not or would not wish to adopt in reality. In such cases, the implied author can be more radical than the real author ever really was or, to put it more carefully, than we imagine him or her to have been on the basis of the evidence available. Such radicalization of the implied author is characteristic, for example, of Tolstoj’s late works. The late Tolstoj was much less convinced by many of his ideas than his implied authors; the latter embodied, and took to extremes, one particular dimension of Tolstoj’s thought. Conversely, it is also pos­ sible for the ideological horizons of the implied author to be broader than the more or less markedly ideologically constrained ones of the real author. An example of this is Dostoevskij, who in his late novels developed a remarkable understanding of ideologies that he vehe­ mently attacked as a journalist. 3.5 Relevance to Narratology Why should a semantic entity that is neither a pragmatic participant in communication nor a specific component of the narrative work be the concern of narratology at all? Recall here Rimmon (1976: 58), who points out that “without the implied author it is difficult to analyze the ‘norms’ of the text, especially when they differ from those of the nar­ rator.” Similarly, Bronzwaer (1978: 3) notes that “we need an instance that calls the extradiegetic narrator into existence, which is responsible for him in the same way as he is responsible for the diegesis.” Chatman (1990: 76) points out another advantage of the concept when he writes that “positing an implied author inhibits the overhasty assumption that the reader has direct access through the fictional text to the real au­ thor’s intentions and ideology.” The concept of the implied author is particularly useful in textual interpretation because it helps us describe the layered process by which meaning is generated. The existence of the implied author, not part of the represented world but nonetheless part of the work, casts a shadow over the narrator, who often appears as master of the situation and seems to have control over the semantic order of the work. The pres­ ence of the implied author in the model of epic communication high­ lights the fact that narrators, their texts, and the meanings expressed in them are all represented. Only on the level of the implied author do these meanings acquire their ultimate semantic intention. The presence

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of the implied author in the work, above the characters and the narrator and their associated levels of meaning, establishes a new semantic level arching over the whole work: the authorial level (→ narrative levels). 3.6 Implied Reader In many discussions, the implied author is paired with a recipient entity occupying a supposedly equivalent position on the opposite side of the communication situation: the “implied reader” (as in Booth 1961), to be distinguished from the addressee of the fictive narrator, known as the “narratee” (Prince 1971) or “fictive reader” (Schmid 1973). Among the theorists who have worked on the implied reader, Iser (1972, 1976) deserves special mention. In the first, German version of The Act of Reading, Iser describes the implied reader (or impliziter Leser, as he calls it) as a “structure inscribed in the texts” not having any real existence (Iser 1976: 60). He then goes on (to quote his sub­ sequent English version of the text) to say that the implied reader “em­ bodies all those predispositions necessary for a literary work to exer­ cise its effect—predispositions laid down, not by an empirical outside reality, but by the text itself. Consequently, the implied reader as a concept has his roots firmly planted in the structure of the text; he is a construct and in no way to be identified with any real reader” (Iser 1978: 34). Červenka ([1969] 1978: 174–75) characterizes the “addressee’s per­ sonality,” by which he means the implied reader, with the statement that “if the subject of the work was the correlate of the totality of the acts of creative choice, then the overall meaning of the work’s address­ ee is the totality of the interpretive abilities required: the ability to use the same codes and develop their material analogously to the creative activity of the speaker, the ability to transform the potentiality of the work into an aesthetic object.” In Russia, following on from Korman, Rymar’ & Skobelev (1994: 119–21) use the term “conceived reader.” Korman (1977: 127) himself had paired the “author as bearer of the work’s concept” with the corresponding entity of the “reader as postu­ lated addressee, ideal principle of reception.” Similarly, Eco (1979) pairs the “model author” with the “model reader,” defined by him as a hypothesis formed by the empirical author. It is tempting to assume, as several theorists have indeed done, that the relationship between implied author and implied reader is a sym­ metrical one. If the implied author is an image of the real author cre­ ated by the real reader, then, we might be inclined to conclude, the im­ plied reader must be the image of the real reader envisaged by the real

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author. The true state of affairs, of course, is more complicated, for there is no symmetry between the ways in which the two abstract entities are formed. The implied reader is ultimately one of the attributes of the concrete reader’s reconstructed implied author. It follows that the implied reader is no less dependent on the reader’s individual acts of reconstruction than the implied author whose attribute it is. Two hypostases of the (re)constructed implied reader should be dis­ tinguished on the basis of the functions it can be thought to have. First, the implied reader can be seen as an assumed addressee to whom the work is directed and whose linguistic codes, ideological norms, and aesthetic ideas must be taken account of if the work is to be under­ stood. In this function, the implied reader bears the factual codes and norms that it is assumed the audience will use. Second, the implied reader can be seen as an image of the ideal recipient who understands the work in a way that optimally matches its structure and who adopts the interpretive position and aesthetic standpoint put forward by the work (Schmid [2005] 2008: 68–72, 2007). 4 Topics for Further Research (a) Where systematic considerations and practical applications are con­ cerned, there is a pressing need to identify the indexical signs that refer to the implied author, and to distinguish between author- and narratorspecific indexes. (b) The manifestation of the implied author in differ­ ent periods, cultural spheres, text types, and genres has yet to be ex­ amined in detail. (Translated by Alastair Matthews) 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Bal, Mieke (1981a). “The Laughing Mice, or: on Focalisation.” Poetics Today 2, 202– 10. – (1981b). “Notes on Narrative Embedding.” Poetics Today 2, 41–59. Balcerzan, Edward (1968). “Styl i poetyka twórczości dwujęzycznej Brunona Jasińskiego.” Z zagadnień teorii przekładu. Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolinskich, 14–16. Booth, Wayne C. ([1961] 1983). The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: Chicago UP. – (1968). “‘The Rhetoric of Fiction’ and the Poetics of Fictions.” Novel: A Forum on Fiction 1, 105–17.

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(1979). Critical Understanding: The Powers and Limits of Pluralism. Chicago: Chicago UP. Bronzwaer, Wilhelmus J. M. (1978). “Implied Author, Extradiegetic Narrator and Pub­ lic Reader.” Neophilologus 62, 1–18. Bühler, Karl (1918/20). “Kritische Musterung der neueren Theorien des Satzes.” Indo­ germanisches Jahrbuch 4, 1–20. Červenka, Miroslav ([1969] 1978). “Das literarische Werk als Zeichen.” Der Bedeu­ tungsaufbau des literarischen Werks. München: Fink, 163–83. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse. Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1990). Coming to Terms. The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Čudakov, Aleksandr (1992). “V. V. Vinogradov i ego teorija poėtiki.” Slovo―vešč’―mir. Moskva: Sovremennyj pisatel’, 219–64. Diengott, Nilli (1993). “Implied Author, Motivation and Theme and Their Problematic Status.” Orbis Litterarum 48, 181–93. Easthope, Antony (1983). Poetry as Discourse. London: Methuen. Eco, Umberto (1979). The Role of the Reader. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Fieguth, Rolf (1975). “Einleitung.” R. F. Literarische Kommunikation. Kronberg: Scriptor, 9–22. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Gölz, Christine (2009). “Autortheorien im slavischen Funktionalismus.” W. Schmid (ed). Slavische Narratologie. Russische und tschechische Ansätze. Berlin: de Gruy­ ter, 187–237. Hempfer, Klaus W. (1977). “Zur pragmatischen Fundierung der Texttypologie.” W. Hinck (ed). Textsortenlehre―Gattungsgeschichte. Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, 1–26. Hoek, Leo H. (1981). La marque du titre. La Haye: Mouton. Hühn, Peter (1995). Geschichte der englischen Lyrik, vol. 1. Tübingen: Francke. Iser, Wolfgang ([1972] 1974). The Implied Reader: Patterns of Communication in Prose Fiction from Bunyan to Beckett. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (1976). Der Akt des Lesens: Theorie ästhetischer Wirkung. München: Fink. – (1978). The Act of Reading: A Theory of Aesthetic Response. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Kindt, Tom & Hans-Harald Müller (1999). “Der implizite Autor. Zur Explikation und Verwendung eines umstrittenen Begriffs.” F. Jannidis et al. (eds). Rückkehr des Au­ tors. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 273–87. – (2006a). The Implied Author. Concept and Controversy. Berlin: de Gruyter. – (2006b). “Der implizite Autor. Zur Karriere und Kritik eines Begriffs zwischen Narratologie und Interpretationstheorie.” Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte 48, 163–90. Korman, Boris (1977). “O celostnosti literaturnogo proizvedenija.” Izbrannye trudy po teorii i istorii literatury. Iževsk: Izd. Udmurtskogo un-ta, 119–28. Link, Hannelore (1976). Rezeptionsforschung. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer.

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Lintvelt, Jaap ([1981] 1989). Essai de typologie narrative. Le “point de vue.” Théorie et analyse. Paris: Corti. Mukařovský, Jan (1937). “L’individu dans l’art.” Deuxième congrès international d’esthétique et de la science de l’art. Paris: F. Alcan, vol. 1, 349–54. Nünning, Ansgar (1989). Grundzüge eines kommunikationstheoretischen Modells der erzählerischen Vermittlung. Trier: WVT. – (1993). “Renaissance eines anthropomorphisierten Passepartouts oder Nachruf auf ein literaturkritisches Phantom? Überlegungen und Alternativen zum Konzept des ‘implied author’.” Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geis­ tesgeschichte 67, 1–25. Okopień-Sławińska, Alexandra ([1971] 1975). “Die personalen Relationen in der litera­ rischen Kommunikation.” R. Fieguth (ed). Literarische Kommunikation. Kronberg: Scriptor, 127–47. Prince, Gerald (1971). “Notes toward a Characterization of Fictional Narratees.” Genre 4, 100–06. Rimmon, Shlomith (1976). “A Comprehensive Theory of Narrative: Genette’s Figures III and the Structuralist Study of Fiction.” PTL: A Journal for Descriptive Poetics and Theory of Literature 1, 33–62. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Methuen. Rymar’, Nikolaj & Vladislav Skobelev (1994). Teorija avtora i problema chudožestvennoj dejatel’nosti. Voronež: Logos-Trast. Schmid, Wolf (1973). Der Textaufbau in den Erzählungen Dostoevskijs. Amsterdam: Grüner. – (1986). “Nachwort zur zweiten Auflage. Eine Antwort an die Kritiker.” W. Sch. Der Textaufbau in den Erzählungen Dostoevskijs. Amsterdam: Grüner, 299–318. – ([2005] 2008). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. – (2007). “Textadressat.” Th. Anz (ed). Handbuch Literaturwissenschaft. Stuttgart: Metzler, vol. 1, 171–81. Sławiński, Janusz (1966). “O kategorii podmiotu lirycznego. Tezy referatu.” J. Trzynadłowski (ed). Wiersz i poezja. Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolinskich, 55–62. – ([1967] 1975). “Die Semantik der narrativen Äußerung.” Literatur als System und Prozeß. München: Nymphenburger, 81–109. Toolan, Michael J. ([1988] 2001). Narrative. A Critical Linguistic Introduction. Lon­ don: Routledge. Tynjanov, Jurij ([1927] 1971). “On Literary Evolution.” L. Matejka & K. Pomorska (eds). Readings in Russian Poetics: Formalist and Structuralist Views. Cambridge: MIT P, 66–78. Vinogradov, Viktor (1971). “Problema obraza avtora v chudožestvennoj literature.” O teorii chudožestvennoj reči. Moskva: Izd. Vysšaja škola, 105–211. Wimsatt, William K. & Monroe C. Beardsley ([1946] 1976). “The Intentional Fallacy.” D. Newton-de Molina (ed). On Literary Intention. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1– 13. Zipfel, Frank (2001). Fiktion, Fiktivität, Fiktionalität. Berlin: Schmidt.

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5.2 Further Reading
Kahrmann, Cordula, et al. ([1977] 1996). Erzähltextanalyse. Weinheim: Beltz. Schönert, Jörg (1999). “Empirischer Autor, Impliziter Autor und Lyrisches Ich.” F. Jannidis et al. (eds): Rückkehr des Autors. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 289–94. Suleiman, Susan R. & Inge Crosman eds. (1980). The Reader in the Text. Princeton: Princeton UP.

Mediacy and Narrative Mediation
Jan Alber & Monika Fludernik 1 Definition The term “mediacy” was coined by Stanzel ([1955] 1971: 6) and de­ scribes the fact that the story is mediated by the narrator’s discourse in one of two ways. Either the story is openly transmitted through a nar­ rator who functions as a teller of the tale (“teller mode”) or the medi­ ation is apparently occluded by a direct, im-mediate presentation of the story through the consciousness of a reflector (character). In the re­ flector mode, we seem to see the storyworld through the eyes of a char­ acter and there seems to be no narrator operating as a mediator. Since the introduction of Stanzel’s term, the fact of a mediate presentation of the story has become a general foundation in structuralist narratology. In Genette, mediation is two-fold on the levels of the discourse (récit) and the narrator’s act of telling (narration) ([1972] 1980: 27, [1983] 1988: 13); Prince ([1987] 2003: 58) defines narrative as always having a mediating narratorial level; and Chatman, who looks at film and nonverbal narratives like ballet, speaks of “narrative transmission” (1978: 22). In recent years, the emphasis on different media using narrative has resulted in the term mediation being applied to the way in which a story is told in film, drama, cartoons, ballet, music, pictures, hypertext narratives, and other genres and forms of narrative. 2 Explication Narratives can be mediated by narrators who tell and comment on the story or through agents who merely think, feel, or perceive. Stanzel dis­ criminates between teller- and reflector-characters, arguing that they are “mediators of [...] fictional events” ([1979] 1984: 150). However, they mediate story material, i.e. event sequences, in different ways. Teller-characters narrate, inform, and comment as if they were trans­ mitting a piece of news or a message. Reflector-characters, on the other hand, do not narrate or transmit. Rather, the reader perceives the action through the eyes of the reflector character, and this veiled mediacy pro­

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duces what Stanzel calls “the illusion of immediacy” (141). For Genette, the so-called “narrating instance” ([1972] 1980: 212) is the communicative act that initiates both the story and the narrative dis­ course that produces the story. More specifically, the narrating instance represents events and existents (story), and they are thereby mediated in a particular (verbal, visual, or audio-visual) sign system (narrative) ([1983] 1988: 13). Chatman speaks of the process of “narrative trans­ mission” as “the source or authority for the story” (1978: 22). For him, the process of narrative transmission centrally concerns the relation­ ship between story time and discourse time as well as issues of voice and point of view. Chatman discriminates between “overt narrators,” who communicate directly to the reader, and “covert narrators,” who remain more or less hidden in the narrative’s discursive shadows (1990: 115). Fludernik argues that all narrative is built on the mediat­ ing function of consciousness, a complex “natural” category with sev­ eral available cognitive frames to choose from. She integrates Stanzel’s mediacy into a more general cognitive model of narrative transmission based on “real-life” schemata. Teller-mode narratives are mediated by the consciousness of a narrator; reflector-mode narratives by the con­ sciousness of a protagonist; and neutral narratives by the reader who “views” and constructs narrative experience (1996: 50). Underlying the question of what constitutes narrative is the concept of mediacy. While most narrative theorists define narrative in terms of event sequences, Stanzel and Genette reject blanket uses of the term “narrative,” the latter defining narrative stricto sensu as a “verbal transmission” ([1983] 1988: 16). In Stanzel’s account, drama and film are im-mediate renderings of story, while (verbal) narrative is a medi­ ated representation—mediated by the discourse of a narrator (openly mediated) or a reflector (obliquely mediated by presenting an illusion of im-mediacy). In contrast, Chatman also considers plays, movies, and cartoons to be narrative because they present stories (1990: 117). For him, there are “diegetic” and “mimetic” forms of narrative; narratives can be told or shown. Finally, Fludernik’s redefinition of narrativity on the basis of experientiality, i.e. “the quasi-mimetic evocation of ‘reallife experience’” (1996: 12), and its mediation through consciousness allows her to open up the field of narrative inquiry not only to drama and film, but also to oral storytelling and some kinds of poetry.

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3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Mediacy from Plato to Stanzel Stanzel’s notion of mediacy has roots in the distinction between mimesis and haple diegesis in Plato’s Republic (cf. also Lubbock [1921: 62], Blackmur [1934: xvii–xviii], and Friedman [1955: 1161– 165]). In Plato’s diegetic or “pure” mode, the poet “himself is the speaker and does not even attempt to suggest to us that anyone but him­ self is speaking.” In the mimetic mode, however, the poet “delivers a speech as if he were someone else.” According to Plato, the poet may also combine these two modes and use the mixed mode, as in epic po­ etry (Plato 1937: 392c–95; cf. also Schaeffer & Vultur 2005: 309). Al­ though Plato talks about speech representation (“pure” narrative and poetry vs. “pure” drama vs. narrative including dialogue insets), the Platonic mimesis/diegesis distinction as a dichotomy (rather than a tri­ ad) has been used to support both models of speech and thought representation (direct vs. free indirect speech) and the generic distinction between narrative and drama. Stanzel’s assignment of drama to the pole of immediacy (i.e. unmediated representation of story) therefore aligns immediacy with mimesis and mediacy with diegesis in the Pla­ tonic sense (→ speech representation). While for Plato (and later Stanzel) the term “diegetic” refers to nar­ ratorial discourse (i.e. the act of telling), Genette uses the term diégèse (adopted from Souriau 1951) to denote the fictional world of the char­ acters ([1972] 1980: 27 n. 2, [1983] 1988: 17–8). Genette’s term diégèse has many affinities with Aristotle’s notion of mimesis. For Aristotle, “pure” narratives and direct representations are two varieties of what he calls mimesis because both represent a world (2002: 1448a). Similarly, Genette’s notion of diégèse refers to the primary story level, specifically excluding the narratorial discourse which is constitutive of both Plato’s and (in his wake) Stanzel’s understandings of diegesis. For Genette, “the diégèse is [...] the universe in which the story takes place” ([1983] 1988: 17). Despite this terminological disparity, how­ ever, Genette and Stanzel agree with regard to the constitutive narratorial mediation of narrative, even though for Genette this is achieved through the narrating instance. For him, the narrator’s speech act pro­ duces the story through the narrative discourse. Stanzel’s concept of mediacy is directed against Spielhagen’s pre­ scriptive demand for “objectivity,” i.e. immediacy of presentation ([1883] 1967: 220). Stanzel seeks to counter the excessive demands of “neutralists” like Spielhagen, who argued that the narrator should re­

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main completely invisible throughout the narrative and thus wished to see every trace of a narrator erased. Stanzel’s proposal is closely re­ lated to Friedemann’s argument that the presence of a narrator in prose writings is in no way inferior to immediacy in drama, since the narrator is evocative of actual experience of the world. According to Friedemann, it is the narrator “who evaluates, who is sensitively aware, who observes” ([1910] 1965: 26), thus conveying an image of the world as s/he sees it, not as it is in a depersonalized objectivity. From the beginning, Stanzel presents the concept of mediacy as the linchpin for a definition of the term “narrative,” and he puts forth a sophisticated argument for mediacy as a gradable concept ([1955] 1971: 6). More specifically, he points out that mediacy is more or less foregrounded (as revealed by the presence or absence of comments by an authorial narrator), but its absence in the figural narrative situation is merely apparent. In the final version of his model, Stanzel revises the figural narrative situation by integrating it into the illusion of immedi­ acy in order to constitute the reflector mode of narration, which is re­ sponsible for producing this illusion. In opposing the teller mode and the reflector mode, he significantly reformulates his original typology, dating from 1955, by instituting two basic types of mediacy: tellermode and reflector-mode mediacy. In this discussion, Stanzel proceeds from three pairs of oppositions arranged as scaled categories of person, perspective, and mode (medi­ acy). The first element of the narrative situation, person, is based on the relations between the narrator and the characters, and it ranges from identity (first-person reference) to non-identity (third-person reference) of the realms of existence of the → narrator and the → characters. Per­ spective directs the reader’s attention to the way in which s/he per­ ceives the fictional world, extending from internal (perception located in the main character or within the events) to external (perception located at the periphery of the events) (→ perspective). Finally, mode breaks down into “overt mediacy of narration [teller mode, J.A./M.F.]” and “covert [...] mediacy which produces the illusion of immediacy in the reader [reflector mode, J.A./M.F.]” (Stanzel [1979] 1984: 141). Stanzel regards the three narrative situations (first-person, authorial, and figural) as descriptions of basic possibilities of theorizing narration as mediacy. He also introduces a dynamic analysis into narrative trans­ mission by demonstrating that narrative situations do not span entire novels uniformly. In his remarks on narrative dynamization, he dis­ cusses narrative profile and narrative rhythm. Although this dynamiza­ tion is defined as a dynamization “of the narrative situation,” i.e. a study of “the variations of the narrative situation during the course of

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the narrative process,” the subsequent analysis actually focuses on the “relation of the narrative parts, that is, to dialogue and dramatized scene; specifically [on] their purely quantitative ratio and their distribu­ tion” ([1979] 1984: 63–7). Besides these proportions, the incidence of direct speech vs. indirect and free indirect speech and thought representation is also taken into account. The second term, narrative rhythm, concerns the distribution of narratorial emphasis in a specific novel and refers to the fact that in most novels, the narrator figure manifests himor herself prominently at the beginning of the text and sometimes at the end, but then lapses into inactivity when the plot becomes exciting, re­ surfacing only at moments of narrative report, commentary, or descrip­ tion. The result of this configuration is a simultaneous “decrease in these authorial intrusions [which] parallels the increase of the hero’s ‘perspective solipsism’” ([1979] 1984: 69). Nevertheless, it must be noted that the introduction of the three axes (identity vs. non-identity of realms of existence; external vs. internal perspective, teller vs. reflector modes) and emphasis on the dynamiza­ tion of the narrative situation tend to foreground “mode” (i.e. the dis­ tinction between tellers and reflectors) and to background “person” (Cohn 1981: 168). Cohn additionally points out that Stanzel’s category of perspective merges the “presentation of space (the visible outer world)” into the “presentation of consciousness (the invisible inner world)” (175). And since perspectives on fictional space and fictional minds do not always coincide (Uspenskij 1973: 105–07), Cohn con­ siders this axis to be less unified than the other two (cf. also Cohn 1990). She therefore proposes to simplify Stanzel’s typological circle by subsuming the category of perspective under the heading of mode (1981: 179). 3.2 Mediacy in Genette and Chatman Genette considers Stanzel’s category of mode to be superfluous, as he finds it “easily reducible to our common category of perspective” ([1983] 1988: 116). In his view, Stanzel’s distinction between tellerand reflector-characters confuses the question of voice, or, more pre­ cisely, person (“who speaks?”) with that of mood or, more precisely, perspective (“who sees?”). He thus revises Cohn’s amendment of Stan­ zel by proposing a different taxonomy which “diversifies an initial ty­ pology that was [...] altogether too limited to the most frequent situ­ ations” (119). Genette’s model is based on the cross-tabulation of het­ erodiegetic and homodiegetic forms of narrating (“who speaks?”) and the three types of → focalization (zero, internal, external) (“who

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sees?”) (21; [1972] 1980: 189–94, 245). Genette considers this tax­ onomy to be an improvement because it is more systematic and in­ cludes less common narrative forms such as Hemingway’s “The Killers,” a form of heterodiegetic narration with external focalization (the neutral subtype in Stanzel [(1955) 1971: 93]), and Camus’s L’Étranger, a form of homodiegetic narration with external focaliza­ tion. Stanzel’s mediacy is equivalent to what Genette calls “narrating act” and “narrative.” More specifically, Genette discriminates between “story (the totality of the narrated events), narrative (the discourse, oral or written, that narrates them), and narrating (the real or fictive act that produces that discourse—in other words, the very fact of recounting)” ([1983] 1988: 13). In this model, the narrating act shapes and transforms the story through the narrative discourse. Similarly, Rim­ mon-Kenan uses the terms story, text, and narration ([1983] 2002: 3), while Bal modifies Genette’s terminology by arguing that it is by way of the text that the reader has access to the story, of which the fabula is a memorial trace that remains with the reader after the reading ([1985] 1997: 5). When Chatman introduced the principle of “narrative transmission,” he discriminated between “overt narrators,” “covert narrators,” and forms of “non-narration” for neutral narratives (1978: 22). Later, Chat­ man rejects the idea of non-narration by arguing that “every narrative is by definition narrated—that is, narratively presented” (1990: 115), but he maintains the distinction between overt and covert narrators, equi­ valent to Stanzel’s mediacy. His model is in close agreement with Stan­ zel’s, except that he includes drama and film among the narrative genres and therefore does not reduce narrative transmission or mediacy to the discourse of a narrative voice. Chatman provides a sliding scale from overt to covert narrators based on the linguistic markers of sub­ jectivity, the presence of narratorial comments, and the use of evaluative phrases. Like Stanzel and Genette, he argues that all narratives have a narrator, so that all three theorists clearly oppose the Ban­ fieldian “no-narrator” theory (1982), according to which certain sen­ tences of fiction cannot possibly be enunciated by a narrator. Chatman argues that “narrative presentation entails an agent,” even when “the agent bears no signs of human personality” (1990: 115). The three au­ thors agree that narratives always present a story which is mediated by a narrator’s discourse. Furthermore, Chatman stresses the conjunction of story and mediatory discourse by pointing out that “narrative entails movement through time not only ‘externally’ (the duration of the

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presentation of the novel, film, play), but also ‘internally’ (the duration of the sequence of events that constitute the plot)” (9). It is quite apparent that Stanzel’s teller mode corresponds to Chat­ man’s scale which ranges from overt to covert narration (i.e. from sub­ jective and foregrounded tellers to “objective,” neutral, and backgrounded narration). By contrast, with regard to Stanzel’s reflectormode narrative, in which an illusion of immediacy is projected, Chat­ man (1978: 198) argues that a covert narrator expresses the thoughts of a character, while Genette ([1983] 1988: 115) describes such a scenario as heterodiegetic narration with internal focalization. What the two ter­ minologies fail to take into account, however, is the prototypical ab­ sence of a foregrounded narrator in reflector-mode narratives or, to put it differently, the fact that in order to read an extended passage as in­ ternal focalization, a pronounced teller must not interfere because such a foregrounded narrative voice would impede a reading of the text from the character’s perspective. Stanzel shows that Modernist novels (e.g. Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) establish a representa­ tion of the narrative world which is (or seems to be) filtered through the consciousness of the protagonist (cf. also James [1909]: 322–25). This effect can only be achieved by completely backgrounding the nar­ rative voice reporting on external events (for a critique of this claim, see Schmid 1968). By distinguishing between a teller and a reflector mode, however, the mere reduction of the narratorial voice to a default existence is not sufficient to characterize the reflector mode, since it is equally necessary to have a predominant internal perspective to pro­ duce the relevant effect. The reflector mode as mode only makes sense theoretically when one conceives of a different type of transmission through the character’s perspective or consciousness in contrast to the prominent (first- or third-person) teller-mode narrative which is medi­ ated by an explicit transmitter. 3.3 Newer Developments Schmid (1982) puts forth an alternative model of narrative mediation by breaking down the story vs. discourse dichotomy into four terms: Geschehen (events); Geschichte (fabula or story); Erzählung (plot); Präsentation der Erzählung (narrative discourse). He goes on to posit three processes of transformation between these levels, all of which are accomplished by the narrator. According to Schmid, the mediating nar­ rator first selects particular situations, characters, events, and qualities from the invented story material and transforms them into a story. The narrator then transforms the story into a narrative plot, going through a

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process that correlates with the linearization of simultaneous event se­ quences and the permutation of chronological story segments. And fi­ nally, the narrator presents the narrative by verbalizing it in a particular style. However, as Cohn argues, fictional narratives do not typically transform something pre-existent into a narrative, and they are thus plotted rather than emplotted (1990: 781). It is therefore worth noting that Schmid assumes an ideal-genetic perspective: the invented story material logically precedes the presentation of the narrative. Fludernik (1996) takes Stanzel’s concept of mediacy further by locating all mediation in narrative transmission through consciousness (which can surface on several levels and in different shapes). For her, all narratives operate through the projection of consciousness—the character’s, that of the narrative voice, or the reader’s. She also departs from the general tendency to identify → narrativity with the presence of a story/plot transmitted in narrative discourse. While most narrative theorists define narrative through sequentiality or progression, Fludernik argues that there can be narratives without plot, but there cannot be narratives without a human experiencer of some sort at some narrative level. She redefines narrativity in terms of experientiality, with embod­ iment constituting the most basic feature of experientiality: embodiment evokes all the parameters of a real-life schema of existence which has to be situated in a specific time and space frame. In addition, she broadens the analysis to include a wide variety of narratives, fol­ lowing on from Chatman (1978: 96, 1990: 115) and Bal ([1985] 1997: 5). Fludernik proposes to expand the ways in which narrative transmis­ sion occurs, arguing that all mediacy (or mediation) occurs through cognitive → schemata and that what is being mediated is not primarily a story (although in the vast majority of narratives such a series of events does indeed occur), but experientiality, a conjunction of report­ ability and point (→ tellability). “Reportability” characterizes the interest which tellers and listeners entertain in narratives while “point” refers to the motivations for telling the story. Since experience is closely associated with actions, event sequences underlie experientiality, with suspense fulfilling a prominent role. Other emotions or thoughts may be foregrounded, however, and some narratives (though few) actu­ ally operate without plot. Beckett’s short prose work “Ping” is an ex­ ample of a plotless narrative. In this text, a disembodied voice presents us with repeated descriptions of the same strange world which is some­ what reminiscent of a prison scenario. The only thing we learn is that a body is trapped in a small, white container. This prose work lacks events, but it clearly depicts consciousness and might be read as the ag­

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onized ruminations of the body’s mind struggling with some kind of traumatic experience (Alber 2002). Mediacy is constituted by the following cognitive frames or schemata, all of which relate to our real-world knowledge (about telling, experiencing, viewing/observing, and reflecting) and provide us with access to the narrative: (a) the “telling” frame (narratives focusing on a teller figure); (b) the “experiencing” frame (narratives roughly corre-sponding to reflector-mode narratives); (c) the “viewing” frame (this frame occurs less frequently than (a) or (b), but relies on a basic witness position in relation to observed events); (d) the “reflecting” frame (when narratives project a ruminating consciousness). Con­ sciousness mediates these frames in the reading process in which read­ ers narrativize what they read as narrative, resorting to these four schemata but also to generic concepts and narratological tools as well as basic real-world knowledge (such as our understanding of intention­ ality as a goal-oriented process) which is also stored in scripts and frames (Fludernik 1996: 12–52). On this basis, natural narratology moves away from the idea of the narrator or the illusion of narration to a wider spectrum of cognitive frames and processes on different levels which feed into the constitution of narrative and its reception. Like all cognitive approaches, this model is grounded in the real-world frames of everyday experience and is reader- rather than production-oriented (Alber 2005). The question of mediacy in narrative fiction has also been examined by Walsh, who argues quite provocatively that “the narrator is always either a character who narrates, or the author” (2007: 78). For him, “ex­ tradiegetic heterodiegetic narrators […], who cannot be represented without thereby being rendered homodiegetic or intradiegetic, are in no way distinguishable from authors” (84). Walsh suggests eradicating both “impersonal” and “authorial” narrators. While the first case aligns with Stanzel’s illusion of immediacy, the second differs radically from Stanzel’s distinction between → authors and authorial narrators. Walsh maintains that the only way to account for the knowledge of an authori­ al narrator would be to take quite literally the figurative concept of om­ niscient narration: “in order to know rather than imagine, the (evidently superhuman) agent of narration must indeed have such power, or some lesser or intermittent version of it” (73). Thus, omniscience is not a fac­ ulty possessed by a certain class of narrators, but a quality of the au­ thor’s imagination. While some theoreticians infer from this an → im­ plied author (“an ideal, literary, created version of the real man” [Booth (1961) 1983: 75]) as the mediating agent of narrative, Walsh speaks of “the author,” stating that “our idea of the author of a written

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narrative is no more than an interpretation” (2007: 84). Two things are worth noting here. First, the difference between Booth’s implied author and Walsh’s interpretation of the author is of course minimal or nonexistent. Second, why should it be problematic to argue that third-per­ son narrators can occasionally have “supernatural” (Ryan 1991: 67) or “unnatural” (Cohn 1999: 106) powers? 3.4 Mediacy and Narrative Media As pointed out in Nünning & Nünning (2002) and Wolf (2002), the definition of narrativity in reference to experientiality and the exten­ sion of mediacy to include an open list of cognitive frames, scripts, and schemata lead in the direction of transmedial and transgeneric narra­ tology, as proposed in Fludernik (1996; → narration in poetry and drama; → narration in various media). Many forays have recently been made into the area of narratological approaches to film, hypertext nar­ rative, ballet, comic strips, drama, poetry, even painting and music (Ryan 2006, ed. 2004; Wolf 2002, 2003a, 2003b, 2004; Nünning & Nünning 2002). In this area, Chatman (1978, 1990) was an important innovator, for it was he who staked out a place for film in narratology (→ narration in film) and who also confronted narrative with other text-types, putting the concept of narrative under a new light. Chatman sees narrative transmission as media-related, and he there­ fore dissociates narrativity from the figure of a human narrator (1990: 116; cf. Ryan 2001, 2006). Although he reintroduces a so-called “cine­ matic narrator” for film, this figure is not a human or human-like nar­ rator as in novels. Rather, the term denotes “the organizational and sending agency” (1990: 127) behind the film and fulfills a neutral or covert shower or arranger function. The notion is similar to what Jahn calls the “filmic composition device (FCD),” which refers to “the the­ oretical agency behind a film’s organization and arrangement” (2003: F4.1). Even so, the question of who (or what) mediates a film as a whole remains highly disputed. Bordwell, for one, argues that film has narration but no narrator, and that consequently cinematic narration is created by the viewer (1985: 61). On the other hand, Lothe (like Chat­ man) posits a cinematic or film narrator as “the superordinate ‘in­ stance’ that presents all the means of communication that film has at its disposal” (2000: 30). And finally, theoreticians such as Gaut speak of an “implied filmmaker” who mediates the film (2004: 248). From the perspective of natural narratology, one can alternatively argue that film resorts more generally to the “viewing” frame than to the “telling,” “re­ flecting,” or “experiencing” frame.

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Like experimental literary narratives (Alber forthcoming), new me­ dia such as hypertext narratives or computer games require the intro­ duction of new cognitive frames into the model proposed by Fludernik. From this perspective, mediacy does not refer to mediating through a (narrator’s) discourse, but mediation through consciousness. More spe­ cifically, we can gain access to these new media through the identifica­ tion of consciousness. The verbal medium of a teller/narrator is only one possibility among many others; cognitive frames such as viewing, observing, experiencing, and reflecting (and maybe others) also play an important role. However, some of the media that have come into focus since the turn towards transmedial narratology are hard to analyze on the basis of narratological categories. As shown by Wolf (2002), paintings and mu­ sic can only occasionally be narrativized. These aesthetic products lack crucial elements of experientiality in what they are able to represent (most types of music are perhaps not able to represent anything at all). With poetry, the situation is more vexed. On the one hand, there is nar­ rative poetry (the epic, the ballad), a genre much neglected by narrative theory. On the other hand, many lyric poems exist that are also read­ able as narratives or contain narrative elements (Fludernik 1996: 304– 10; Hühn 2002, 2005; Hühn & Schönert 2002; Müller-Zettelmann 2002, forthcoming; Schönert et al. 2007). All types of poetry (narrative and lyric) are mediated by a speaker. The lyric persona also clearly op­ erates as a mediator on the “reflecting” frame. However, this does of course not turn lyric poetry into a narrative genre. Lyric poetry does not typically evoke experientiality, i.e. temporal and spatial parameters, and thus lacks the situatedness of narrative. In prototypical cases of lyric poetry, we are confronted with the musings of a disembodied voice about feelings or abstract ideas. Drama has long been a neglected object of narratological analysis. Drama was the focus not only of Aristotle’s discussion of mimesis and has thus become a subtext of all narrative theory, but like epic forms it is closely bound up with sequentiality and thus invites narratological analysis. Hence, Pfister (1977) undertakes a narrative analysis of drama, studying the relationship between story time and discourse time. Since then, Richardson (1987, 1988, 1991, 2006), Fludernik (1996, 2008), Jahn (2001), and Nünning & Sommer (2002, 2008) have started to focus on drama and its relation to narrative. Much of this work analyzes elements in drama which have to do with mediacy such as the introduction of teller figures (the Stage Manager in Wilder’s Our Town), first-person narrators (Henry Carr in Stoppard’s dream play Travesties), or the fictionalizing of stage directions to include psy­

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chonarration, puns, or authorial commentary (Fludernik 2008). For the present purpose, these impositions of a teller figure on the plot level, the introduction of an extradiegetic frame into the play, or the narrativization of stage directions are not really relevant due to the fact that the mediacy of drama is constituted by other factors. Plays partake of the same stock of cognitive parameters and depend on the same reception frames as do other narratives. Since plays represent experientiality, they are narrative, irrespective of narrator figures or additional narrative techniques (such as the use of music). In other words, having a nar­ rating character on stage, for example, is not required to bring plays within the domain of narrative. From this perspective, a problem very similar to that of film arises: what is the discourse level of drama? Here, the dramatic performance needs to be distinguished from the dramatic text (→ performativity) (cf. also Jahn 2001: 675). Does one treat only performances as drama in which performance is the discourse and the script merely the plot with instructions on how to perform? Or is performance a separate manifestation of the play and the play script the equivalent of the dra­ matic discourse? If one takes the text as central, it could be argued that an idealized abstract performance is sketched in it and that a unique center of origin can be posited for the performance: the text under­ writes a singular “meaning” of the play that one might associate with “the implied author,” i.e. the real author’s “second self,” which, ac­ cording to Booth, satisfies “the reader’s need to know where, in the world of values, he stands, that is, to know where the author wants him to stand” ([1961] 1983: 73). By contrast, if the performance is to be taken as the only acceptable discourse, there results a collaborative venture—as in film—for which the term “dramatic composition device,” in analogy with Jahn’s “filmic composition device” (2003: F4.1), might be appropriate. Most crucially, assuming performance to be the basic medium of drama requires taking account of the acoustic, visual, kinetic, and spatial aspects of a performance within narratolo­ gical description. Jahn in fact argues that plays “are structurally medi­ ated by a first-degree narrative agency which, in a performance may either take the totally unmetaphorical shape of a vocally and bodily present narrator figure [...] or remain an anonymous and impersonal narrative function in charge of selection, arrangement, and focaliza­ tion” (2001: 674). This suggestion is of course reminiscent of Chat­ man’s distinction between overt and covert narrators. If only the script and a possible performative realization are focused on as the relevant medium of drama, then kinesis, lighting, and sound would acquire nar­ ratological significance only if they are explicitly grounded in the

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script. The performance level in drama is much more complicated than in film. Filming results in one fixed copy of the narrative, whereas with plays a variety of productions and different performances within each production occur, and none of them (unless videotaped) is accessible except in a viewer’s experience of watching the performance. It is obvious from these remarks that playscripts are much easier to handle for narratologists and that they allow a much clearer idea of how story and discourse are related to one another. Performance poses quite difficult problems for mediacy. In fact, one could enquire wheth­ er the notion of mediacy might here be an exclusively reception-ori­ ented one. Is the story mediated to the audience through the experience of the performance? This question indicates that current research on mediacy has some distinct limits or horizons and that there are numer­ ous matters waiting to be resolved by further research. 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The role of mediacy in drama and film remains open to study: does it make sense to posit a dramatic or cinematic narrator? Can one argue that they are mediated by the performance? Or should we assume that plays and films are mediated by an implied author or filmmaker? Or are all of these terms dispensable so that we can simply speak of the author or filmmaker (a larger group of professionals) as mediating in­ stances? (b) One should also address the question of whether we can follow Walsh’s proposal to dispense with all extra- and heterodiegetic narrators in novels and short stories. In most cases, it certainly makes sense to discriminate between the author and the authorial or imperson­ al narrator. (c) It is also necessary to investigate the development of new cognitive frames of mediation in relation to experimental literary narratives and new media (hypertext narratives and computer games). 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Alber, Jan (2002). “The ‘Moreness’ or ‘Lessness’ of ‘Natural’ Narratology: Samuel Beckett’s ‘Lessness’ Reconsidered.” Style 36, 54–75 (reprinted in: Short Story Cri­ ticism 74, 2004, 113–24). – (2005). “‘Natural’ Narratology.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 394–95. – (forthcoming). “Impossible Storyworlds―And What To Do With Them.” Story­ worlds: A Journal of Narrative Studies 1.

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Aristotle (2002). On Poetics. Tr. S. Benardete & M. David. South Bend: St. Au­ gustine’s P. Bal, Mieke ([1985] 1997). Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Banfield, Ann (1982). Unspeakable Sentences: Narration and Representation in the Language of Fiction. Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Blackmur, Richard P. (1934). “Introduction.” H. James. The Art of the Novel: Critical Prefaces. New York: Scribner’s, vii–xxxix. Booth, Wayne C. ([1961] 1983). The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Bordwell, David (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. London: Routledge. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1990). Coming To Terms: The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Cohn, Dorrit (1981). “The Encirclement of Narrative.” Poetics Today 2, 157–82. – (1990). “Signposts of Fictionality: A Narratological Approach.” Poetics Today 11, 775–804. – (1999). The Distinction of Fiction. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. – (2008). “Narrative and Drama.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Nar­ rativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 355–83. Friedemann, Käte ([1910] 1965). Die Rolle des Erzählers in der Epik. Darmstadt: WBG. Friedman, Norman (1955). “Point of View in Fiction: The Development of a Critical Concept.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 70, 1160–184. Gaut, Berys (2004). “The Philosophy of the Movies: Cinematic Narration.” P. Kivy (ed). The Blackwell Guide to Aesthetics. Malden: Blackwell, 230–53. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Hühn, Peter (2002). “Reading Poetry as Narrative: Towards a Narratological Analysis of Lyric Poems.” Ch. Todenhagen & W. Thiele (eds). Investigations into Narrative Structures. Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 13–27. – (2005). “Plotting the Lyric: Forms of Narration in Poetry.” Müller-Zettelmann & M. Rubik (eds). Theory into Poetry: New Approaches to the Lyric. Amsterdam: Ro­ dopi, 147–72. – & Jörg Schönert (2002). “Zur narratologischen Analyse von Lyrik.” Poetica 34, 287–305. Jahn, Manfred (2001). “Narrative Voice and Agency in Drama: Aspects of a Narrato­ logy of Drama.” New Literary History 32, 659–79. – (2003). “A Guide to Narratological Film Analysis.” [www.uni-koeln.de/~ame02/pppf.htm]. James, Henry ([1909] 1934). Preface to The Ambassadors. H. James. The Art of the Novel: Critical Prefaces. New York: Scribner’s, 307–26.

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Lothe, Jakob (2000). Narrative in Fiction and Film: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford UP. Lubbock, Percy (1921). The Craft of Fiction. New York: Scribner. Müller-Zettelmann, Eva (2002). “Lyrik und Narratologie.” V. Nünning & A. Nünning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 129–53. – (forthcoming). “Poetry and Narratology.” M. Fludernik & G. Olson (eds). Current Trends in Narratology. Proceedings International Colloquium, Freiburg June 2007. Nünning, Ansgar & Roy Sommer (2002). “Drama und Narratologie: Die Entwicklung erzähltheoretischer Modelle und Kategorien für die Dramenanalyse.” V. Nünning & A. Nünning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 105–28. – (2008). “Diegetic and Mimetic Narrativity. Some Further Steps Towards a Narrato­ logy of Drama.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 331–54. Nünning, Vera & Ansgar Nünning (2002). “Produktive Grenzüberschreitungen: Trans­ generische, intermediale und interdisziplinäre Ansätze in der Erzähltheorie.” V. Nünning & A. Nünning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 1–22. Pfister, Manfred ([1977] 1988). The Theory and Analysis of Drama. Cambridge: Cam­ bridge UP. Plato (1937). The Republic. Tr. P. Shorey. Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library. Prince, Gerald ([1987] 2003). A Dictionary of Narratology. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Richardson, Brian (1987). “Time is Out of Joint: Narrative Models and the Temporality of the Drama.” Poetics Today 8, 299–310. – (1988). “Point of View in Drama: Diegetic Monologue, Unreliable Narrators, and the Author’s Voice on Stage.” Comparative Drama 22, 193–214. – (1991). “Pinter’s Landscape and the Boundaries of Narrative.” Essays in Literature 18, 37–45. – (2006). Unnatural Voices: Extreme Narration in Modern and Postmodern Contem­ porary Fiction. Columbus: Ohio State UP. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Methuen. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – (2001). “The Narratorial Functions: Breaking Down a Theoretical Primitive.” Nar­ rative 9, 146–42. – (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – ed. (2004). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U Nebraska P. Schaeffer, Jean-Marie & Ioana Vultur (2005). “Mimesis.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Rout­ ledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 309–10. Schmid, Wolf (1968). “Zur Erzähltechnik und Bewusstseinstechnik in Dostoevskijs ‘Večnyj muž’.” Die Welt der Slaven 13, 294–306. – (1982) “Die narrativen Ebenen ‘Geschehen,’ ‘Geschichte,’ ‘Erzählung’ und ‘Präsentation der Erzählung.’” Wiener Slawistischer Almanach 9, 83–110.

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Schönert, Jörg, et al. (2007). Lyrik und Narratologie: Text-Analysen zu deutschsprachigen Gedichten vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert. Berlin: de Gruyter. Souriau, Etienne (1951). “La structure de l’univers filmique et le vocabulaire de la filmologie.” Revue internationale de filmologie 7/8, 231–40. Spielhagen, Friedrich ([1883] 1967). Beiträge zur Theorie und Technik des Romans. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Stanzel, Franz K. ([1955] 1971). Narrative Situations in the Novel: Tom Jones, Moby Dick, The Ambassadors, Ulysses. Bloomington: Indiana UP. – ([1979] 1984). A Theory of Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Uspenskij, Boris (Uspensky) (1973). A Poetics of Composition: The Structure of the Artistic Text and Typology of a Compositional Form. Berkley: U of California P. Walsh, Richard (2007). The Rhetoric of Fictionality: Narrative Theory and the Idea of Fiction. Columbus: Ohio State UP. Wolf, Werner (2002). “Das Problem der Narrativität in Literatur, bildender Kunst und Musik: Ein Beitrag zu einer intermedialen Erzähltheorie.” V. Nünning & A. Nün­ ning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 23–104. – (2003a). “The Lyric—an Elusive Genre. Problems of Definition and a Proposal for Reconceptualization.” Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 28, 59–91. – (2003b). “Narrative and Narrativity: A Narratological Reconceptualization and its Applicability to the Visual Arts.” Word &Image 19, 180–97. – (2004). “‘Cross the Border—Close that Gap’: Towards an Intermedial Narrato­ logy.” European Journal of English Studies 8, 81–103.

5.2 Further Reading
Jahn, Manfred (2005). “Mediacy.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 292–93. Stivers, David (2007). “Witnessing the Invisible: Narrative Mediation in The Princess Casamassima.” The Henry James Review 28, 159–73.

Metalepsis
John Pier 1 Definition In its narratological sense, metalepsis, first identified by Genette, is a paradoxical contamination between the world of the telling and the world of the told: “any intrusion by the extradiegetic narrator or nar­ ratee into the diegetic universe (or by diegetic characters into a metadiegetic universe, etc.), or the inverse […]” ([1972] 1980: 234–35). Described as “taking hold of (telling) by changing level” (235 n. 51) and thus combining the principle of → narrative levels with the rhetorical figure of metalepsis originating in ancient legal discourse, narrative metalepsis is a “deliberate transgression of the threshold of embedding” resulting in “intrusions [that] disturb, to say the least, the distinc­ tion between levels.” It produces an effect of “humor” or of “the fantastic” or “some mixture of the two […], unless it functions as a figure of the creative imagination […]” (Genette [1983] 1988: 88). Genette (2004) also argues that not only is metalepsis a violation of the separa­ tion between syntactically defined levels, but also a deviant referential operation, a violation of semantic thresholds of representation that in­ volves the beholder in an ontological transgression of universes and points toward a theory of fiction (→ fictional vs. factual narration). More is at issue, then, than localized rhetorical or stylistic devices, for metalepsis has been characterized as “undermining the separation between narration and story” (Rimmon-Kenan [1983] 2002: 93), as a “strange loop” (Hofstadter 1979) in the structure of narrative levels or a “short circuit” between the “fictional world and the ontological level occupied by the author” (McHale 1987: 119, 213), as a “narrative short circuit” causing “a sudden collapse of the narrative system” (Wolf 1993: 356–58), as producing a “disruptive effect on the fabric of nar­ rative” (Malina 2002: 1), etc. Unlike factual narrative, moreover, fic­ tional narrative betrays “at least the potential for narrative metalepsis” (Nelles 1997: 152). Such considerations raise not only the question of the metatextual status of metalepsis (→ metanarration and metafiction) and that of rhetorical as opposed to ontological metalepsis together

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with an array of topics bearing on transmediality (→ narration in vari­ ous media) and transdisciplinarity (→ narration in various disciplines), but they also suggest that fictional narrative is by nature metaleptic, bound to the paradox of “a current presentation of the past” (Bessière 2005), or that “[a]ll fictions are woven through with metalepses” (Genette 2004: 131). 2 Explication Narrative metalepsis as a concept results from the convergence of rhet­ oric (placing it alongside metaphor and metonymy as tropes of trans­ formation, substitution and succession) and the principle of narrative levels. Genette ([1972] 1980: 232–34) explains that metadiegetic (or second-degree) narrative bears either an explanatory, a thematic or an enunciative (rather than content-based) relation to the primary narrative, and it is under the latter that his comments on metalepsis are in­ cluded, emphasizing “a shifting but sacred frontier between two worlds, the world in which one tells, the world of which one tells” (236). Essentially, metalepsis functions with varying dosages of three parameters: (a) illusion of contemporaneousness between the time of the telling and the time of the told (→ illusion); (b) transgressive merging of two or more levels; (c) doubling of the narrator/narratee axis with the author/reader axis. These features are illustrated by Balzac’s “While the venerable churchman climbs the ramps of Angoulême, it is not useless to explain…”—a “minimal” metalepsis (cf. Pier 2005: 249– 50) which, being incipiently transgressive, leaps the boundary between → narrator and extradiegetic narratee on the communicative plane and puts story time on hold while the narrator intervenes with a metanarrative comment, demonstrating the latent metaleptic quality of narrative embedding in general. 2.1 Rhetorical vs. Ontological Metalepsis Genette’s remarks, though concise, stake out the key features of meta­ lepsis, one of the least debated of his theoretical innovations for many years. It is with subsequent and more differentiated developments that the scope and import of this narrative practice that goes against the grain of codified narratological categories has come to be more fully appreciated. Following a proposal by Ryan (2005, 2006: 204–30, 246– 48), it is now widely acknowledged that metalepsis breaks down into a rhetorical (Genette) and an ontological variety (McHale), parallel to the distinction between illocutionary boundary at discourse level and

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ontological boundary at story level. “Rhetorical metalepsis,” Ryan claims, “opens a small window that allows a quick glance across levels, but the window closes after a few sentences, and the operation ends up reasserting the existence of the boundaries” (2006: 207). It has been shown by Fludernik, however, that Genette’s narrative metalepsis is in effect an umbrella term containing an implicit typology that integrates Ryan’s distinction (Fludernik 2003: 382–89): (a) authorial metalepsis (Virgil “has Dido die”): a metafictional strategy that undermines mi­ metic illusion, foregrounding the inventedness of the story; (b) narratorial or type 1 ontological metalepsis (in Eliot’s Adam Bede, the nar­ rator invites the narratee to accompany him to Reverend Irwine’s study): transgression from the extradiegetic to the intradiegetic level is illusionary, drawing a fine line between the reader’s immersion and lifting of the mimetic illusion; (c) lectorial or type 2 ontological meta­ lepsis (in a story by Cortázar, the reader of a novel is [almost] killed by a character in that novel): implication of the narratee on the story level or passage of a character from an embedded to an embedding level (also occurs in second-person narration); (d) rhetorical or discourse metalepsis (the Balzac example above). Given the fluid transitions between these types, it can be seen that the more pronounced forms of metalepsis are contained embryonically in the fourth variety, suggesting that rhetorical metalepsis covers all four—whence the present author’s proposal to rename Fludernik’s and Ryan’s rhetorical metalepsis “minimal” metalepsis. Rather than two distinct types of metalepsis—one rhetorical, the other ontological— what is at stake are the forms and degrees of violation of the boundary between the telling and the told, two aspects of the effects of narrative discourse and, more generally, the role such violations play in artistic representation (cf. Häsner 2001: 40–3 on the “accentuation” of meta­ leptic relations). 2.2 From Figure to Fiction Genette’s rhetorical theory of metalepsis highlights the relation between “figural” and “fictional” metalepsis. Both “figure” and “fiction” derive from the Latin fingere (to fashion, represent, feign, invent), such that a figure of substitution (i.e. a trope such as metaphor, metonymy, litote, etc.) forms the “embryo” or “outline” (esquisse) of a fiction (Genette 2004: 16–8). With emphasis on authorial metalepsis as a par­ ticular type of metonymy in which cause is expressed for effect or ef­ fect for cause and on the figural and fictional transgressions this en­ tails, a fiction, taking form in the passage between figure as a formal

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but semantically weak verbal schema and figure as a transfer of mean­ ing, is defined as “a figure taken literally and treated as an actual event” (20). In contrast to narrative considered as the “expansion” of a verb (cf. Genette [1972] 1980: 30), fiction can be regarded as a figure taken à la lettre, and in the case of metalepsis “fictively literalized,” it introduces into narratology the problem of ontological transgression in representation. The focus falls no longer on metalepsis as a narrative category forming a system with other describable categories (prolepsis, analepsis, etc.), but on the functioning of representation and the inter­ section of narrative and fiction. Called into question is the Coleridgean “willing suspension of disbelief,” triggering “a playful simulation of belief,” as in the fantastic or the marvelous mode (Genette 2004: 23, 25): with metalepsis, it is the reader’s belief, not disbelief, that is sus­ pended, setting up a reading contract based not on verisimilitude, but on “a shared knowledge of illusion” (Baron 2005: 298; cf. Macé 2007). In effect, the rhetorical and the ontological conceptions may represent not so much two types of metalepsis as they point to the two main approaches to the phenomenon, the one based primarily in the (rhetorical) effects produced by representation through discourse or other se­ miotic means, the other in the problems of logical paradox encountered by modern science. This can in fact be seen in the partially overlapping concerns of the two orientations. Ryan (2005: 205 n. 3) notes that Genette’s discussion bears on the two types without differentiating them, and also that “figural” and “fictional” metalepsis correspond roughly to “rhetorical” and “ontological” metalepsis (2006: 247 n. 3). It is useful to bear in mind, however, that for Genette fiction is ad­ dressed in rhetorical and pragmatic terms, while the ontological ap­ proach takes the transdisciplinary ramifications of scientific logic as its reference point. 2.3 Metaleptic Affinities Originating in rhetoric, later to be integrated into narrative theory, metalepsis is now seen as a more widespread phenomenon than ini­ tially thought and also to have affinities that vary according to different factors. Thus metalepsis, being paradoxical, is more likely to be cultivated by the baroque, by romanticism or by certain types of modernism than by mimetically inclined classicism or realism, much as it shows a greater propensity for the comic and the ironic than it does for the tra­ gic or the lyric (cf. Pier & Schaeffer 2005: 10–1; Grabe et al. eds. 2006). Furthermore, being restricted by neither genre nor media, meta­ lepsis is manifested in various ways and to different degrees: the thea-

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ter arts, thanks to the possibilities of audience participation, are meta­ lepsis-friendly; the cinema, with its technical capacity for hypotyposis (what is presented is depicted as though it were before one’s very eyes), can be highly metaleptic, contrary to music, suggesting that metalepsis is bound to the question of representation; the pictorial arts, as demonstrated by the works of Escher and Magritte, possess consid­ erable metaleptic potential, but this is not the case of sculpture, where boundaries between levels are more difficult to define; digital media, with their capacity for generating virtual realities, are fertile terrain for ontological transgressions. And finally, metalepsis is not restricted to high culture, since it is freely resorted to in popular culture, as wit­ nessed by reality TV or by unscripted spectator interventions at sport­ ing events. 3 History of the Concept and its Study It is important to bear in mind that although narrative metalepsis is a recent concept in the history of poetics, the practice itself, under differ­ ent denominations or none at all, extends back to antiquity. The fact that as a concept it can now be theorized and applied according to definable criteria casts a new light on the theory and analysis of narrative and, more generally, on representation as a cultural phenomenon. 3.1 The Historical Background 3.1.1 Rhetoric The etymology of metalepsis is disputed, but its sense can readily be grasped from the word’s Latin equivalent—transumptio: “assuming one thing for another.” Metalepsis has a complex history in that it has been regarded either as a variety of metonymy, a particular form of synonymy, or both. As metonymy, it has been identified: (a) in simple form, or expression of the consequent understood as the precedent or vice versa and; (b) as a chain of associations (“a few ears of corn” for “a few years,” the transfer of sense implying “a few harvests” and “a few summers”). Metalepsis can also be understood in Quintilian’s sense as the intermediate step or transition between a term which is transferred and the thing to which it is transferred, resulting in an inap­ propriate synonym (Morier 1961; Burkhardt 2001; Meyer-Minnemann 2005: 140–43; Roussin 2005: 40–4; on metalepsis and evidentia, see Häsner 2001: 20–7; Cornils 2005).

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From the perspective of narrative theory, two positions derive from the rhetoric of metalepsis. Firstly, Genette (2004: 7–16), drawing on the first two types above, notes that metalepsis shares with metaphor and metonymy the principle of transfer of sense and considers it (fol­ lowing Dumarsais) a metonymy of the simple type; he then expands it (with Fontanier) beyond the single word to include an entire proposi­ tion. Metalepsis, he argues, combines cause for effect or effect for cause with substitution of an indirect for a direct expression. He points out the importance, in narrative, of authorial metalepsis, by which an author “is represented or represents himself as producing what, in the final analysis, he only relates” (Fontanier). He draws attention to the proximity for the two rhetoricians of metalepsis and hypotyposis (a fig­ ure in which the copy is treated, illusorily, as though it were the origin­ al), but particularly to the fact that with metalepsis, the author pretends to intervene in a story which is in fact a representation, so that trans­ gression of the threshold of embedding merges with that of the threshold of representation, affirming the existence of the very bound­ aries that are effaced. There have also been proposals to refer narrative metalepsis back to metalepsis as use of an inappropriate synonym, notably by Meyer-Min­ nemann (2005) and Schlickers (2005) (see also Nelles 1997: 152–57). The emphasis here is not on authorial metalepsis as a type of metonymy, but on the paradoxical transgression of boundaries, of which there are two main types: one at discourse level with breaching of the “me-here-now” of enunciation (in verbis transgression), the other at story level with violation of the coordinates of the enunciate (in cor­ pore transgression). Taking a cue from Genette, this model provides for metalepsis of enunciation and metalepsis of the enunciate in which each functions either vertically (bottom-up or top-down) or horizontally, i.e. without change of level (dubbed “perilepsis” by Prince 2006: 628). To take only a few illustrations: (a) a vertical metalepsis of enun­ ciation (top-down) would be the Balzac example cited above; (b) a ho­ rizontal metalepsis of enunciation occurs with the juxtaposition of two communicative situations at the same level; (c) with transgression of the diegetic, ontological, spatial or temporal order, there occurs a ver­ tical metalepsis of the enunciate; (d) a horizontal metalepsis of the enunciate is produced when e.g. Woody Allen enters the world of Ma­ dame Bovary. In this system, metalepsis is seen as producing an effect of strangeness, either comical or fantastic, but it is not regarded as a figure of fictionality in Genette’s sense (on the fictionality of paradox­ ical narration, however, see Meyer-Minnemann 2006).

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3.1.2 Logical Paradox For narrative metalepsis in an ontological perspective, paradox is central, as it involves the logically inconsistent passage between two separate domains through suspension of the excluded middle. At issue is the problem, originating in logic and mathematics, of maintaining dis­ tinct levels through avoidance of self-reference by elaborating metalevels, an endeavor that requires the addition of recursive meta-levels ad infinitum. The inevitable paradox is captured by Gödel’s theorem, although it has long plagued scientific thought in the form of the liar’s paradox (Epimenides is a Cretan and says “All Cretans are liars”); it is also conveyed visually by the Möbius strip, Klein’s bottle and Escher’s drawings. Hofstadter (1979) has examined various manifestations of this paradox in his important transdisciplinary study, even providing a recursive dialogue (103–26) that illustrates the problem of metalepsis, although the term appears nowhere in the book. McHale has integrated these paradoxes into the poetics of postmod­ ernist fiction, a type of writing that “foregrounds ontological issues of text and world” (1987: 27). Adopting an ontology taken from possible worlds theory (33–6), he recasts Genette’s narrative levels in terms of ontological levels so that a metalepsis produced by violation of levels raises ontological considerations resulting from recursive embedding (120). In particular, McHale identifies metalepsis with the “Strange Loop,” a phenomenon that occurs “whenever, by moving upwards (or downwards) through the levels of some hierarchical system, we unex­ pectedly find ourselves right back where we started.” Strange Loops occur within a “Tangled Hierarchy”: “when what you presume are clean hierarchical levels take you by surprise and fold back in a hier­ archy-violating way” (Hofstadter 1979: 10, 691; qtd. in McHale 1987: 119). He also draws attention to the metaleptic function of the secondperson pronoun (223–25), as does Genette (2004: 96–9; cf. Fludernik’s 2003: 389 lectorial or type 2 ontological metalepsis); but he does not distinguish between rhetorical and ontological metalepsis, nor does Wolf (2005b), whose definition of metalepsis combines ontology with possible worlds theory (93). A particular capacity for generating feedback loops and hierarchies of levels is demonstrated by the computer, dubbed “metaleptic ma­ chine” by Ryan. A case in point is the “Metalepticon,” a computer al­ gorithm designed by Meister (2005) to reproduce the recursive struc­ tures of Escher’s Drawing Hands: here, however, computational powers are quickly exhausted and “Program Space Full/looping error” is displayed. Meister concludes from this unrealizable abstract formal model that metalepsis annuls the “contract of representation” required

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for the cognitive and hermeneutic processing of esthetically incarnated metalepses (245–46). Also related to issues of communication is meta­ lepsis as a virtual reality (possibility for the beholder to physically enter the imagined world) and as an existential phenomenon (Emma Bovary modeling her life after the heroine of a sentimental novel) (Ryan 2006: 227). On the other hand, the recursive chain is broken when it is recognized, for example, that the creator of Drawing Hands occupies a space outside the representation in question, even though that creator can in turn be portrayed in a (meta-) representation (cf. “Authorship Triangle”; Hofstadter 1979: 94–95, 688–89)—a situation not unlike that of authorial metalepsis. 3.2 Typologies As seen in 2.1 and 2.2 above, Genette’s original conception of narrative metalepsis hinted at a typology without actually proposing one. Since then, a number of typologies have been elaborated, a survey of which reveals that to varying degrees theories of metalepsis discriminate between minimally and conspicuously transgressive changes of level. Ontological approaches tend to focus on the latter while rhetorical approaches also take account of the metaleptic potential of e.g. the apostrophic “gentle reader.” Nelles (1997: 152–57), referring narrative metalepsis back to metonymy as trope (Quintilian), differentiates “unmarked” (at discourse level) from “distinctly marked” (at story level) metalepsis and, for the latter, “intrametalepsis” (movement from the embedding to the embed­ ded level) from “extrametalepsis” (movement in the opposite direction), subdividing each type into analeptic and proleptic forms on the temporal plane (on “inward” vs. “outward” metalepses, see Malina 2002: 46–50). The degree of transgression—knowledge of the other world as opposed to physically penetrating it—is characterized as either epistemological (verbal) or ontological (modal). According to Pier (2005: 253), there is a tendency in intrametaleptic movements to favor the narrator/narratee relation, and in extrametaleptic movements the character/narrator relation. Wagner (2002: 243–48), for whom the metatextual nature of meta­ lepsis signals the constructedness of narrative along the lines of the Russian formalist notion of “defamiliarization,” emphasizes the revers­ ibility of metaleptic displacements between extra-, intra- and metadie­ getic levels. He also draws attention to circulation, at a given level, between collateral fictive universes, not unlike the “horizontal” meta­ lepses included in the Meyer-Minnemann/Schlickers model. And fi­

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nally, Wagner takes up the question, largely neglected, of the composi­ tional distribution of metalepses: their location, amplitude and fre­ quency can have a significant impact on the strategy and readability of a narrative (cf. Häsner 2001: 40–3). Defamiliarization and composition point to the Russian formalists’ use of metalepsis, although the term was not employed by them. At is­ sue was neither a rhetorical figure nor an ontological paradox or a ty­ pology of its use, but “laying bear the device”: the deliberate distortion of form aimed at highlighting the artificial relations between “form” and “materials,” between sujet and fabula, and the fact the art is “made” of devices. As shown in particular by Šklovskij (1921) in his essay on Tristram Shandy, the numerous digressions, etc. “lay bare” the relations between the time of the telling and the time of the told, thus conflating narration and action in a seemingly unmotivated way and drawing attention to the idea that form, not the world, is the con­ tent of the novel (cf. Schmid 2005). Herman (1997: 133–36) analyzes metalepsis firstly by identifying the textual markers that, in the formal sense, signal “illicit movements up or down the hierarchy of diegetic levels structuring narrative dis­ course” and, from the functional perspective, “transgression of the on­ tological boundaries.” In terms of possible worlds theory, metalepsis solicits temporary entry of the reader into a re-centered modal system. Since, in this account, metalepsis abolishes the distinction between storyworld and the world(s) from which addressees relocate, Herman adopts Goffman’s concept of frame analysis as a set of expectations about narrative universes in place of diegetic level. Wolf, considering the forms of disturbance of mimetic illusion caused by the failure to observe ontological boundaries, sets the mixing of extra-fictional reality with textually produced fiction off from viola­ tions of levels in inner-fictional boundaries (1993: 349–72). The latter, metalepses, are a metafictional technique characterized as a “narrative short circuit” and are likened to Hofstadter’s (1979: 134 passim) “het­ erarchy,” a structure distinct from hierarchy in that it possesses no single “highest level” (cf. McHale 1987: 120). Metalepsis occurs (a) between the extradiegetic and the intradiegetic levels or (b) between the intradiegetic and one or more hypodiegetic (metadiegetic) levels (on “exterior” vs. ”interior” metalepsis, see Cohn 2005). Both (a), marked by punctual violations of levels by characters and/or their words, and (b), punctual short circuits between intradiegetic “reality” and “fiction,” are found in minimal and conspicuous forms and can take place either bottom-up or top-down. In its complex form, metalep­ sis combines the previous two types, setting in motion a recurrent con­

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tamination of levels, as in the Möbius strip, and whose effects are dis­ tributed throughout a given narrative. Where the above typologies can be grouped under the heading “meta-,” situating metalepsis on the same conceptual plane as metanar­ rative, metadiegesis, etc., another typology, the most elaborate to date, is built up around the suffix “-lepsis” in the sense of “action of taking” (Lang 2006; cf. Meyer-Minnemann 2006). Narration is paradoxical when, in violation of the principle “either one or the other” (cf. the liar’s paradox), → coherence is undermined. On this basis, Lang provides a typology of paradoxical narration divided into devices that can­ cel out boundaries (syllepsis, epanalepsis, the latter term designating specular devices including the mise en abyme) and those that trans­ gress boundaries (metalepsis, hyperlepsis, the latter equivalent to Genette’s pseudodiegesis: a metadiegetic narrative presented as though it were diegetic). As in the Meyer-Minnemann/Schlickers typology, each of these devices is analyzed into vertical (bottom-up or top-down) and horizontal relations of discourse and story, respectively. In contrast to the other models presented, this typology includes metalepsis among other forms of paradoxical narration. 3.3 Related Concepts As shown, inter alia, by Lang’s typology, the scope of paradox-produ­ cing devices is not restricted to metalepsis. Thus the effects of pseudodiegesis (or hyperlepsis), also studied under the term trompe l’œil by McHale (1987: 115–19), can produce “variable realities” as destabiliz­ ing as those of metalepsis. As for mise en abyme, it shares with meta­ lepsis the feature of embedding, but it additionally includes resemblance between levels (e.g. a story within a story) and reduplication and is characterized by reflexivity rather than by transgression of levels. Only in the case of “aporistic reduplication” (“fragment sup­ posedly including the work in which it is included”; Dällenbach 1977: 51) does mise en abyme coincide with metalepsis (called “pure” mise en abyme by Cohn 2005: the reader has the impression of belonging to an infinite series of fictions; cf. McHale 1987: 124–28). And finally, while metalepsis is generally found within a given text, violating that text’s system of diegetic levels, infringement of boundaries can also take place across texts. Such is the case in horizontal metalepsis of enunciation, studied by Rabau (2005) under the term “heterometalep­ sis,” but it also occurs in horizontal metalepsis of the enunciate, a phe­ nomenon that coincides with “transfictionality” as when, say, Sherlock Holmes appears in the fictional universe of Madame Bovary (cf. La­

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vocat 2007 on metaleptic and intrametaleptic transfictionality). This di­ mension of metalepsis opens up issues of transtextual relations (cf. Genette 1982), but it also touches on the numerous implications of metalepsis for fictionality and metafictionality. 3.4 Metalepsis and Trans-/Intermediality The violation of levels and boundaries is not limited to narrative, and while metalepsis in its narrative form was originally studied in verbal narratives, it is not a media-specific phenomenon. This is confirmed by a number of contributions in Pier & Schaeffer (eds. 2005) as well as by Genette (2004), much of which is devoted to metalepsis in theater, film, television, painting and photography (see also Genette 2009: 176– 80), and Wolf (2005b) which, additionally, looks at comic strips. It would seem, then, that metalepsis has a significant role to play in trans­ medial narratology (e.g. Ryan 2006: 3–30, ed. 2004) and in intermedi­ ality (e.g. Wolf 2005a), although to date this connection remains largely unexplored. 4 Topics for Further Investigation More than a rhetorical flourish, metalepsis raises the question of the porosity of levels and borders in cultural representations, but not their dissolution. Originating in structuralist narratology, it calls for re-ex­ amination of the theoretical basis of established models and thus merits serious consideration in charting out transdisciplinary approaches to narrative theory. Among topics requiring further study are: (a) relative weight of local vs. global effects of metalepsis; (b) metalepsis and fic­ tionality (breaking/intensification of mimetic illusion, immersion, etc.); (c) metalepsis and related practices in historical poetics going back to biblical narrative as well as a historical inventory of artistic movements and corpuses employing these devices; (d) the role of metalepsis in trans-/intramediality with regard in particular to multimedia and popu­ lar culture.

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5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Baron, Christine (2005). “Effet métaleptique et statut des discours fictionnels.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 295–310. Bessière, Jean (2005). “Récit de fiction, transition discursive, présentation actuelle du récit, ou que le récit de fiction est toujours métaleptique.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 279–94. Burkhardt, Arnim (2001). “Metalepsis.” G. Ueding (ed). Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik. Tübingen: Niemeyer, vol. 5, 1087–99. Cohn, Dorrit (2005). “Métalepse et mise en abyme.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 121–30. Cornils, Anja (2005). “La metalepses dans les Actes des Apôtres: un signe de narration fictionnelle?” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 95–107. Dällenbach, Lucien (1977). Le récit spéculaire. Essai sur la mise en abyme. Paris: Seuil. Fludernik, Monika (2003). “Scene Shift, Metalepsis, and the Metaleptic Mode.” Style 37, 382–400 (= “Changement de scène et mode métaleptique.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer [eds], 73–94). Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. – ([1982] 1997). Palimpsests. Literature in the Second Degree. Lincoln: U of Neb­ raska P. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (2004). Métalepse. De la figure à la fiction. Paris: Seuil. – (2009). Codicille. Paris: Seuil. Grabe, Nina, et al. eds. (2006). La narración paradójica. “Normas narrativas” y el principio de la “transgresión.” Frankfurt a.M.: Vervuert. Häsner, Bernd (2001). “Metalepsen. Zur Genese, Systematik und Funktion transgressi­ ver Erzählweisen.” PhD Dissertation. Freie Universität Berlin. Herman, David (1997). “Toward a Formal Description of Narrative Metalepsis.” Journal of Literary Semantics 26, 132–52. Hofstadter, Douglas (1979). Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid. New York: Basic Books. Lang, Sabine (2006). “Prolegómenos para una teoría de la narración paradójica.” N. Grabe et al. (eds). La narración paradójica. “Normas narrativas” y el principio de la “transgresión.” Frankfurt a.M.: Vervuert, 21–47. Lavocat, Françoise (2007). “Transfictionalité, métafiction et métalepse aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles.” R. Audet & R. Saint-Gelais (eds). La fiction, suites et variations. Quebec: Nota bene; Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 157–78. Macé, Marielle (2007). “Une lecture de Métalepse, Gérard Genette.” Conference “De la figure à la fiction – autour d’un livre.” http://www.fabula.org/atelier.php. Malina, Debra (2002). Breaking the Frame: Metalepsis and the Construction of the Subject. Columbus: Ohio State UP. McHale, Brian (1987). Postmodernist Fiction. London: Methuen.

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Meister, Jan Christoph (2005). “Le Metalepticon: une étude informatique de la méta­ lepse.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 225–46. Meyer-Minnemann, Klaus (2005). “Un procédé narratif qui ‘produit un effet de bizar­ rerie’: la métalepse littéraire.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 133–50. – (2006). “Narración paradójica y ficción.” N. Grabe et al. (eds). La narración paradójica. “Normas narrativas” y el principio de la “transgresión.” Frankfurt a.M.: Vervuert, 49–71. Morier, Henri (1961). “Métalepse.” Dictionnaire de poétique et de rhétorique. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 673–76. Nelles, William (1997). Frameworks: Narrative Levels and Embedded Narratives. New York: Lang. Pier, John (2005). “Métalepse et hiérarchies narratives.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 247–61. – & Jean-Marie Schaeffer (2005). “Introduction. La métalepse, aujourd’hui.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 7–15. – eds. (2005). Métalepses. Entorses au pacte de la représentation. Paris: Éd. de l’EHESS. Prince, Gerald (2006). “Disturbing Frames.” Poetics Today 27, 625–30. Rabau, Sophie (2005). “Ulysse à côté d’Homère. Interprétation et transgression des frontières énonciatives.” Pier & Schaeffer (eds), 59–72. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Routledge. Roussin, Philippe (2005). “Rhétorique de la métalepse, états de cause, typologie, récit.” J. Pier & J.-M Schaeffer (eds), 37–58. Ryan, Marie-Laure (2005). “Logique culturelle de la métalepse, ou la métalepse dans tous ses états.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 201–23. – (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – ed. (2004). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Schlickers, Sabine (2005). “Inversions, transgressions, paradoxes et bizzareries. La métalepse dans les littératures espagnole et française.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 151–66. Schmid, Wolf (2005). “La métalepse narrative dans la construction du formalisme russe.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds), 189–95. Šklovskij, Viktor (Shklovsky, Victor) ([1921] 1990). “The Novel as Parody: Sterne’s Tristram Shandy.” V. Š. Theory of Prose. Elmwood Park: Dalkey Archive P, 148– 71. Wagner, Frank (2002). “Glissements et déphasages: note sur la métalepse narrative.” Poétique 33, No 130, 235–53. Wolf, Werner (1993). Ästhetische Illusion und Illusionsdurchbrechung in der Erzähl­ kunst: Theorie und Geschichte mit Schwerpunkt auf englischem illusionsstörenden Erzählen. Tübingen: Niemeyer. – (2005a). “Intermediality.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Nar­ rative Theory. London: Routledge, 252–56.

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(2005b). “Metalepsis as a Transgeneric and Transmedial Phenomenon: A Case Study of the Possibilities of ‘Exporting’ Narratological Concepts.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism: Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 83–107.

5.2 Further Reading
Lodge, David (1977). The Modes of Modern Writing: Metaphor, Metonymy, and the Typology of Modern Literature. London: Arnold, esp. 239–45. Pier, John (2005). “Metalepsis.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 303–04. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indian UP, esp. chap. 9. – (2005). “On the Theoretical Foundations of Transmedial Narratology.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism: Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–23. Saint-Gelais, Richard (2001). “La fiction à travers l’intertexte: pour une théorie de la transfictionnalité.” A. Gefen & R. Audet (eds). Frontières de la fiction. Quebec: Nota bene; Bordeaux: Presses Universitaires de Bordeaux, 43–75.

Metanarration and Metafiction
Birgit Neumann & Ansgar Nünning 1 Definition Metanarration and metafiction are umbrella terms designating self-re­ flexive utterances, i.e. comments referring to the discourse rather than to the story. Although they are related and often used interchangeably, the terms should be distinguished: metanarration refers to the narrator’s reflections on the act or process of narration; metafiction concerns comments on the fictionality and/or constructedness of the narrative. Thus, whereas metafictionality designates the quality of disclosing the fictionality of a narrative, metanarration captures those forms of selfreflexive narration in which aspects of narration are addressed in the narratorial discourse, i.e. narrative utterances about narrative rather than fiction about fiction. 2 Explication The terms “metanarration” and “metafiction” are both based on the model of metalanguage, which designates a (system of) language posi­ tioned on a level above the ordinary use of words for referential pur­ pose (Fludernik 2003: 15). Metanarration and metafiction therefore have one point in common, namely their self-reflexive or self-refer­ ential character. However, these two types of narrative self-reflexivity differ greatly, and this difference has tended to be ignored in most ex­ isting typologies. Therefore, the widely-used umbrella term metafiction not only needs to be elaborated, but a clear distinction also has to be made between metanarration and other forms of self-reflexive narra­ tion. Metafiction describes the capacity of fiction to reflect on its own status as fiction and thus refers to all self-reflexive utterances which thematize the fictionality (in the sense of imaginary reference and/or constructedness) of narrative. Metafiction is, literally, fiction about fic­ tion, i.e. fiction that includes within itself reflections on its own fiction­ al identity (Hutcheon 1980). Thus, the term is a hypernym denoting all

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sorts of self-reflective utterances and elements of a fictional narrative that do not treat their referent as apparent reality but instead induce readers to reflect on the textuality and fictionality of narrative in terms of its artifactuality (Wolf 1993: 224). Following Wolf’s definition of metafiction as a form of discourse which draws the recipient’s attention to the fictionality of the narrative, it becomes evident that the term cannot be equated with metanarration (Nünning 2004). Metanarrative comments are concerned with the act and/or process of narration, and not with its fictional nature. In contrast to metafiction, which can only appear in the context of fiction, types of metanarration can also be found in many non-fictional narrative genres and media. Metanarrative passages need not destroy aesthetic → illu­ sion, but may also contribute to substantiating the illusion of authenti­ city that a narrative seeks to create. It is precisely the concept of narratorial illusionism, suggesting the presence of a speaker or narrator, that illustrates that metanarrative expressions can serve to create a different type of illusion by accentuating the act of narration, thus triggering a different strategy of naturalization, viz. what Fludernik (1996: 341) has called the “frame of storytelling.” As a distinct form of narratorial utterance, metanarration displays a variety of textual functions (Prince [1987] 2003: 51). In contrast to Genette’s ([1972] 1980: 261–62) suggestion, it cannot be restricted to the narrator’s “directing functions,” i.e. to references thematizing the “internal organization” of the text. Rather, all comments which address aspects of narration in a self-reflexive manner as well as the → nar­ rator’s references to his or her communication with the narratee on the discourse level can be subsumed under the term “metanarration.” Al­ though such comments are detached from the narrated world, they do not possess a high degree of generality because they refer to one specific object: the act of narrating. Since such self-reflexive comments can be defined according to their reference to the act of narration, they make the → reader realize that what s/he is dealing with is a narrative. Fludernik (1996: 278) describes the accumulation of metanarrative ex­ pressions as “a deliberate meta-narrative celebration of the act of narra­ tion.” 3 History of the Concept and its Study Research in the field of metafiction has been cultivated over decades and goes back well before 1970, when the term was first introduced in essays by Scholes (1970) and Gass (1970). Analyzing Laurence Sterne’s novel Tristram Shandy, Šklovskij (1921), for instance, ad­

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dresses the concept as a “device of laying bare the device,” namely as a device through which the storytelling itself is made part of the story told. Scholes (1970) coined the term “metafiction” to designate fiction that incorporates various perspectives of criticism into the fictional process, thereby emphasizing structural, formal, or philosophical prob­ lems. Since then, metafiction has become a major topic in narratological research, replacing the hitherto established and more narrowly defined terms “self-conscious narration” (Booth 1952) and “irony of fictionality.” In fact, metafiction has met with considerable academic interest both as a historical element of (narrative) fiction and as a hall­ mark of postmodernism, and book-length studies (Hutcheon 1980; Waugh 1984) have been devoted to it. The conceptualization of forms and functions of metafiction evolved from the mid-1970s to the mid1980s, precisely when scholars were attempting to define postmodern­ ism as an epoch and ethos (O’Donnell 2005). The first attempt to propose a comprehensive theory of metafiction was made by Hutcheon (1980). She understands metafictional narratives as “narcissistic” because they are fundamentally self-referring and auto-representational (1980: x). By mirroring their own process of fic­ tional construction, metafictional texts, such as Gabriel García Már­ quez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude or Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, draw the reader’s attention to the storytelling process and undermine the realism of the narrative. Metafiction­ al strategies therefore often produce a hermeneutic paradox: readers are forced to acknowledge the fictional status of the narrative, while at the same time they become co-creators of its meanings. Hutcheon’s most crucial distinction is that between overt and covert forms of metafic­ tion. While overtly metafictional texts disclose their self-awareness in “explicit thematizations […] of their diegetic or linguistic identity within the texts themselves,” covert forms “internalize” this process: They are “self-reflective but not necessarily self-conscious” (7). Simil­ arly, Waugh (1984: 14) defines metafiction as fiction which “self-con­ sciously reflects upon its own structure as language,” thereby ostenta­ tiously parading the conventions and language of the realistic novel. Although Hutcheon’s and Waugh’s approaches have contributed to a better understanding of metafiction, they are problematic because they reduce its effects to anti-illusionism. A different approach is put forward by Wolf (1993, 1998) who fo­ cuses, firstly, on the formal variety of metafiction. To capture the dif­ ferent forms of metafiction and their potential effects, Wolf (1993: 220–65) develops a typology based on three dimensions: the form of mediation, the contextual relation, and the contents value. The first di­

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mension refers to the level of narration on which the speaker engaged in metafictional reflections can be situated. Metafictional comments can be explicitly uttered by a character of the narrated world or by the narrator when reflecting on the fictional nature of the text (mode of telling). Alternatively, they can be conveyed implicitly through formal means, e.g. through contradictory and highly implausible elements which disrupt the mimetic illusion (mode of showing). According to the second criterion, contextual relation, various forms of metafiction can be distinguished depending on whether they appear in a central or marginal position and how deeply they are entangled with the narrated story. Using Wolf’s third criterion, contents value, one can differenti­ ate between various forms of explicit metafiction depending on wheth­ er metafiction refers to the “fictio or the fictum status” of a passage, whether it contains comments on the entire text or only on parts of it, and whether the commentary refers to the text itself, to literature in general, or to another text. While metafiction has often been perceived as a primary quality of postmodern literature, Wolf (1998) stresses that (Western) narrative fiction has contained metafictional elements ever since its beginnings (cf. also Alter 1975 and Hutcheon 1980). From Homer to Salman Rushdie, from Don Quixote and Jacques le fataliste to The Remains of the Day, narratives have bared the conventions of storytelling and high­ lighted their constructed nature. However, its frequency and function vary depending on genres and epochs. The functions of metafiction range from undermining aesthetic illusion to poetological self-reflec­ tion, commenting on aesthetic procedures, the celebration of the act of narrating, and playful exploration of the possibilities and limits of fic­ tion. Wolf’s detailed typology has also provided a sound basis for the analysis of metafiction in various other genres such as poetry, drama and music. In recent contributions, Wolf (forthcoming) seeks to in­ crease the transmedial applicability of metafiction by reconceptualizing it in a first step as a non media-specific concept, namely as “metarefer­ ence.” Metareference denotes a signifying practice that generates a self-referential meaning and actualizes a secondary cognitive frame in the recipient. On this basis, individual media can be examined with re­ spect to their metareferential capacities. In contrast to metafiction, the terms “metanarration” or “metanarrative comment” have not become common categories of narratology, al­ though they have been used in some narratological studies (e.g. Genette 1972; Hamon 1977; Prince 1982; Scheffel 1997; Cutter 1998). There are at least two reasons for this. Firstly, the term metafiction is so

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widely used in English for all sorts of anti-illusionistic techniques that forms of metanarration are generally subsumed under this umbrella. Secondly, in the few contributions in which the term metanarrative is used at all, it is commonly perceived as an English equivalent of grand récit (in Lyotard’s sense) and thus as synonymous with “master narrative” (e.g. Hutcheon [1989] 1996: 262). Due to the equation of metanarration with metafiction, narratological research has largely focused on metafictional forms of narrative self-reflexivity, giving little atten­ tion to such metanarrative phenomena as digressions and other self-re­ flexive narratorial interventions. The exception to the rule is Prince (1982: 115–28). A number of recent articles have redressed the bal­ ance, putting the subject of metanarrative on the map of narratological research (Nünning 2004; Fludernik 2003). They have provided a de­ scriptive analysis of different types of metanarration as well as a survey of its changing functions in English novels from the 17th century to the present. Predicated on the assumption that metanarration is a distinct form of narratorial utterance, Nünning (2004), drawing on Wolf’s (1993) dis­ tinction between various forms of metafiction, develops a typology that identifies the most important sub-categories of metanarration. The ty­ pology is based on four basic aspects, which in turn give rise to subsi­ diary distinctions: (a) formal; (b) structural; (c) content-related; and (d) reception-oriented types of metanarrative. Firstly, a formal distinction can be made between diegetic, extradie­ getic, and paratextual types of metanarration, depending on the level of communication at which the speaker of the metanarrative comments can be situated. Metanarrative comments typically occur on the dis­ course level, though intradiegetic character-narrators may also themat­ ize narrative aspects. Secondly, structural types of metanarration can be differentiated ac­ cording to the criterion of the quantitative and qualitative relations between metanarrative expressions and other parts of a narrated text as well as the syntagmatic integration of such metanarrative passages. Thirdly, depending on the subject area or the selection of topic, various types of metanarration can be distinguished on the basis of con­ tent. One important content-related criterion concerns the reference point of metanarrative expressions. Metanarrative reflections can be re­ stricted to auto-referential comments on the narrator’s own act of nar­ rating, they can thematize the narrative style of other authors and texts, or they can refer to the process of narration in general. Fludernik (2003) has coined the terms “proprio-metanarration,” “allo-metanarra­

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tion” and “general metanarration” in order to distinguish between these different reference points. Fourthly, a typological differentiation arises as to the potential ef­ fects and functions of metanarration. This differentiation is based on the assumption that an accumulation of metanarrative commentaries contributes to foregrounding the narrative act and to creating the illu­ sion of being addressed by a personalized voice or a “teller” (Fludernik 1996: 278). As in Tristram Shandy, the plethora of metanarrative often enhances the “mimesis of narrating” (Nünning 2001). The functions of metanarration differ according to a decreasing level of compatibility with diegetic illusion or to an increasing level of destruction of aesthetic illusion. These functions range from authenticating and empathy-in­ ducing functions, which are fully compatible with mimetic aesthetic il­ lusion, to parodic and anti-illusionistic types of metanarrative interven­ tions. Of course, not only the forms but also the functions of metanar­ ration are subject to historical variability. Whereas, for instance, in realistic 19th-century novels metanarration primarily serves to create a trust-inducing conversation between the explicit narrator and the nar­ ratee, in numerous novels from the second half of the 20 th century it is functionalized in a metafictional way. Drawing on Nünning’s typology of metanarration, Fludernik (2003) suggests subdividing the category of metanarration into metadiscursive, metanarrational, meta-aesthetic and metacompositional elements, high­ lighting the extensiveness and historical variability of this narrative form. Moreover, she proposes an alternative schema which differenti­ ates between metafiction, metanarrative and non-narrational self-re­ flexivity. To circumvent the potential ambiguity between metanarration and metafiction, she employs the term metanarrative exclusively with regard to self-reflexive statements referring to the discourse and its constructedness and limits the term metafiction to self-reflexive utter­ ances about the inventedness of the story (i.e. to Wolf’s explicit metafiction). By introducing the category of non-narrational self-reflexivity (i.e. Wolf’s implicit metafiction), which comprises, e.g. mise-en-abyme or metaleptic plot configurations, Fludernik sets out to dissociate the mimesis of narration from a teller figure and highlights the contact zones between various self-reflexive devices across different genres and media.

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4 Topics for Further Investigation Desiderata for narratological research still include differentiated investigations of the forms, functions, and diachronic development of metafiction and metanarration. One relatively unexplored issue concerns the development of self-reflexive narrative forms over various periods of literary history, not only in narrative fiction, but also in other genres and media. Moreover, there are hardly any studies concerning func­ tions that may be fulfilled by certain forms of self-reflexive narration in different historical epochs and literary genres. Finally, it is also neces­ sary to investigate the culture-specific forms and functions of metafic­ tion and metanarration. In this respect, it would be interesting to provide comparisons between forms of narrative self-reflexivity or selfreferentiality in Western and non-Western literature. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Alter, Robert (1975). Partial Magic: The Novel as a Self-Conscious Genre. Berkeley: U of California P. Booth, Wayne C. (1952). “The Self-Conscious Narrator in Comic Fiction before Tris­ tram Shandy.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of Amer­ ica 67, 163–85. Cutter, Martha J. (1998). “Of Metatexts, Metalanguages, and Possible Worlds: The Transformative Power of Metanarrative in C.P. Gilman’s Later Short Fiction.” American Literary Realism 31, 41–59. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. – (2003). “Metanarrative and Metafictional Commentary: From Metadiscursivity to Metanarration and Metafiction.” Poetica 35, 1–39. Gass, William H. (1970). Fiction and the Figures of Life. New York: Knopf. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. Hamon, Philippe (1977). “Texte littéraire et metalanguage.” Poétique 31, 261–84. Hutcheon, Linda (1980). Narcissistic Narrative: The Metafictional Paradox. New York: Methuen. – ([1989] 1996). “Incredulity toward Metanarrative: Negotiating Postmodernism and Feminisms.” K. Mezei (ed). Ambiguous Discourse: Feminist Narratology and British Women Writers. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 262–67. Nünning, Ansgar (2001). “Mimesis des Erzählens: Prolegomena zu einer Wirkungsäs­ thetik, Typologie und Funktionsgeschichte des Akts des Erzählens und der Me­ tanarration.” J. Helbig (ed). Erzählen und Erzähltheorie im 20. Jahrhundert: Nar­ ratologische Studien aus Anlass des 65. Geburtstags von Wilhelm Füger. Heidel­ berg: Winter, 13–47.

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– (2004). “Towards a Definition, a Typology and an Outline of the Functions of Metanarrative Commentary.” J. Pier (ed). The Dynamics of Narrative Form: Studies in Anglo-American Narratology. Berlin: de Gruyter, 11–57. O’Donnell, Patrick (2005). “Metafiction.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclo­ pedia of Narative Theory. London: Routledge, 301–02. Prince, Gerald (1982). Narratology: The Form and Functioning of Narrative. Berlin.: Mouton de Gruyter. – ([1987] 2003). A Dictionary of Narratology. Aldershot: Scolar Press. Scheffel, Michael (1997). Formen selbstreflexiven Erzählens: Eine Typologie und sechs exemplarische Analysen. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Scholes, Robert (1970). “Metafiction.” Iowa Review 1, 100–15. Šklovskij, Viktor (Shklovsky, Victor) ([1921] 1965). “Sterne’s Tristram Shandy: Styl­ istic Commentary.” L. Lemon & M. Reis (eds). Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 25–57. Waugh, Patricia (1984). Metafiction: The Theory and Practice of Self-Conscious Fic­ tion. London: Methuen. Wolf, Werner (1993). Ästhetische Illusion und Illusionsdurchbrechung in der Erzähl­ kunst: Theorie und Geschichte mit Schwerpunkt auf englischem illusionsstörenden Erzählen. Tübingen: Niemeyer. – ([1998] 2004). “Metafiktion.” A. Nünning (ed). Metzler Lexikon Literatur- und Kulturtheorie. Stuttgart: Metzler, 447–48. – (forthcoming). “Metareference in the Arts and Media.” W. Wolf & W. Bernhart (eds). Metareference in the Arts and Media. Amsterdam: Rodopi.

5.2 Further Reading
Dupuy, Jean-Pierre (1989). “Self-reference in Literature.” Poetics 18, 491–515. Peters, Joan D. (2002). Feminist Metafiction and the Evolution of the British Novel. Gainesville: UP of Florida. Quendler, Christian (2001). From Romantic Irony to Postmodernist Metafiction: A Contribution to the History of Literary Self-Reflexivity in its Philosophical Context. Frankfurt a.M.: Lang.

Narration in Film
Johann N. Schmidt 1 Definition The general proposition that there is no narrative without a → narrator poses particular problems when applied to narration in feature films (as distinct from documentaries, etc.). Though almost all of these films, many of them adaptations from literature, abound in storytelling capa­ cities and thus belong to a predominantly narrative medium, their spe­ cific mode of plurimedial presentation and their peculiar blending of temporal and spatial elements set them apart from forms of → narrativity that are principally language-based. The narratological inventory, when applied to cinema, is bound to incorporate and combine a large number of “co-creative” techniques “constructing the story world for specific effects” (Bordwell 1985: 12) and creating an overall meaning only in their totality. The absence of a narrative subject is to be com­ pensated for by the construction of a “visual narrative instance” (De­ leyto 1996: 219; Kuhn 2009) mediating the paradigms of overtly cine­ matographic devices (elements relating to camera, sound, editing), the mise-en-scène (arranging and composing the scene in front of the cam­ era), and a distinctly filmic focalization. On the other hand, the most solid narrative link between verbal and visual representation is sequentiality, since literary and filmic signs are apprehended consecutively through time, mostly (though not always) following a successive and causal order. It is this consecutiveness that “gives rise to an unfolding structure, the diegetic whole” (Cohen 1979: 92). The main features of narrative strategies in literature can also be found in film, although the characteristics of these strategies differ sig­ nificantly. In many cases, it seems to be appropriate to speak of “equi­ valences” between literary and filmic storytelling and to analyze the pertinent differences between the two media in narrative representa­ tion. These equivalences are far more complex than is suggested by any mere “translation” or “adaptation” from one medium into another.

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2 Explication Broadly speaking, there are two different outlooks on cinema that di­ vide the main camps of narratological research. If the medium itself and its unique laws of formal representation (→ narration in various media) serve as a starting-point (as it is the case in the course of this article), many of its parameters either transcend or obscure the categories that have been gained in tracking narrative strategies of literary texts. Thus Metz states that film is not a “language” but another kind of semiotic system with “articulations” of its own (Chatman 1990: 124). Though some of the equivalences between literary and filmic narrative may be quite convincing (the neutral establishing shot of a panoramic view can be easily equated with external focalization or even zero fo­ calization), many other parallels must necessarily abstract from a num­ ber of diverse principles of aesthetic organization before stating simil­ arities in the perception of literature and film. Despite the fact that ad­ apting literary texts into movies has long since become a conventional practice, the variability of cinematographic modes of narrative expres­ sion calls for such a number of subcategories that the principle of gen­ eralization (inherent in any valid theory) becomes jeopardized. If, however, narratological principles sensu stricto move to the fore of analysis, the question of medial specificity seems to be less important. Narratologists of a strongly persistent stance regret that connota­ tions of visuality are dominant even in terms like point of view (→ per­ spective) and → focalization, and they maintain that the greatest divide between verbal and visual strategies is in literature, not in film (Brütsch forthcoming). They hold that narratological categories in film and liter­ ary studies differ much less than most scholars would suggest. Since Genette’s model presents a primarily narratological, transliterary concept (albeit close to novel studies), mediality is seen as affecting “nar­ rative in a number of important ways, but on a level of specific representations only. In general, narrativity can be constituted in equal measure in all textual and visual media” (Fludernik 1996: 353). The two approaches being given, they themselves depend on which scholarly perspective is preferred: either how far narrative principles can be limited to questions of narrativity alone, or whether the require­ ments of the medium are a conclusive consequence for its narrative ca­ pacities.

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3 Development of Film Narration and History of the Study of Film Narration Film as a largely syncretistic, hybrid, and multimedial form of aesthetic communication bears a number of generic characteristics which are tied to the history and the various capacities of its narrative constitu­ ents. 3.1 Development of Film Narration 3.1.1 Literature into Film According to Deleyto, “[it] is through cinema, television, and video, and not through novels that most stories are ‘told’ nowadays” (1996: 218). Film can claim to be a legitimate successor (and competitor) of fictional literature insofar as it is capable of “employing complex sujet constructions, developing parallels in the fabula, enacting changes of any given action, accentuating details, etc.” (Ėjxenbaum [1927] 1990: 116). Ėjzenštejn claims that Charles Dickens’s narrative art anticipated the method of his own montage of parallel scenes ([1949] 1992: 395– 402). 3.1.2 The Plurimedial Nature of Cinema The conventional separation of “showing” and “telling” and (on a dif­ ferent level) of “seeing” and “reading” does not do justice to the pluri­ medial organization of cinema. Earlier attempts at defining film exclusively along the lines of visualization were meant to legitimize it as an art form largely independent of the established arts. However much meaning can be attributed to the visual track of the film, it would be wrong to state that it is “narrated visually” and little else. On the other hand, the dominant reliance of the early narrative cinema on existing literary models seemed to imply that the terminology borrowed from literary theory could be as easily applied to “film language.” Both approaches ignore the plurimedial nature of cinema which draws on multiple sources of temporal and spatial information and its reliance on the visual and auditive senses. This peculiarity makes it dif­ ficult to sort out the various categories that are operative in its narra­ tion. Like drama, it seems to provide “direct perceptual access to space and characters” (Grodal 2005: 168); it is “performed” within a similar frame of time and experienced from a fixed position. What Ingarden calls “the views and images [visuelle Ansichten] made concrete by actors and the scenery” ([1931] 1972: 403) corresponds to the filmic mise-en-scène. Unlike drama, however, a film is not produced in quasi-

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lifelike corporal subsequences, but its sequences are bound together in a technically unique process (“post-production”) to conform to a very specific perceptual and cognitive comprehension of the world (Grodal 2005: 169). Similar to literary narration, it can influence the viewing positions of the recipient and dispose freely of location and temporal sequences as long as it contains generic signals of shifts in time and → space. 3.1.3 Technical Strategies of Storytelling Films are generally made by a large group of people, aside from the very few exceptions where one person is the producer, director, camera operator, sound expert and actor at the same time (e.g. Fassbinder’s In a Year of Thirteen Moons, 1978). It derives its impact from a number of technical, performative and aesthetic strategies that combine in a syncretizing, largely hybrid medium, establishing interlocking conven­ tions of storytelling. As an industrial product, it also reflects the histor­ ical standard of technology in its narrative structure, whether it is a si­ lent film with inserted reading titles or a film using high-resolution di­ gital multi-track sound, whether a static camera is turned on the scene or a modern editing technique lends the images an overpowering kinet­ ic energy, etc. Not only the mode of production but also the reception of highly varied formats in film history have altered narrative paradigms that had formerly seemed unchangeable. Thus it has long been a rule that the speed and the sequentiality of a film’s projection is mechanically fixed so that the viewer has no possibility of interrupting the “reading” to “leaf” back and forth through the scenes or of studying the composition of a single shot for longer than the actual running time. In the auditorium-space, s/he lacked any manifest control over the screen-space. It was with the introduction of video and DVD that the viewer could control speed variations, play the film backwards, view it frame by frame and freeze it, and (as in DVD) use the digitalized space of navigation to interact, select menus and “construct” a new film with deleted scenes, an unused score, and alternative endings. This multiple and fragmented reception gradually led to new perceptive appropriations of cinema, also changing the user’s sense of narrative, which is no longer predominantly linear. Inward contemplation, up to the “de­ vouring” of a story, has yielded to an attitude of bricolage which is closer to putting together disjointed elements of narrative arrangements according to the outward criteria of selectivity, interactivity, and ver­ satility.

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3.1.4 Narrative Modes in the History of Cinema Narration in film possesses as its two main components current aesthet­ ic concepts and, inseparably interwoven with these concepts, the tech­ nical means available at the time of production. Silent movies from 1895 onward lacked not only verbal expression, but also narrative structures beyond the stringing together of stage effects, arranged tableaux, and sensationalist trick scenes. What was then perceived as the only striking narrative device consisted in showing these scenes within a framed space and against the common laws of temporal con­ tinuity. But on the whole, these movies were still very much indebted to the 19th-century apparatus in which the process of seeing as a per­ ceptual and motoric element was closely connected with pre-cinematic “spatial and bodily experiences” (Elsaesser 1990: 3). This early “cinema of attractions” (Gunning 1986) gradually made way for “narrativization” (233) from 1907 to about 1913 through the process of structural organization of cinematic signifiers and the “cre­ ation of a self-enclosed diegetic universe” (233). The result, initiated by David Wark Griffith in particular, was an “institutional mode of representation,” also known as “classical narration” (Schweinitz 1999: 74). The filmic discourse was to create a coherence of vision without any jerks in time or space or other dissonant and disruptive elements in the process of viewing. The basic trajectory of the classical Hollywood ideal (also taken over by UFA and other national film industries) in­ volves establishing a cause-and-effect logic, a clear subject-object rela­ tion, and a cohesive effect of visual and auditive perception aimed at providing the story with an “organic” meaning, however different the shots that are sliced together might be. A “seamless” and consecutive style serves to hide “all marks of artifice” (Chatman 1990: 154) and to give the narrative the appearance of a natural observing position. The “real” of the cinema is founded at least as much in the real-image qual­ ity of its photography as it is in the system of representation that shows analogies to the viewer’s capacity to combine visual impressions with a “story.” Modernist cinema and non-canonical art films, especially after 1945, repudiate the hegemonistic story regime of classical Hollywood cinema by laying open the conditions of mediality and artificiality or by employing literary strategies not as an empathetic but as an alienating or decidedly modern factor of storytelling. They disrupt the narrative continuum and convert the principle of succession into one of simultaneity by means of iteration, frequency (e.g. Kurosawa’s Rashomon, 1950, repeating the same event from different angles as in internal multiple focalization), and dislocation of the traditional modes of

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temporal and spatial representation (e.g. Resnais’ L’année dernière à Marienbad, 1960). In each of these films, there is an ever-widening gap between fabula and discourse. Modern cinema also made possible the flash-forward as the cinematographic equivalent of the prolepsis (e.g. Losey’s The Go-Between, 1970), used jump cuts (e.g. Godard’s À bout de souffle, 1959) and non-linear collage elements, or broke with the narrative convention of character continuity, as when a central protag­ onist disappears in the course of events (Antonioni’s L’Avventura, 1959). All of these assaults on traditional narrativity nevertheless “de­ pend upon narrativity [or our assumptions about it; J.N.S.] and could not function without it” (Scholes 1985: 396). Postclassical cinema, responding to growing globalization in its world-wide distribution and reception, enhances the aesthetics of visual and auditory effects by means of digitalization, computerized cutting techniques, and a strategy of immediacy that signals a shift from linear discourse to a renewed interest in spectacular incidents. 3.1.5 Editing as a Narrative Device Editing is one of the decisive cinematographic processes for the narrative organization of a film: it connects montage (e.g. the splitting, com­ bining and reassembling of visual segments) with the mix of sound ele­ ments and the choice of strategic points in space (angle, perspective). The most prominent examples in the early history of filmic narrativiza­ tion are: (a) the simple cut from one scene to another, thus eliminating dead time by splitting the actual footage (ellipsis); (b) cross-cutting, which alternates between shots of two spaces, as in pursuit scenes; (c) parallel montage to accentuate similarity and opposition; (d) the shotreverse-shot between two persons talking to each other; (e) the “cutin,” which magnifies a significant detail or grotesquely distorts certain objects of everyday life. Continuity editing (or analytic montage) aims primarily at facilitat­ ing orientation during transitions in time and space. One basic rule con­ sists in never letting the camera cross the line of action (180-degree rule), thus respecting geometrical orientation within a given space. Narrative devices not only obey cognitive storytelling practices, but also reflect a certain vision of the world. Whereas continuity editing presupposes a holistic unity in a world which is temporarily in conflict but finally homogenized (not only plot-wise, but via sensory connec­ tion with the audience’s preferred viewing), Ėjzenštejn’s collision edit­ ing accentuates stark formal and perceptual contrasts to create new meanings or unusual metaphorical links (Grodal 2005: 171). For other directors (e.g. Pudovkin), narration in film concentrates not on events

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being strung together in chronological sequence, but on the construc­ tion of powerful situations and significant details presented in an anti­ thetical manner of association. “Internal editing,” as advocated by An­ dré Bazin, avoids visible cuts and creates deep focus (depth of field), making foreground, middle ground, and background equally sharp, thus establishing continuity in the very same take. 3.1.6 Time and Space in Cinema To evoke a sense of the “real,” film creates a temporal and spatial con­ tinuum whose components can be separated only for heuristic pur­ poses. In their “succession and mutual blending,” images “let chronolo­ gically extended events appear in their full concrete sequentiality” (In­ garden [1931] 1972: 344). The temporally organized combination of visual and acoustic signs corresponds to the unmediated rendering of space, albeit on a two-dimensional screen. The realization of a posi­ tioned space lies in movement, which imposes a temporal vector upon the spatial dimension (Lothe 2000: 62). Panofsky describes the result as “a speeding up of space” and a “spatialization of time” ([1937] 1993: 22). This also explains the inherent dialectic of film as the medi­ um that appears closest to our mimetic registration of the real world, and yet deviating from real-life experience by its manifold means of es­ tablishing a “second world” of fantasy, dream, and wish fulfillment. Time can be either stretched out in slow motion or compressed in fast motion; different spaces may be fused by double exposure or by a per­ manent tension between external and internal time sequences. Thus narration in cinema has to deal both with the representational realism of its images and its technical devices in order to integrate or dissociate time and space, image and sound, depending on the artistic and emo­ tional effect that is to be achieved. 3.1.7 Narrative Functions of Sound Fulton emphasizes the role of sound in film: “[It] is one of the most versatile signifiers, since it contributes to field, tenor, and mode as a powerful creator of meaning, mood and textuality” (Fulton 2005: 108). It amplifies the diegetic space (thus Bordwell [1985: 119] speaks of “sound perspective”) and emphasizes modulation of the visual impact through creating a sonic décor or sonic space. Language, noises, elec­ tronic sounds and music, whether intradiegetic or (like most musical compositions) extradiegetic, help not only to define the tonality, volume, tempo and texture of successive situations, but also to orches­ trate and manipulate emotions and heighten the suggestive expressivity of the story. Sound can range from descriptive passages to climactic

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underlining and counterpointing what is seen. Again, what was once considered as a complete break with narrative rules has become a con­ vention, so that when off-camera sounds are used before the scene they are related to, they serve as a “springboard” between sequences. As Elsaesser & Hagener point out, there is a potential dissociation between body and voice as well as between viewing and hearing which can be used for comic purposes, but which also stands “in the service of narration” (2007: 172–73). A voice may have a specific source in the diegetic space, although separate from the images we see (“voiceoff”), or it can be heard beyond the diegetic limits (“voice-over”). New technologies such as multi-track sound with high digital resolution (e.g. Dolby Surround) negate the directional coherence of screen and sound source, thus leading to tension between the aural and the visual. Whereas the image can be fixed, the sound derives its existence from the moment when it is perceived. 3.2 The Narrating Agency in Cinema One of the most controversial issues in film narratology concerns the role of the narrator as an instrument of narrative mediation. This re­ flects the difficulty of specifying the narrative process in general and, more than any other question, it reveals the limits of literary narrativity when applied to film studies. 3.2.1 Film as Sign System With the exception of the character narrator and the cinematic device of the voice-over (whether homo- or heterodiegetic), the traces of a narrating agency are virtually invisible, so that the term “film narrator” is employed as hardly more than a metaphor. Undecidedness in termin­ ology became evident right from the beginnings of film theory. Thus the term “film language,” if not used for a system of signs as was done by the Formalists, bore the implication that there must also be a “speaker” of such a language. Modeling cinema after literature in this way, however, tends to weaken the notion of cinema as an independent art form. For this reason, Ėjxenbaum transfers the structuring of cine­ matographic meaning to “new conditions of perceptions”: it is the viewer who moves “to the construction of internal speech” ([1926] 1973: 123). The first systematic interest in narratology came from the semiotic turn of film theory starting in the 1960s, notably with Metz’s construct of the grande syntagmatique (1966). In order to overcome the restric­ tion to small semiotic units (e.g. the single shot in cinema), the concept

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of “code” was used to encompass more extensive syntagmata in film such as sequences and the whole of the narration. In Metz’s phenomen­ ology of narrative, film is “a complex system of successive, encoded signs” (Lothe 2000: 12). Metz’s position was criticized by Heath (1986), who saw in it a neglect of the central role of the viewer in mak­ ing meaning (Schweinitz 1999: 79). By excluding the subject position of the spectator, a predominantly formalistic approach overlooks the potentially decisive impact of affectivity and subconscious processes. For this reason, psychoanalytic theories concentrated on the similarities that exist between film and dream, hallucination, and desire as important undercurrents of the realist surface. Feminist theories dealt with the gendered gaze that is applied not only in the film itself, but is also cast on the film by the viewer, thus creating a conflict between voyeur­ ism and subjugation to the power of images. Studies of popular culture, finally, examined the functioning of cinematic discourse within a wider cultural communicative process which is conveyed by a host of visual signs. 3.2.2 Film Narrator―Film Narration In the 1980s, the more systematic narrative discourse of the Wisconsin School resorted to a cognitive and constructivist approach, defining the narrative scheme as an optional “redescription of data under epistemological restraint” (Branigan 1992: 112). Its main interest is in a strictly rational and logical explication of narrative and in mental processes that render perceptual data intelligible. Whereas Chatman’s concept of narration is still anchored in literary theory (Booth, Todorov), seeing the visual concreteness of cinema as its basic mark of distinction from literature, Branigan and Bordwell abandon straightaway the idea of a cinematic narrator or a narrative voice. They hold that the construct of the narrator is wrapped up in the “activity of narration” itself which is performed on various levels: “To give every film a narrator or implied author is to indulge in an anthropomorphic fiction” (Bordwell 1985: 62). The author as an “essential subject” who is in possession of psy­ chological properties or of a human voice is replaced by the notion of narration understood as a process or an activity in comparison to nar­ rative and which is defined as “the organization of a set of cues for the construction of a story” (62) presupposing an active perceiver of a mes­ sage, but no sender. According to Bordwell and Branigan, cinemato­ graphic narratives cannot be understood within a general semiotic sys­ tem of narrative, but only in terms of historically variant narrative structures that are perceived in the act of viewing. They are supported by the viewer’s hypotheses about spatial and temporal conventions as

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well as by stabilized patterns behind individual perception. It follows from this that certain prerequisites of filmic narration are not “natural” or taken from literary models, but have been conventionalized: such is the case when a character’s walk from A to B is shortened to the points of departure and arrival with a sharp cut in between, or when a flash­ back bridges vast leaps of time, or when extradiegetic music is no part of the story proper, even though it may reflect the inner state of a char­ acter or establish a certain mood. The same holds true for the almost imperceptibly varying amount of information that is shared by charac­ ters and audience alike. At this point, focalization becomes a major is­ sue when the viewer shifts into the diegetic world of a film. The effacement of the narrator and the idea that film seems to “nar­ rate itself” stand in contrast to the impression that all visual and auditive modes impart an authorial presence or an “enunciator,” however impersonal. Many different terms and theoretical constructs have been introduced to overcome the logical impasse of having a narration without a narrator (Völker 1999: 48): “camera eye,” “first-degree nar­ rator,” “primary narrative agency” (Black 1986: 4, 22); “ultimate nar­ ratorial agency” or “supra-narrator” (Tomasulo 1986: 46); “organising consciousness,” “heterodiegetic narrator” (Fulton 2005: 113); “het­ erodiegetic ‘camera’” in a metaphoric sense (Schlickers 1997: 77); “fictional contract with the addressee” (Burgoyne 1990: 6); “invisible observer” (Bordwell 1985: 9–10); etc. What is common to most defini­ tions is the existence of some overall control of visual and sonic re­ gisters where the camera functions as an intermediator of visual and acoustic information. The invisible observer theory even maintains that it is the camera that narrates (the French director Alexandre Astruc coined the famous phrase “caméra stylo”). Deleyto (1996: 217) rejects this view, drawing on the conventional distinction between narrator (“who speaks?”) and focalizer (“who sees?”) although, unlike Bord­ well, he does not grant the external focalizer the option of occupying the position of the camera. He rather contends that “whereas in the novel the two kinds of focalization (internal/external) alternate, in film several internal and external focalisers can appear simultaneously at different points inside or outside the frame, all contributing to the de­ velopment of the narrative and the creation of a permanent tension between subjectivity and objectivity” (217). A case in point is the ob­ jective presentation of external narration to make internal processes both visible and understandable. Even in voice-over narration, the fig­ ural and auditive representation of the narrator is soon forgotten in fa­ vor of the virtual position of an impersonal narrative instance. The few experimental films that construct events “through the eyes” of the main

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character (e.g. Montgomery’s The Lady in the Lake, 1947), thus creat­ ing an unmediated presence by means of internal ocularization, make the viewer painfully aware of the impersonal and subjectless apparatus of the camera which alienates them from the character rather than drawing them into his ways of seeing and feeling. 3.2.3 Unreliability of Film Narration Though there are filmic devices to give a scene the appearance of unre­ liability or deception, the “visual narrator” in film, unlike the homodie­ getic one in written narrative, cannot tell a downright lie that is visual­ ized at the very same moment, unless the veracity of the photographic image is put into question (cf. the fabricated, hence “untrue” flashback in Stage Fright, 1950, which director Alfred Hitchcock considered a serious mistake since it didn’t work). However, there can be various types of fictional contracts with the audience that transcend the postu­ late of narrative verisimilitude, allowing even a dead person to tell his story as a “character narrator” (e.g. Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard, 1950), or when the dancers in a musical step on walls and ceilings, or when a film is built around a puzzle, putting into question any form of reliable narration (a summary of “unreliable situations” in cinema is given in Liptay & Wolf eds. 2005, passim; Helbig ed. 2006, passim). 3.3 Point of View Even if one accepts the seemingly contradictory postulate of a narrative situation without a narrator, the question of perspective in narrative discourse becomes an all-important issue as soon as the viewer shifts into the diegetic world. According to Genette, there is a difference between “mood” and “voice,” i.e. the question “who is the character whose point of view orients the narrative perspective?” and the ques­ tion “who is the narrator?” (Genette [1972] 1980: 186; Schlickers 1997: 127–32). 3.3.1 Viewpoints Point of view (POV) clearly becomes the prime starting point for narra­ tology when applied to film. Though it has been defined as “a concrete perceptual fact linked to the camera position” (Grodal 2005: 168), its actual functions in narrative can be far more flexible and multifarious than this definition suggests. As Branigan states in his landmark study on narrative comprehension in cinema, point of view can best be under­ stood as organizing meaning through a combination of various levels of narration which are defined by a “dialectical site of seeing and seen”

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or, more specifically, the “mediator and the object of our gaze” (1984: 47). Branigan offers a model of seven “levels of narration” which is based on Genette’s study of focalization and allows for constant oscil­ lation between these levels, from extra-/heterodiegetic and omniscient narration to adapting the highly subjective perception of a character. Fulton speaks of a “multiple focalisation” that is “realized by different camera angles, which position us to see the action from a number of different viewpoints” (2005: 114). Yet there are many more focusing strategies which select and control our perception as well as our emo­ tional involvement such as deep-focus, the length and scale of a shot, specific lighting, etc. The prerequisite for any POV analysis, however, is the recognition that everything in cinema consists of “looks”: the viewer looks at characters who look at each other, or s/he looks at them, adopting their perspective of the diegetic world while the camera frames a special field of seeing, or the viewer is privileged to look at something out of the line of vision of any of the characters. Thus the very question “Who sees?” involves a categorization of different forms of POV that organize and orient the narrative from a visual and spatial standpoint and that also include cognitive processes based on a number of presuppositions about a proper perspective, not to speak of auditory information. 3.3.2 Focalization and Ocularization POV has been understood as an optical paradigm or, quite literally, as visual point (or “eyepoint”): it is “ocularization” that is believed to de­ termine both the position of the camera and the “look” of a homodie­ getic/heterodiegetic character. Schlickers speaks in this respect of a “double perspectivation” (2009). In many cases, it seems almost im­ possible to come to a clear conclusion whether the camera imitates the eyepoint of a character (i.e. the literal viewpoint as realized in “eyeline matches”) or whether it observes “from outside” in the sense of narrative mediation. So we may see something “with the eyes” of a character whose back is visibly turned to us (“over-shoulder shot”) or of a character who tries to grasp a tangible object that dissolves in the air like a hallucination, as is the case in Lang’s Die Nibelungen (1924) when the Nibelung treasure appears to Siegfried on a rock. Jost sug­ gests distinguishing between internal focalization and zero focalization ([1987] 1989: 157), whereas Bal differentiates between focalization on “perceptible” objects and focalization on “imperceptible” objects ([1985] 1997: 153). Both alternatives, however, neglect the possibility of the blurring of the two types of focalization. Moreover, it makes a difference whether we are to gain an impression of what a character

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feels and thinks or whether the film seeks to present objective correlatives of the mental and emotional dispositions of a protagonist. The possible mingling of “real” and mental aspects makes it difficult to dif­ ferentiate between focalization and ocularization as soon as there is no marking of where a certain situation has its definite starting-point, whether in an optical perspective or in a subjective perception (or both). To understand POV in terms of the optical and auditory vantage point of a character, as Bordwell does when he speaks of an “optically subjective shot” (1985: 60), overlooks the fact that focalization can shift all around its diegetic world (Fulton 2005: 111) without any no­ ticeable breaks in the narration or any unconventional narrative tech­ niques. Though narratology possesses tools for analyzing these shifts, the categories used for film analysis seem to be far more complicated than those employed for literary narration. 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) Film results in a story unfolding according to the possibilities and constraints of the medium “in order to achieve specific time-bound ef­ fects on a perceiver” (Bordwell 1985: xi). Various levels of perception and cognition, many of them rooted in convention, are related to a logic of combination which determines the basic qualities of filmic narration. This paves the way for two approaches which should be tried in fruitful competition. Either the complexity of paradigms can be reduced to a model of abstraction which makes it possible to compare narrative pro­ cesses in literature and in film without paying too much heed to medial specificities, or there must be an attempt to analyze the multiple forms of interplay that stem from the double vantage points of seeing and be­ ing seen, sight and sound, light and shadow, spatial and temporal ele­ ments, moving images and movement within the images. (b) If narrative is a fundamental issue in filmic signification, its logic must be re-examined with new ways of storytelling in cinema that play games or lead the viewer into a maze of ontological uncertainties. Narrativity, spectator engagement and novel techniques of presentation combine to produce a “filmic speech” which a formal analysis of narra­ tional strategies can grasp only up to a certain point. The repertoire of narratology must be extended to explain the functioning of modern me­ dia. (c) In sum, there is no doubt that feature films are a form of narrative that share the principal features of storytelling in literature. The crux of the matter, however, is that almost every analysis which is re­ stricted to transmedial narrativity risks blotting out the historical devel­

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opments of film narration, inseparably interwoven with the achieve­ ments and capacities of the medium. In Metz’s words: “[Film] ‘says’ things that could also be conveyed in the language of words, yet it says them differently” ([1968] 1974: 44). 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Bal, Mieke ([1985] 1997). Narratology. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Black, David A. (1986). “Genette and Film: Narrative Level in the Fiction Cinema.” Wide Angle 8.3–4, 19–26. Bordwell, David (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. Madison: U of Wisconsin P. Branigan, Edward R. (1984). Point of View in the Cinema. A Theory of Narration and Subjectivity in Classical Film. Berlin: Mouton. – (1992). Narrative Comprehension and Film. London: Routledge. Brütsch, Matthias (forthcoming). Modelle der Erzählperspektive in Literatur- und Filmwissenschaft. Eine kritische Betrachtung und Weiterentwicklung unter beson­ derer Berücksichtigung der filmischen Subjektivierung und Innenweltdarstellung. Burgoyne, Robert (1990). “The Cinematic Narrator: The Logic and Pragmatics of Im­ personal Narration.” Journal of Film and Video 42, 3–16. Chatman, Seymour (1974). “Narration and Point of View in Fiction and the Cinema.” Poetica (Tokyo) 1, 21–46. – (1978). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. – (1990). Coming to Terms. The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1999). “The Cinematic Narrator.” L. Braudy & M. Cohen (eds). Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford UP, 473–86. Cohen, Keith (1979). Film and Fiction: The Dynamics of Exchange. New Haven: Yale UP. Deleyto, Celestino (1996). “Focalisation in Film Narrative.” S. Onega & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Narratology. London: Longman, 217–33. Ėjxenbaum, Boris (Eikhenbaum) ([1926] 1973). “Literature and Cinema.” St. Bann & J. Bowlt (eds). Russian Formalism: A Collection of Articles and Texts in Transla­ tion. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 122–27. – (Ejchenbaum) ([1927] 1995). “Probleme der Filmstilistik.” F.-J. Albersmeier (ed). Texte zur Theorie des Films. Stuttgart: Reclam, 97–137. Ėjzenštejn, Sergej (Eisenstein, Sergei) ([1949] 1992). “Dickens, Griffith, and the Film Today.” G. Mast et al. (eds). Film Theory and Criticism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 395– 402. Elsaesser, Thomas (1990). “Film Form: Introduction.” Th. E. (ed). Early Cinema: Space―Frame―Narrative. London: BFI, 11–30. – & Malte Hagener (2007). Filmtheorie zur Einführung. Hamburg: Junius.

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Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Fulton, Helen (2005). “Film Narrative and Visual Cohesion.” H. F. et al. (eds). Narrative and Media. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 108–22. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discours: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. Grodal, Torben (2005). “Film Narrative.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclope­ dia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 168–72. Gunning, Tom (1986). “The Cinema of Attraction: Early Film, Its Spectator, and the Avant–Garde.” Ph. Rosen (ed). Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology. A Film Theory Reader. New York: Columbia UP, 229–35. Heath, Stephen (1986). “Narrative Space.” Ph. Rosen (ed). Narrative, Apparatus, Ideo­ logy. A Film Theory Reader. New York: Columbia UP, 379–420. Helbig, Jörg, ed. (2006). “Camera doesn’t lie”: Spielarten erzählerischer Unzuverläs­ sigkeit im Film. Trier: WVT. Ingarden, Roman ([1931] 1972). Das literarische Kunstwerk. Mit einem Anhang ‘Von den Funktionen der Sprache im Theaterschauspiel’. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Jost, François ([1987] 1989). L’œil―Caméra. Entre film et roman. Lyon: PU de Lyon. Kuhn, Markus (2009). “Film Narratology: Who Tells? Who Shows? Who Focalizes? Narrative Mediation in Self-Reflexive Fiction Films.” P. Hühn et al. (eds). Point of View, Perspective, and Focalization: Modeling Mediacy in Narrative. Berlin: de Gruyter, 259–78. Liptay, Fabienne & Yvonne Wolf, eds. (2005). Was stimmt denn jetzt? Unzuverlässiges Erzählen in Literatur und Film. München: edition text + kritik. Lothe, Jakob (2000). Narrative in Fiction and Film. Oxford: Oxford UP. Metz, Christian (1966). “La grande syntagmatique du film narratif.” Communications No 8, 120–24. – ([1968] 1974). Film Language: A Semiotics of the Cinema. New York: Oxford UP. Panofsky, Erwin ([1937] 1993). Die ideologischen Vorläufer des Rolls-Royce-Kühlers & Stil und Medium im Film. Frankfurt a.M.: Campus, 17–48. Schlickers, Sabine (1997). Verfilmtes Erzählen: Narratologisch-komparative Untersu­ chung zu ‘El beso de la mujer araña’ (Manuel Puig/Héctor Babenco) und ‘Cróni­ ca de una muerte anunciada’ (Gabriel Garcia Márquez/Fraqncesco Rosi). Frank­ furt a.M.: Vervuert. – (2009). “Focalization, Ocularization and Auricularization in Film and Literature.” P. Hühn et al. (eds). Point of View, Perspective, and Focalization: Modeling Medicy in Narrative. Berlin: de Gruyter, 243–58. Scholes, Robert (1985). “Narration and Narrativity in Film.” G. Mast et al. (eds). Film Theory and Criticism. New York: Oxford UP, 390–403. Schweinitz, Jörg (1999). “Zur Erzählforschung in der Filmwissenschaft.” E. Lämmert (ed). Die erzählerische Dimension: eine Gemeinsamkeit der Künste. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 73–87. Tomasulo, Frank P. (1986). “Narrate and Describe? Point of View and Narrative Voice Citizen Kane’s Thatcher Sequence.” Wild Angle 8.3/4, 45–52. Völker, Katrin (1999). Der erzählte Blick. Eine vergleichende Analyse von Henry James’ ‘The Portrait of a Lady’ und Jane Campions filmischer Adaption. M.A.Hausarbeit U of Hamburg.

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5.2 Further Reading
Bach, Manuela (1999). “Dead Men―Dead Narrators: Überlegungen zu Erzählern und Subjektivität im Film.” W. Grünzweig & A. Solbach (eds). Grenzüberschreitun­ gen: Narratologie im Kontext / Transcending Boundaries: Narratology in Context. Tübingen: Gunter Narr, 231–46. Cordes, Stefan (1997). Filmerzählung und Filmerlebnis: Zur rezeptionsorientierten Analyse narrativer Konstruktionsformen im Spielfilm. Münster: Lit Verlag. Fleishman, Avrom (1992). Narrated Films. Storytelling Situations in Cinema History. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Griem, Julika & Eckhart Voigts-Virchow (2002). “Filmnarratologie: Grundlagen, Ten­ denzen und Beispielanalysen.” V. Nünning & A. Nünning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 155–83. Hurst, Matthias (1996). Erzählsituationen in Literatur und Film. Ein Modell zur ver­ gleichenden Analyse von literarischen Texten und filmischen Adaptionen. Tübin­ gen: Niemeyer. – (2001). “Mittelbarkeit, Perspektive, Subjektivität: Über das narrative Potential des Spielfilms.” J. Helbig (ed). “Camera doesn’t lie”: Spielarten erzählerischer Unzu­ verlässigkeit im Film. Trier: WVT, 233–53. Kozloff, Sarah (1988). Invisible Storytellers. Voice-over Narration in American Fiction Film. Berkeley: U of California P. Ryan, Marie Laure (2005). “On the Theoretical Foundations of Transmedial Nar­ ratology.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–23. Tolton, C. D. E. (1984). “Narration in Film and Prose Fiction: A Mise au point.” Uni­ versity of Toronto Quarterly 53, 264–82. Wilson, George M. ([1988] 1992). Narration in Light. Studies in Cinematic Point of View. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP.

Narration in Poetry and Drama
Peter Hühn & Roy Sommer 1 Definition Narration as a communicative act in which a chain of happenings is meaningfully structured and transmitted in a particular medium and from a particular point of view underlies not only narrative fiction proper but also poems and plays in that they, too, represent temporally organized sequences and thus relate “stories,” albeit with certain genrespecific differences, necessarily mediating them in the manner of presentation. Lyric poetry in the strict sense (and not only obviously narrative poetry like ballads or verse romances) typically features strings of primarily mental or psychological happenings perceived through the consciousness of single speakers and articulated from their position. Drama enacts strings of happenings with actors in live performance, the presentation of which, though typically devoid of any overt present­ ing agency, is mediated e.g. through selection, segmentation and ar­ rangement. Thanks to these features characteristic of narra-tive, lyric poems as well as plays performed on the stage can be profitably analyzed with the transgeneric application of narratological categories, though with poetry the applicability of the notion of story and with drama that of mediation seems to be in question. 2 Explication Transgeneric narratology proceeds from the assumption that narra­ tology’s highly differentiated system of categories can be applied to the analysis of both poems and plays, possibly opening the way to a more precise definition of their respective generic specificity, even though (lyric) poems do not seem to tell stories and stories in dramas do not seem to be mediated (but presented directly). As far as poetry is con­ cerned, the following argument concentrates on lyric poetry in the nar­ row sense: that narratological categories are generally applicable to narrative verse is obvious.

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If narration is defined as the representation of chains of happenings in a medium by a mediating agent, then the three traditional genres, prose fiction, poetry (Schönert 2004) and drama, can be differentiated semiotically by the extent to which they utilize the range of possible modes and levels of mediation ( mediacy and narrative mediation). While novels, short stories, etc. typically make use of all available levels and modes of mediation (superordinate narrator, subordinate character’s utterance [→ character], various modes of → focalization), lyric and dramatic texts can be reconstructed as reduced forms in which the range of instances of mediation varies in each case. Seen in this way, lyric texts in the narrower sense (i.e. not just verse narratives or ballads) are distinguished by a characteristic variability in the extent to which they use the range of levels and modes of mediation. Like prose narratives, they can instantiate the two fundamental constituents of the narrative process, temporal sequentiality and mediation, equally well. Similarly to the enacted utterances of characters in dramatic texts, how­ ever, they can also seemingly efface the narrator’s level and create the impression of performative immediacy of speaking. As a result, the speaker’s voice is felt to emanate from simultaneously occurring experience and speech. What a narratological approach to poetry is able to provide are a specific method of analyzing the sequential structure as well as a more precise instrument for differentiating the levels and modes of mediation in lyric poems (both of which in conventional manuals of poetry analysis are usually lacking). In dramatic texts in performance, on the other hand, the sequence of happenings is presented directly, corporeally, in the form of live char­ acters interacting and communicating on stage, without an overt medi­ ator (such as a → narrator) and seemingly without any mediation what­ soever. Nevertheless, selection, segmentation, combination and focus of the scenes presented imply the existence of a superordinate mediat­ ing instance (Jahn 2001; Weidle 2009) or, in other terms, of the ab­ stract author (→ implied author). In addition, narrative elements and structures do normally occur at the intradiegetic level of the characters’ utterances, but can also be introduced at the extradiegetic level, such as prologues and epilogues and comments by stage managers or overt nar­ rators. A narratological approach to drama can systematically account for the use of such narrative devices and offer new perspectives on the relationship between dialogue and stage directions and the status of the secondary text (Fludernik 2008; Nünning & Sommer 2008). A transgeneric narratology is, however, by no means restricted to applying narrative theories and terminologies to other genres for analytical purposes. This approach may have repercussions on classical

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narratology itself in that it highlights the need to reconsider current the­ ories of narrative with their traditional focus on narrative fiction by emphasizing the performative aspects of storytelling, the realization or transmission of narrative content in different media (→ narration in various media), and the cognitive activities involved in narrative com­ prehension. 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Dimensions of the Transgeneric Approach to Poetry The following survey focuses specifically on lyric rather than on nar­ rative poetry such as ballads, verse narratives or verse romances. The latter lend themselves readily to the concepts generally employed for prose fiction, albeit with certain differences like the added structuring device of versification (Kinney 1992; McHale 2005). A transgeneric application of narratology to lyric poetry is of relatively recent vintage, the earliest examples dating back only to the 1980s. For the following discussion, such approaches will be ordered according to the dimen­ sion(s) of the poem qua narrative text to which narratological categories are applied. These basic dimensions are the levels of the happen­ ings and of their mediation in the form of the poetic text, in particular the modality of its mediation and the organization of its sequential structure, as well as the act and process of articulation. According to a traditional view, which remains widespread even today, the generic specificity of lyric poetry as distinct from the epic and dramatic genres is grounded in its particular form of representation or mediation: its supposedly unmediated quality—direct, unfiltered communication of experience by an author identified with a speaker as the subject of this experience. It is this traditional notion of poetic im­ mediate subjectivity that several early narratological approaches to lyr­ ic poetry address and try to remedy. Bernhart (1993: 366–68) draws on Stanzel’s distinction between dramatized and withdrawn narrators (i.e. between overt and covert narration) to describe two degrees of the per­ ceptibility of mediation in poetry, the effect of which is either to fore­ ground mediation or to background the mediator and produce the illu­ sion of immediacy. The merit of Bernhart’s argument is its insistence on the ineluctably mediate quality of poetry and on the existence, as in fiction, of an organizing and shaping consciousness, whether visible or invisible. Owing to his adoption of Stanzel’s one-dimensional model­ ing of mediacy, however, Bernhart refers merely to the variable per­ ceptibility of the narrator, neglecting other modes of mediating such as

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the various facets of focalization (e.g. perceptual, psychological or ideological). Seemann (1984: 535–38), likewise rejecting the notion of po­ etic immediacy, derives a much more differentiated hierarchy of levels of mediation from narrative and drama theory. He distinguishes five “levels of communication”: (a) characters; (b) narrator/speaker; (c) im­ plied author; (d) author as the creator of the work in question; (e) au­ thor as a biographical person. He points out that the “lowest” level, the utterances of characters, is often unrealized in poetry and that the “highest” level, the real author (→ author), is usually irrelevant for un­ derstanding a work. Of particular interest is his distinction between speaker and implied author, based on textual signals in the composition of the work, opening the way to clearer differentiations in the analysis of → perspective, not only in satiric verse and dramatic monologues, but more generally, even in cases where these levels appear to collapse into one another. In a similar manner, Kraan (1991) distinguishes em­ pirical author, implied author and what he calls “lyric subject” (with a certain affinity to the German concept of lyrisches Ich / “lyrical I”), stressing the historical variability in the distinctness of these three me­ diators, e.g. their implicit identity in Romanticism or clear differentiation in modernism (222–23). Subsequent and more comprehensive proposals add further specifications to such approaches to modeling mediation in lyric poetry by drawing more extensively on the particularly elaborate inventory of terms offered by narrative theory. Dismissing conventional views of the all-embracing emotionality and self-contained artificiality of poetry that preclude rational analysis, Müller-Zettelmann (2002: 130–31) pro­ grammatically advocates a systematic transfer of the results of narra­ tology to raise the theoretical level both of reflection on poetry and of poetry criticism (139−48). As for the dimension of mediation, she con­ centrates on one singular aspect of lyric poetry: its generic subjectivity (142–44), which she identifies as part of the larger phenomenon of “aesthetic illusion” (→ illusion) and analyzes (drawing on Wolf 1998) as the intended effect of various techniques simulating the general position-boundedness of human experience as manifest in the spatial, temporal, cognitive, emotional and ideological restriction of perception and consciousness. This effect of aesthetic illusion, she argues, is fur­ ther heightened by self-referential artificiality in poems where the speaker presents himself as a creative poet. In Genette’s terms, this phenomenon could be classified as the coincidence of speaker’s voice with internal focalization and simultaneous narration. Despite her ini­ tial comprehensive claim, Müller-Zettelmann refrains from exploring the wide range of poetic mediation with the various possible constella­

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tions of voice, focalization and time of narration, singling out one spe­ cial albeit significant case: generic subjectivity. A systematic all-encompassing application of narratology, differen­ tiating two basic aspects of mediation, agents or instances and levels of mediation and types of perspective, is outlined by Hühn & Schönert (2002: 295−98) and Hühn (2004: 147−51). Firstly, the four agents located on four hierarchical levels largely coincide with those named by Seemann and Kraan: biographical author; abstract (or implied) author; speaker/narrator; protagonist or character in the happenings. Secondly, the two types or modes of perspective are voice (a narrator’s or a char­ acter’s verbal utterance, their language) and focalization (the position that determines perception and cognition, the deictic center of the per­ ceptual, cognitive, psychological and ideological focus on the happen­ ings). For the notoriously tricky problem of distinguishing speaker and abstract author and of relating focalization to agent (e.g. whether to speaker or character), they introduce the operation of “attribution” per­ formed by the reader in accordance with his particular understanding of the text. These two sets of differential categories, in conjunction with the operation of attribution, allow for a more precise analysis of lyric poems in their individual, historical and cultural variations than do tra­ ditional methods. Hence the seemingly unmediated self-expression of the poet in a simultaneously ongoing experience characteristic of many Romantic poems, for example, can be re-described as the manipulated collapse of the agents/instances and levels of protagonist, speaker and author as well as the contrived congruence of voice and focalization, thus creating the effect of unmediated subjectivity. The other dimension of the poetic text, sequentiality, has hitherto been widely neglected in traditional approaches to poetry analysis, even though it constitutes a central part of a poem’s meaning. For the transgeneric approach to poetry, investigation of this dimension in its temporal organization is essential, since it forms the basis for the ap­ plication of narratology in the first place. Contrary to mediation with the highly differentiated system of relevant categories already developed by narratology, the dimension of sequentiality lacks a broadly ac­ cepted narratological terminology. Because of this, critics are left to develop categories of their own or to draw on a variety of sources from elsewhere. Stillinger (1985: 98–9) sketches five concrete types of plot in Ro­ mantic poetry: conflict between binary forces (mostly of a mental kind) and its resolution; journeys or quests; confrontation between imagina­ tion and reality with resultant disillusionment; violation and its con­ sequences; competition between spatial divisions. From these he ab­

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stracts two general patterns: (a) progress from a state of equilibrium to disturbance to a final resolution; (b) encounter of a protagonist’s desire or goal with resistance and its resolution. This is an early and rudi­ mentary attempt, loosely inspired by action models applied to prose fiction (Propp, Bremond), in need of further refinement and adaptation. Weststeijn (1989), in another early proposal, advocates application of the concept of plot to lyric poems and provides a demonstration, high­ lighting two features specific to poetry: the preference for mental ac­ tions and the omission (deliberate or not) of the social, spatial and tem­ poral particulars of situation, character and action. Müller-Zettelmann (2002: 133–35), in a programmatic plea for the general transfer of nar­ ratological categories to poetry analysis, also mentions these two fea­ tures, but without further specification, merely referring to the applicability of frame (or schema) theory (149–50). This same concept was earlier proposed by Semino (1995) as a practical instrument for the de­ tailed analysis of poetry, without, however, linking it to narrative. Schema theory, derived from cognitive psychology, explains the reader’s comprehension of texts as an operation of activating and applying relevant prior knowledge. According to this theory, knowledge is shown to be organized into patterns called schemata: flexible and dy­ namic structures which texts may confirm or modify in the course of “schema reinforcement” and “schema refreshment” respectively (85– 7). The concept of schema facilitates precise description of the sequen­ tial dimension of poetic texts. A systematic approach to modeling sequentiality combining schema theory with Lotman’s concept of sujet (in the sense of transgression of a boundary or deviation from a norm) is put forward by Hühn & Schönert (2002), Hühn (2004, 2005) and Hühn & Kiefer (2005). The notion of cognitive schemata, especially in the further distinction between frames (stereotypical knowledge about settings, situations and themes) and scripts (knowledge about stereotyped series of actions and processes), allows for differentiated analysis of the sequential structure of poems and their thematic significance with direct reference to the cultural, social and historical context, since such → schemata are al­ ways formed by and dependent on experience within a particular society and culture. Because of the poetic convention of brevity, abstract­ ness and situational and personal indeterminacy, poems are usually less circumstantial than prose fiction in presenting textual triggers for activating frames and scripts, thus requiring greater effort on the reader’s part to infer the relevant schemata. Combining schema theory with Lot­ man’s model provides a means for identifying the turning point in a poem, a decisive or merely inferable change from one state (attitude,

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view, emotion, etc.) to another signaled by deviation from the conven­ tional and predictable pattern of one or more schemata which consti­ tutes the “point” of the text, its raison d’être (→ tellability). Events are ascribed to a figure, an agent who undergoes a decisive change. Ac­ cording to the level of the poetic text at which the figure is located and at which the decisive turn takes place, three basic event types or planes of eventfulness can be distinguished (Hühn & Kiefer 2005: 7, 246–51): (a) “events in the happenings,” ascribed to storyworld incidents with the protagonist or persona as agent; (b) “presentation events,” located at the discourse level with the speaker/narrator as agent enacting a “story of narration”; in addition, “mediation events” can be marked off as exceptional variants of the presentation event in cases where the de­ cisive change is brought about by a shift in the manner of mediation, e.g. by modification or replacement of schemata, attributable not to the speaker but to the abstract author (as when the speaker’s lament about his artistic sterility is mediated in the form of a perfect poem); (c) “re­ ception events,” which take place during the reading process with the reader as agent in cases when neither the protagonist nor the speaker is willing or able to undergo a (necessary or desirable) change, an event the reader is meant to perform vicariously, as in dramatic monologues (→ event and eventfulness). Analysis of poetry in English (Hühn 2005: 167–68; Hühn & Kiefer 2005: 233–35) and in German (Schönert et al. 2007: 311–13) bears out a number of characteristic tendencies in which narration in lyric poems seems to differ from that in novels and stories. To name just one such tendency, there is a preference (in certain periods) for stories in which simultaneous narration aspires to merge with the presentation event: the speaker’s process of reflection and articulation is performed in the present, while moving toward a decisive turn in his attitude or insight. This presentation event is achieved at the very end of the poem or, more characteristically, the poem breaks off before it is achieved, the change being too difficult to bring about or shied away from because of the risks involved. To negotiate this problematic transition, the speaker often narrates the further movement prospectively. In conclusion, the claim formulated in some programmatic state­ ments that the transfer of narratological concepts to poetry will contrib­ ute to a differentiated theory of poetry (Müller-Zettelmann 2000: 4; Hühn & Schönert 2002: 287–88) has yet to bear its full fruit. Even so, this transgeneric thrust is already enriching the analysis of poetry and facilitating investigation of the specific relations between poems and their cultural and historical contexts.

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3.2 Dimensions of the Transgeneric Approach to Drama Most categories commonly used for the analysis of narrative fiction can equally be applied to drama, as Richardson (2007: 142–51) argues convincingly. This is valid for representations of character, plot, begin­ nings and endings, time and space as well as for fictional causality (defined by Richardson as the “canon of probability” [150] to which plays and novels adhere), narrative framing and narration. Whereas plot, beginnings and endings and character also belong to the tradition­ al categories of drama criticism, the relevance of concepts of narrative mediation and their applicability in a transgeneric context is currently under debate. Narratological approaches to drama routinely focus on choric speeches, prologues and messengers, onstage audiences and commentators, instances of character narration and of epic narrators such as the stage manager in Wilder’s Our Town, on frame narratives and embed­ ded narratives, monologues, soliloquies, asides, audience address, selfreflective or meta-dramatic comments, instances of → metalepsis as well as on self-referential techniques such as the play-within-the-play. Recent research also suggests a distinction between mimetic and die­ getic → narrativity (Nünning & Sommer 2008: 337–39) and combines the analysis of narration in drama with performative approaches to the study of discourse in narrative fiction (Fludernik 2008: 367–69). Historically, there has been a tendency in drama criticism to regard epic elements and violation of the Aristotelian unities which frequently went along with them as “undramatic” and to consider them merely as a way to overcome the technical limitations of stage design (Delius 1877). This view was challenged radically by 20th-century playwrights such as Beckett and, of course, Brecht’s programmatic use of alienating techniques―frequently narrative or meta-dramatic in nature―which defined his internationally acclaimed notion of an epic theater. Throughout the 20th century, narrative experiments in drama have con­ tributed to the emergence of a canon of plays (including Brecht’s Caucasian Chalk Circle, Williams’s The Glass Menagerie and Shaf­ fer’s Amadeus) routinely quoted in narratological accounts of drama. The development of drama and theater in the second half of the 20th century, however, should not be reduced to an increased awareness of its narrativity or to self-reflective games with narrative and dramatic conventions: there is a broad variety of new developments including improvised forms of performance, the fusion of theater with other genres, media and technologies, and the emergence of a “post-dramat-

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ic” theater which abandons conventional story-based and character-ori­ ented dramaturgy (Lehmann 1999). The frequent occurrence of narrative or epic elements in performed or presented narratives (theater or film) led Chatman (1990) to question the strict separation of mimesis and diegesis favored by Genette. In­ stead of identifying the former with showing and preserving the latter for the verbal mediation of narrative content, Chatman points to the fact that both modes (showing and telling) can be used to transmit a story. Thus, a narrator might present a story “through a teller or a shower or some combination of both” (113). In order to avoid termino­ logical confusion, Chatman suggests the new umbrella term “presenter” to designate his broader conception of narrator which subsumes both the narrator in Genette’s narrower sense of verbal narration by an­ thropomorphic narrating instances (a notion compatible with Stanzel’s definition of mediacy as the sine qua non of fictional narration), on the one hand, and “a kind of narration that is not performed by a recogniz­ ably human agency” (115), on the other. The latter type of narrator may be said to “tell” (or “show” or “present”) the majority of enacted stories on stage and screen. Chatman’s main argument in favor of his ap­ proach (besides terminological clarity) is theoretical consistency: “Once we define narrative as the composite of story and discourse (on the basis of its unique double chronology), then logically, at least, nar­ ratives can be said to be actualizable on the stage or in other iconic me­ dia” (114). This idea is further developed by Jahn (2001), who emphasizes the diegetic nature of stage directions and compares the multiple levels of communication within dramatic texts with narrative embedding in the novel. He also modifies Chatman’s taxonomy of text types (1990: 115) by introducing a “playscript mode” (to which he assigns all utterances belonging to the “secondary text”) and by replacing Chatman’s subdi­ vision of “diegetic” and “mimetic” with the distinction between “writ­ ten/printed” and “performed” narratives. More recently, Nünning & Sommer (2008) have argued that plays make acts of (intradiegetic) storytelling theatrical by representing acts of character narration, lead­ ing them to propose a distinction between different degrees of diegetic narrativity in narratives that extend across the traditional generic boundaries (thus a memory play may have a high degree of diegetic narrativity, while modernist novels preoccupied with the representation of consciousness and processes of perception may be said to have a low degree of either mimetic or diegetic narrativity). Another direction is taken by Fludernik (2008), whose notion of experientiality paves the way for a cognitive narratological approach to drama. She revises the

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standard narratological model of communication in fictional narrative (based on the distinction between story level and discourse level) by adding a third level, corresponding to performance or enactment in or­ der to highlight the specific circumstances in which storytelling occurs: “In drama, there is a real performance involving actors; in a perform­ ance of narrative, the performer and audience ‘take over’ the roles of narrator and narratee. What the model allows one to argue is that in drama, the narratorial level is optional and the performative level is constitutive, whereas in epic narrative, it is the performance level that is optional” (365). Whereas narratologists from Chatman and Richardson to Jahn and Fludernik have repeatedly emphasized the narrativity of drama from a variety of perspectives, there are also critical voices rejecting the idea of a narratology of drama (or at least parts of it). Referring to Stanzel’s notion of mediacy, Rajewsky (2007: 58) insists on the distinction between narrative communication in the novel and non-mediated com­ munication in drama, thus excluding the possibility of heterodiegetic narration on the stage (where, she argues, discourse is always produced by participants of the storyworld). This view is supported by SchenkHaupt (2007: 30), who maintains that “extradiegetic narration is im­ possible in dramatic writing.” Proponents of a narratology of drama, however, generally agree that both Genette’s notion of diegetic narration as a verbal transmission of narrative content and Stanzel’s insistence on mediacy as a prerequisite of narrative are too restrictive, proceeding, as they do, from the normative assumption (based on normative genre theory) that there is no nar­ rative discourse in drama. There are several more recent (and more convincing) alternatives to Genette’s and Stanzel’s definitions of nar­ rative available, including Chatman’s revision of Genette’s concept and Jahn’s subsequent modification of Chatman, Ryan’s transgeneric and transmedial definitions of narrative as a “cognitive template” (Ryan 2005; Nünning & Sommer 2008: 333), or Fludernik’s “natural” narra­ tology, based on her definitions of narrativity and experientiality. Therefore, attempts to prove transgeneric narratology wrong by point­ ing out its incompatibility with Genette (Schenk-Haupt 2007: 31–2) or Stanzel (Rajewsky 2007: 58) can hardly be convincing. SchenkHaupt’s conclusion that there “is no direct extradiegetic communica­ tion in dramatic writing―authorial characters, embedded stories, epic devices, and the quirky expansion of stage directions merely create the aesthetic illusion of an extradiegetic agent speaking” (2007: 37) is val­ id for all narratological concepts: they all refer to effects produced by verbal, visual or auditive signs.

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Rajewsky (2007) further suggests that a transgeneric and transmedi­ al narratology should not try to level the differences between the vari­ ous media in which stories can be transmitted. For this reason, she re­ jects Jahn’s argument that unperformable, unrealizable stage directions can be regarded as evidence of a heterodiegetic narrating instance: since they cannot be performed, they highlight generic conventions and emphasize the distinctions between narrative fiction and narrative drama which transgeneric narratology seeks to overcome (61). SchenkHaupt (2007) offers a similar argument: “If we accepted that ... the secondary text took over a narrative, mediating function, this would eventually lead to a confusion of generic boundaries” (36). The dis­ agreement seems to be partly due to the fact that the discussion of the relationship between primary and secondary text is merged with the text vs. performance debate and/or with generic issues. Ultimately, the existence (or absence) of a narrating instance in drama is a matter of perspective: it depends both on the critic’s chosen theoretical framework (Genette/Stanzel vs. Chatman/Jahn/Ryan/Fludernik) and on his or her main research interests (narrative vs. genres/media). Admittedly, narratology sometimes tends to produce counter-intuitive concepts, and a play’s “superordinate narrative agent” (Jahn 2001: 672) or “superordinate narrative system” (Weidle 2009) may easily fall into that category for critics more concerned with per­ formance and performativity. Transgeneric narratology is still in its in­ fancy, however, and if the current cognitive approaches are pursued further, a truly transmedial and interdisciplinary theory of storytelling and narrative comprehension might be developed which would not only help to solve some of the problems in classical genre theory, but also allow for a better understanding of the anthropological function of nar­ rative in literary and in non-literary discourses. 4 Topics for Further Investigation 4.1 Topics for Further Investigation: Poetry The relation of the various event types with different historical epochs and with different cultures and cultural traditions; comparison between poetry and prose fiction in their various genres with respect to the schemata used, event types and the degree of realization of events.

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4.2 Topics for Further Investigation: Drama The compatibility or mutual dependency of transgeneric and transmedi­ al theories of narrative; a comparative discussion of diegetic narrativity in dramas, play texts and performances; a revision of structuralist nar­ ratological approaches to drama from a cognitive and pragmatic/se­ mantic perspective. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited: Poetry
Bernhart, Wolfgang (1993). “Überlegungen zur Lyriktheorie aus erzähltheoretischer Sicht.” H. Foltinek et al. (eds). Tales and ‘their telling difference’: Festschrift für Franz K. Stanzel. Heidelberg: Winter, 359–75. Hühn, Peter (2004). “Transgeneric Narratology: Applications to Lyric Poetry.” J. Pier (ed). The Dynamics of Narrative Form. Berlin: de Gruyter, 139–58. – (2005). “Plotting the Lyric: Forms of Narration in Poetry.” E. Müller-Zettelmann & M. Rubik (eds). Theory into Poetry. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 147–72. – & Jens Kiefer (2005). The Narratological Analysis of Lyric Poetry: Studies in Eng­ lish Poetry from the 16th to the 20th Century. Berlin: de Gruyter. – & Jörg Schönert (2002). “Zur narratologischen Analyse von Lyrik.” Poetica 34, 287–305. Kinney, Clare R. (1992). Strategies of Poetic Narrative: Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, Eliot. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Kraan, Menno (1991). “Towards a Model of Lyric Communication: Some Historical and Theoretical Remarks.” Russian Literature 30, 199–230. McHale, Brian (2005). “Narrative in Poetry.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 356−58. Müller-Zettelmann, Eva (2000). Lyrik und Metalyrik: Theorie einer Gattung und ihrer Selbstbespiegelung anhand von Beispielen aus der englisch- und deutschsprachi­ gen Dichtkunst. Heidelberg: Winter. – (2002). “Lyrik und Narratologie.” A. Nünning & V. Nünning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 129–53. Schönert, Jörg (2004). “Normative Vorgaben als ‘Theorie der Lyrik’? Vorschläge zu einer texttheoretischen Revision.” G. Frank & W. Lukas (eds). Norm―Grenze―Abweichung. Kultursemiotische Studien zu Literatur, Medien und Wirtschaft. Michael Titzmann zum 60. Geburtstag. Passau: Stutz, 303–18. – et al. (2007). Lyrik und Narratologie: Text-Analysen zu deutschsprachigen Gedichten vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert. Berlin: de Gruyter. Seemann, Klaus Dieter (1984). “Die Kommunikationsstruktur im lyrischen Gedicht.” W. Schmid & R. Döring-Smirnov (eds). Text, Symbol, Weltmodell: Johannes Holthusen zum 60. Geburtstag. München: Sager, 533–54. Semino, Elena (1995). “Schema theory and the analysis of text worlds in poetry.” Lan­ guage and Literature 4, 79–108.

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Stillinger, Jack (1985). “The Plots of Romantic Poetry.” College Literature 12, 95–112. Weststeijn, Willem G. (1989). “Plot Structure in Lyric Poetry: An Analysis of Three Exile Poems by Aleksandr Puškin.” Russian Literature 26, 509–22. Wolf, Werner (1998). “Aesthetic Illusion in Lyric Poetry?” Poetica 30, 18−56.

5.2 Further Reading: Poetry
Adam, Jean-Michel (2002). “Conditions et degrés de narrativation du poème.” Degrés: Revue de Synthèse à Orientation Sémiologique 111, a 1–a 26. Kafalenos, Emma (2006). Narrative Causalities. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 157−78. McHale, Brian (2009). “Beginning to Think about Narrative in Poetry.” Narrative 17, 11–27. Schönert, Jörg (2008). “Auteur empirique, auteur implicite et moi lyrique.” J. Pier (ed). Théorie du récit. L’apport de la recherche allemande. Villeneuve d’Asqc: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 84–96. Semino, Elena (1997). Language and World Creation in Poems and Other Texts. Lon­ don: Longman. Simon, Ralf (2004). “Handlungstheorie des Lyrischen: mit Analysen zu Hölderlins Heidelberg, Mörikes Die schöne Buche und Georges Wir werden heute nicht zum garten gehen.” Rhetorik: Ein internationales Jahrbuch 23, 50−80.

5.3 Works Cited: Drama
Chatman, Seymour (1990). Coming to Terms: The Rhetoric of Narrative Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Delius, Nikolaus (1877). “Die epischen Elemente in Shakespeare’s Dramen.” Shakespeare-Jahrbuch 12, 1–28. Fludernik, Monika (2008). “Narrative and Drama.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 353–81. Jahn, Manfred (2001). “Narrative Voice and Agency in Drama: Aspects of a Narrato­ logy of Drama.” New Literary History 32, 659–79. Lehmann, Hans-Thies ([1999] 2001). Postdramatisches Theater. Frankfurt a.M.: Ver­ lag der Autoren. Nünning, Ansgar & Roy Sommer (2008). “Diegetic and Mimetic Narrativity: Some Further Steps towards a Narratology of Drama.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 329–52. Rajewsky, Irina O. (2007). “Von Erzählern, die (nichts) vermitteln: Überlegungen zu grundlegenden Annahmen der Dramentheorie im Kontext einer transmedialen Nar­ ratologie.” Zeitschrift für französische Sprache und Literatur 117, 25–68. Richardson, Brian (2007). “Drama and Narrative.” D. Herman (ed). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 142–55. Ryan, Marie-Laure (2005). “On the Theoretical Foundations of Transmedial Narrato­ logy.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism: Mediality, Dis­ ciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–23. Schenk-Haupt, Stefan (2007). “Narrativity in Dramatic Writing: Towards a General Theory of Genres.” Anglistik 18.2, 25–42.

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Weidle, Roland (2009). “Organizing the Perspectives: Focalization and the Superordin­ ate Narrative System in Drama.” P. Hühn et al. (eds). Point of View, Perspective, and Focalization. Modeling Mediation in Narrative. Berlin: de Gruyter, 221–42.

5.4 Further Reading: Drama
de Jong, Irene J. F. (1991). Narrative in Drama: The Art of the Euripidean Messenger Speech. Leiden: Brill. Elam, Keir (1980). The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama. London: Methuen. Garner, Stanton B. (1989). The Absent Voice: Narrative Comprehension in the Theater. Urbana: U of Illinois P. Hauthal, Janine (2008). Metadrama und (Text-)Theatralität: (Selbst-)Reflexionen einer intermedialen literarischen Gattung am Beispiel englischer und nordamerikanischer Meta- und Postdramatik. Trier: WVT. Korthals, Holger (2003). Zwischen Drama und Erzählung: Ein Beitrag zur Theorie geschehensdarstellender Literatur. Berlin: Schmidt. Morrison, Kristin (1983). Canters and Chronicles: The Use of Narrative in the Plays of Samuel Beckett and Harold Pinter. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Pavel, Thomas G. (1985). The Poetics of Plot: The Case of English Renaissance Drama. Manchester: Manchester UP. Pfister, Manfred ([1977] 1988). The Theory and Analysis of Drama. Cambridge: Cam­ bridge UP. Ryan, Marie-Laure, ed. (2004). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Sommer, Roy (2005). “Drama and Narrative.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge En­ cyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 119–24.

Narration in Various Disciplines
Norbert Meuter 1 Definition Whenever we discuss the meaning and function of narrative in the academic disciplines, we need to distinguish between two main aspects. On the one hand, narratives are the subject area, or at least an important issue among others, in many disciplines, without this being expli­ citly thematized in every case. Here, one would have to distinguish whether these disciplines find their “narrative objects” more or less ready-made, or whether they themselves create these totally or at least partially. On the other hand, implicit references to narratives have sparked a growing tendency towards explicit reflection upon various aspects of narration. In conjunction with this reflection, the phenomenon of → narrativity itself is thematized, and with it content- or methodology-oriented concepts of narrativity are developed within the varied frameworks of the disciplines in question. 2 Explication Narrative as a phenomenon has a pivotal role in literary studies and history, for narratives have always formed a key subject of these dis­ ciplines. In the field of literature, narrative objects are fully formed from the outset (at least if one excludes interpretation and historical contextualization from the concept of the literary text), whereas the historical disciplines need to construct these objects, if not completely, then at least to a large extent. Accordingly, it is in these two disciplines that we find the first fundamental theoretical discussions of the concept of narrativity, making them the leading disciplines in the study of nar­ rativity. Further important impulses have come from psychology, philo­ sophy and the philosophy of science. Even beyond these disciplines, we not only find narrative objects which are to a large extent unspe­ cified, but also explicit content- and methodology-oriented discussions of narrative in sociology, theology, pedagogy, ethics, psychoanalysis, art, and art history as well as law studies (Mitchell ed. 1981; Polking­

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horne 1988; Nash ed. 1990; Müller-Funk 2002). It is therefore justified to speak of a “narrative turn” (Kreiswirth 2005) with its underlying assumption that the narrative paradigm may serve to reformulate the scientific and rational nature specific to the humanities (Meuter 2004). Today, the varied approaches to the theory of narrative in the humanities constitute the interdisciplinary study of narratology (Prince 1997; Phelan & Rabinowitz eds. 2005; Herman et al. eds. 2005; Kindt & Müller eds. 2003). In the natural sciences, however, the study of → narratology remains to a large extent a desideratum. So far, it is only in medicine that rudimentary attempts have been made; however, these concern aspects of the doctor-patient relationship rather than the core problems of narrative. Systems theory might prove an innovative ap­ proach in that it presupposes such a high level of abstraction as to en­ able a shared sphere of reflection for both the natural sciences and the humanities. 3 Concepts and their History 3.1 Literary Studies Literary studies deserve to be called the leading discipline in the study of narrative, with Aristotle’s Poetics constituting a seminal source. The triadic structure of classical tragedy, based on the terms “beginning,” “middle” and “end,” can be applied to any kind of narratable material (Straub 1998). Significant beginning- and end-markers make the totality (holos) of the story emerge from the sequence of experiences. A story only becomes meaningful through the selection and combination of happenings and actions (mythos). These do not follow one upon the other in a random sequence or simply “one after the other” (meta), but rather “one out of the other” (dia), so that an intrinsic connection is made between them. Seen as a whole, there emerges a suspenseful tra­ jectory or development from beginning to end with one or more disrup­ tions and moderate or radical changes in direction (peripeteia). For Aristotle, a narrative is constituted by establishing a meaningful, cohesive, probable, and possibly even necessary order out of dissonant, fragmented, merely episodic, accidental or contingent elements (Halli­ well 1987; Ricœur 1983). Thus, any sequence of actions and happen­ ings which is discernible as a unit and has a temporal organization as well as being perceived as meaningful can be called a narrative. In the 20th century, the German hermeneutic tradition, harking back to Aristotle, formulates “elements of narration” (Bauformen des Erzählens, Lämmert 1955) which are then reformulated as a general

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“theory of narration” (Theorie des Erzählens, Stanzel 1979). The focus is on the relationship between narration and temporality, on the signi­ ficance and function of the → narrator, and on inquiries into the ele­ ments and structures of the narrative (Martínez & Scheffel 1999). (Re­ garding other traditions, e.g. formalist or structuralist, cf. Herman 1999; Nünning 2003.) In the course of this development, narrative theorists in literary studies have increasingly had to grapple with the fact that the authors of Modernism and Postmodernism tend to break down the classic Aristotelian structures in order to construct “anti-narratives.” This tend­ ency manifests itself for example in the refusal to meet such structural requirements as including a beginning and an end except on a purely formal level and, more importantly, in the destruction of a suspenseful fable (plot, story, intrigue) with a clear climax or anti-climax. In the wake of this development, the sovereignty of the narrator, even of the → author (Foucault 1969), is regarded as increasingly problematic. Still, much controversy surrounds the debate as to whether the post­ modern practice of narration really constitutes the demise of the Aristotelian theoretical tradition or whether it is simply an extension and reformation of this tradition (Gibson 1996; Currie 1998). 3.2 The Arts In the context of the arts, the study of narrativity can turn to Lessing’s famous Laocoön (1766). According to the definition proposed by this essay for demarcating the fine arts from the literary arts (→ narration in various media), painting and sculpture are marked by spatiality and synchronicity, whereas temporality and diachronicity are the features of poetry. The simultaneous arrangement of shapes and colors depicts objects or bodies, while the successive arrangement of articulated sounds results in the narration of actions. The visual arts can mediate actions only indirectly through the depiction of bodies, whereas in po­ etry a body can be portrayed only through the narration of actions. Ac­ cording to Lessing, the painter or sculptor must therefore find the “pregnant moment” that condenses the temporal movement in contrast to the poet, who must integrate the “defining trait” of a body into narra­ tion of the action. Moving beyond Lessing, other narrative means that allow the visual arts to depict temporal sequences might be taken into account (Pochat 1996).

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3.3 The Historical Sciences Traditionally, the literary and historical disciplines are distinguished from each other on the basis of the different relationships of their sub­ ject area with the reality of what is represented. Aristotle’s Poetics (Halliwell 1987) already formulates the assumption that the role of fic­ tion―in contrast to historiography―is not to convey what really happened, but rather what, under the given circumstances, could hap­ pen. At the same time, fiction has a generalizable, representative quality: the “actual” (ta genomena) of history vs. the “possible” (ta dynata) of fiction. Still, the question remains whether it is actually possible to differentiate clearly between historical or factual and literary or fiction­ al narratives (→ fictional vs. factual narration). Goethe’s categories, poetry and truth (Dichtung und Wahrheit), might well be more closely linked than they appear to be at first glance. As for philosophical con­ tributions to this debate (Ricœur 1985), they presuppose an ontological and epistemological cross-over relationship between history and fiction (cf. also Danto 1965; Veyne 1971). Any methodology of the historical sciences must therefore also ex­ amine the question of how and to what extent its object can or must be represented by narrative means. Many authors contend that narratives are a suitable and even necessary medium for recording, describing, and explaining historical developments (Rüsen 1986, 1990). Others suggest a type of “historical argumentation” that in logical terms is in­ dependent of any form of narrative (Kocka 1980), an argument supported by the positions of the Ecole des Annales (cf. Ricœur 1983). White (1973) formulated the critical position that the great historians of the 19th century modeled their works on the pattern of certain narrative genres (romance, comedy, tragedy, satire). According to White, the real events of the past are molded into an artificial narrative form, giv­ ing them a certain meaning they did not inherently possess. Since every narrative form inevitably transports certain normative statements and value judgments, White (1987) regards this molding of reality to create narrative patterns of meaning as a potentially totalitarian act. It cannot be denied that grands récits (Lyotard 1979) are potential instruments of power. However, any critique of history as narrative from the position of ideological criticism as a principle is a question­ able exercise (Straub 2001). Such is the case especially if this critique relies on a contestable dualism between “artificial forms” and “real events,” as argued by White and others (Mink 1978) who posit that hu­ man experience and actions do not have inherent narrative qualities but are reshaped through narrative after the event. Consequently, the

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concept of narrativity should be limited to explicit forms of (oral or written) narration, such that the existence of “untold stories” is negated: stories are never lived, but told. Life itself is seen as without be­ ginning, middle and end, nor is it tragic, amusing, suspenseful, etc. Other authors (MacIntyre 1981; Carr 1986; Bruner 1990; Gergen 1998) take a diametrically opposed view. For them, narrative structures are not the product of literary writers or historians. On the contrary, stories are already formed in actions and life cycles: stories are lived before they are told. Therefore, narrativity is not primarily an aesthetic category, but is rooted in practice. This means that the historical sci­ ences are not merely allowed to resort to narration, but are required to do so if they are to do their subject matter justice. A simple chronicle in which events are simply linked together by dates may be more ob­ jective, but this cannot generate understanding because such under­ standing can be achieved only if a specifically narrative connection is established between the recorded dates. The configuration of this connection―and the selective process be­ hind it―will inevitably be influenced by the “master plots” (Schwem­ mer 1987) of the cultural environment in which it is created as well as by the individual personality of the historian and the scope of his knowledge, interests, etc. White seems justified in his contention that narrativization of historical events comes at the expense of objectivity, but one has to take into account that historical events fundamentally differ from the natural events that occur in physics, for example, since such events possess no ontological or epistemological objectivity out­ side of a frame of reference. A historical narrative and its portrayal of a sequence of events do not form a mimetic relationship but a “metaphor­ ical relationship” (Ricœur 1985): narrative makes visible something that would otherwise remain unperceived (cf. also Jaeger 2002). 3.4 Psychology The concept of narrativity is increasingly being used as a key not only in the historical and literary disciplines, but also in (hermeneuticallyoriented) psychology. Narrative psychology has emerged as an inde­ pendent discipline, emphasizing―in contrast to the dominant objectiv­ ist and positivist orientation in the field―the significance of forms which are meaningful for human experience and actions (Sarbin ed. 1986; Polkinhorne 1988). Narrative psychology regards narrative forms as a genuine focus for psychological research in so far as the cognitive and emotional processes of consciousness are generated on the basis of and through these forms.

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Bruner (1990) has influenced the debate with his distinction between paradigmatic and narrative modes of thought. In the paradig­ matic mode, individual events or objects are linked with conceptual categories during the thought process, while in the narrative mode, events are perceived as elements of a story which contribute to its de­ velopment. This concerns the cognitive ability to configure diverse events and actions into larger temporal and meaningful units—a capa­ city for narrative structuring (emplotment) which is obviously one of the fundamental capabilities of human consciousness. Bruner also ex­ amines the question of whether this ability is genetic and universal or acquired and learnt, i.e. shaped in different ways by the cultural environment. His position is one of compromise: according to him, we all have an innate predisposition for telling and understanding stories, but this must be developed through cultural models and social interaction into an active competence. A number of studies in developmental psychology on the formation of narrative competence have been published (e.g. Wolf 2001). These studies examine the ability to perceive a range of temporally disparate events as a meaningful and progressive series and also the ability to construct such a meaningful series (→ event and eventfulness). The fo­ cal point here is not well-constructed literary tales, but simple everyday stories. In such studies, the Aristotelian “middle” represents the turning point of the story in which something surprising, unexpected or inter­ esting constitutes the center around which other happenings are grouped. Empirical studies show that children generally acquire the competence that enables mastery of this basic narrative model between the ages of seven and ten. This is preceded by a development which be­ gins with the ability to string together events in a merely linear fashion, followed by an increasing use of temporal and logical or content-based links and meaningful grouping into episodes until the stage is reached where genuine narrative plots are understood and actively mastered. One specific focus of psychological studies bearing on narrative is the significance of narrative forms for the understanding of emotions. In these studies, emotions are not regarded as isolated and disjointed phenomena but as situationally and socially contextualized. We are able to understand emotions only if we can relate them to our own be­ havior and experience and to that of the people we interact with within a narrative frame of reference (Sarbin 1989; Gergen 1998), a finding that appears to be a cultural universal (Hogan 2003). Emotions are made understandable through stories and in turn, stories also generate emotions, making us feel angry, sad, happy, etc. This is due to the fact that stories are “presentative symbolizations” (Langer 1948). Even

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though they rely on the discursive medium of language, stories speak to us on a far deeper emotional level than discursive symbolizations such as abstract argumentation or scientific theories can ever do. 3.5 Psychoanalysis The realization of the importance of narrative in the field of psychology has generated therapeutic, and especially psychoanalytical, con­ cepts which interpret the therapeutic process in its entirety with the help of narrative categories (Boothe 1994). Accordingly, neurotic con­ ditions are rooted in untold, repressed stories, which in the course of analysis need to be transformed into an explicit story in order for the subject to come to terms with past events (Schafer 1992). This being the case, narratives have not only an informative function, but also a presentational one. The analyst must thus take note not just of what is told but also how it is told, taking into account both the content and the style of narrative self-presentation and its performative or theatrical manifestations (Lorenzer 1973, 1979), since this is precisely the area where the patient’s unconscious identity and personality traits are artic­ ulated. There appear to be increasing discussions of the active role of the analyst during this process. Initially, the analyst must record the free associations of the patient with “evenly-hovering attention” (Freud 1912), after which this material is condensed into narratives thanks to the focus provided by the analyst. These narratives in turn can become paradigmatic case studies and, as a possibly problematic result, may in­ fluence the analyst’s focusing acts (Thomä & Kächele 2006). 3.6 Philosophy Plato refers to stories and myths that serve as a point of departure and exemplification for his abstract teachings, a tradition that continues in philosophy even today. Underlying this practice is the idea that the function of narrative is to provide concrete examples in support of con­ ceptual arguments. Hegel formulates the insight that philosophical con­ cepts can themselves only be understood as the end result of their own story (Plotnitsky 2005a). Husserl’s disciple Schapp (1953) was the first to develop a distinctive “philosophy of stories.” According to his main thesis, the human being is not the autonomous subject of his own constructions of mean­ ing, but throughout his life is inextricably “entangled in stories” which are the prerequisite for the formation of his identity and subjectivity. Since, according to Schapp, stories are the fundamental medium without which we would not be able to perceive meaning, one is justi­

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fied―with reference to Heidegger―in speaking of a “narrative beingin-the-world.” This philosophical point of departure raises questions concerning the constructive character of narrative. Explicitly told stories are sym­ bolic constructions. The question is whether, and in what way, these constructions are connected with the experience and behavior of the in­ dividuals concerned. From a philosophical perspective, an assumed du­ alism of artificial form and real events (cf. 2.2 above) appears equally contestable. Human experience and behavior do not show well-organ­ ized narrative patterns comparable to the careful compositions of fic­ tion and history writing. Rather, the identifying and shaping of a narrative structure of a certain complexity, with a clear point of view, an in­ dividual line of suspense, a characteristic peripeties, etc., is always the result of an active endeavor. On the other hand, experience and behavior cannot exist without some kind of structure. If, for example, one presupposes that to act means (at least partly) to follow a project, this already constitutes a complex achievement, even on the level of action. There is constant interference in and interruption of the project in hand by other experiences, actions and projects. In addition, it is often not clear from the beginning whether one is actually engaged in a project at all. Without at least a rudimentary narrative structure, it would not be possible to find one’s way even on the level of action (Danto 1965; Carr 1986). The idea of a single act seen in isolation is therefore a false abstraction, and for this reason, the concept of story is as fundamental a philosophical term as the concept of action (MacIntyre 1981; Schwem­ mer 1987). With Ricœur, who has put forth what is perhaps the most compre­ hensive philosophical theory of narrativity (1983/85), it is possible to argue a case for a kind of compromise. Ricœur draws on the classic philosophers that are relevant here (Aristotle, Augustine, Dilthey, Husserl, Heidegger, Schapp) as well as on literary and historical the­ ory, integrating them into a comprehensive narratological hermeneut­ ics. Its key theoretical concept is the three-part mimesis, the aspects of which are not seen in a hierarchical relationship, but in an integrative one. Accordingly, the composition of an explicit story (Mimesis II) is always a creative act that provides a new and unique view of reality, but at the same time, this always follows on from something that has gone before this process. Every story points to a “before.” The referent in this relation (Mimesis I) is the “lived world,” which is itself already organized as narrative, at least in part. Because of their symbolic and temporal aspects, real-life actions have an inherently pre-narrative structure. Every explicit story, on the other hand, meets its intended

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target only when it is perceived by a recipient (Mimesis III). Reception is made possible because of the inherent openness of the explicit stories in general terms. These stories―regardless of how precisely and concretely they might be told―contain no truly individual events, but simply schematized conceptions that have to be concretized by the re­ cipient. The three types of mimesis form a temporal unit as a circular cultural process that is constantly evolving: through reception, the ex­ plicit narrative configuration once again becomes part of the real-life experience of the experiencing and acting recipient who can expand, confirm or vary the pre-existing pre-narrative structures. Such a newly and differently (re-)configured real-life situation in turn forms the basis for the next explicit configuration. Narrative therefore involves medi­ ation between common cultural standards and exceptional deviations from these standards, hence a complex interplay of tradition and innovation (→ mediacy and narrative mediation). In this model, the narrative “seeing-things-together” (prendre-en­ semble) can be understood as the construction and establishment of a meaningful and more or less coherent or probable order created out of dissonant, scattered or random elements. The important point is the on­ tological distinction between event and incident (Ricœur (1965). An in­ cident is defined by its complete contingency, as something that occurs in a certain manner but could equally occur in a different manner, or not at all. A story transforms a series of heterogeneous incidents into meaningful events within a diachronic structure. The composition of a story is a process that organizes various components into a whole in or­ der to produce a single meaningful effect. The narrative seeing-thingstogether transforms the irrational contingency of non-contextualized in­ cidents into an intelligible contingency of events. In the tradition of Kant, this seeing-things-together can be described as a “synthesis of the heterogeneous.” Inquiry into the personal identity of the individual is a further philo­ sophical area of research in the field of narrativity. Narrative ap­ proaches to this issue (Ricœur 1985, 1990; Kerby 1991; Meuter 1995; Brockmeier & Carbough eds. 2001; for further discussion, see Strawson 2004) assume that personal identity is formed and stabilized only through the telling of stories (→ identity and narration). The identity of the individual person differs fundamentally from the numerical identity of individual objects. Personal identity rests upon a self-image that is physical, emotional, mental as well as practical, and this self-image is internally reflected and externally communicated in the narrative pro­ cess. Corresponding to these two forms of usage, it is possible to dis­ tinguish two types of identity (Ricœur 1985, 1990): on the one hand,

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identity as “sameness” (German: Selbigkeit; Latin: idem; French: mê­ meté); on the other hand, identity as “selfhood” (German: Selbstheit; Latin: ipse; French: ipséité). Narrative identities are invariably ipseidentities which are constantly reconfigured through the telling of stories. 3.7 Ethics The concept of narrative identities has a genuine moral or ethical di­ mension (Korthals-Altes 2005). In relation to neo-Aristotelian con­ cepts, authors such as Taylor (1989) and MacIntyre (1981) examine narrative identities in connection with the search for the “good life.” The writings of Nussbaum (1990) highlight this aspect in that they em­ phasize the significance of narrative fiction in the formation of values and, generally speaking, moral awareness. The stories of the literary canon provide a rich source of alternative forms of the “good life.” But there is an even deeper structural interrelation between narrative iden­ tity formation and the moral dimension of human existence. The forma­ tion of narrative identities is identical with the development of a set of values that are independent of any given situation and which lend a whole life―or at least certain stages of a life―moral meaning and sta­ bility. This is a genuinely social process in the sense of interaction with others to accomplish shared projects. Thus the narrative process also serves to generate forms and expressions of mutual respect. In this con­ text, Ricœur (1990) speaks of the “complementary dialectics” of iden­ tity formation and respect for others. The other individual represents the moral imperative to take responsibility for his potential suffering. However, in order to be able to reflect critically on the relationship with the other, the self must define its own position. Forms of “self love,” or at least of “self esteem,” are thus essential for moral behavior with regard to the other, and these constitute the reflexive moment in the orientation towards a good life. This dialectic of identity formation and respect takes place in and with the stories we live through and tell each other (Meuter 2007). 3.8 Sociology Studies on narrative in the field of sociology (Morrison 2005) also fo­ cus on the problem of personal identity. In the sociology of knowledge (Luhmann 1989), this problem is regarded as a feature of the modern functionally differentiated society which, unlike pre-modern societies, no longer ascribes a fixed identity to its members on the basis of birth, class, etc. Identity thus becomes an accomplishment for which the indi­

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vidual himself is responsible. Society no longer provides an answer to the question “who am I?”, but leaves it to the individual to find his or her own answer. To do so, the modern individual must have a very clear idea of which of his behavioral traits are relevant to his participa­ tion in the various sectors of society (politics, academia, education, the economy, the arts, etc.). Nowadays, the necessity of having multi-layered identities that enable participation in various social environments is a given. Consequently, the modern individual can only resolve the problem of his (all-embracing) identity by adopting a self-image as an “individual individual,” i.e. an individual with a unique, distinc-tively individual life story whose decisive meaning resides in its distinctive­ ness from other life stories (Meuter 2002). Accordingly, the modern concept of the identity of the individual is articulated mainly through narrative. Narrative forms, with their inherent structures of temporality and meaning, indeed appear to lend themselves particularly well to questions concerning one’s own (individual) identity: it is possible in a story for one to change, develop, and integrate sudden changes (peri­ peteia) while somehow remaining “the same.” The question is, though, whether and to what extent concepts of identity based on an idea of the narrative unity of human life can be up­ held under the social conditions of late modern and postmodern times (Kraus 1996; cf. Salmon 2007). Critics regard such categories as con­ tinuity, consistency, and coherence, which are inherent in narrative and biographical identity, as a fundamentally totalitarian coercion into re­ garding one’s own life as an integral unity which must be realized. They claim that the way of life of the individual in postmodern so­ cieties can no longer be adequately described in the classical narrative sense as “I-identity,” but at best within the conceptual framework of a “patchwork-identity” (Keupp 1996). 3.9 Theology All religions rely on narrative myths of foundation which have sub­ sequently acquired canonical status. Theological studies with a narratological orientation (Goldberg 1982; Sternberg 1987; Hauerwas & Jones eds. 1989; Cornils 2005) have picked up on this connection and can be understood as reflections on the narrative practices of religion. It must be borne in mind that theology has always been rooted in nar­ rative practices with which it is inextricably linked (in the sense of Schapp 1953). There is no isolated plane of pure theological abstrac­ tion, since theological discourse has always been a part of religious practice. On this basis, the matter in hand is the development of a the-

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ology through narration which defines the genuinely narrative dimen­ sion of religious belief (Wenzel 1997). However, the question remains as to whether there are inherent limits to a narrative theology, since theology centers on faith which, by its nature, cannot be narrated. Even so, narrative has an immense significance for theology with respect to ethics. Christian ethics in particular must be seen as rooted within a specific religious community, the church. This community derives its identity from the fact that all of its members see themselves as part of a shared narrated story: the story of God’s relationship with the beings he has created (Hauerwas 1983). 3.10 Pedagogy Narrative pedagogy implicitly criticizes the abstract structural analysis of institutions, systemic constraints and patterns of interaction, focus­ ing instead on the concrete situations in which teaching and learning take place. Gaining insight into the real-life experience of learning from stories is the point of departure for an inquiry into the narrative sources of pedagogical knowledge (Baacke & Schulze eds. 1979). Where this is applied to concrete didactic problems, school lessons and the teaching of content-oriented knowledge can be analyzed with re­ gard to narrative forms (Krummheuer 1997). Narrating in this context means describing a specific phenomenon in everyday classroom com­ munication. Narrative pedagogy is focused in particular on the argu­ mentative content of narrative-based learning and teaching processes: a story-oriented argumentation will invariably appear more realistic and convincing than the presentation of purely theoretical knowledge. In order to understand experience, and particularly the experience of the self and its identity, pedagogy requires narrative elements that supple­ ment academic knowledge with narrative knowledge. The inclusion of narrative paths to the acquisition of knowledge is a prerequisite for the processes of identification that are necessary for an effective learning experience (Neubert 1998). 3.11 Law Studies Law studies have a strong affinity with the concept of narrativity, espe­ cially in the Anglo-Saxon tradition of “case law” based on precedent (Lüderssen 1996; van Roermund 1997; Bruner 2002). All laws can be understood as abstractions of individual cases. Individual cases, in turn, enter the legal system by way of narrations. The prosecutor, defendant, defense counsel, counsel for the prosecution, witnesses, and experts tell the court their version of events relevant to the case. Judge and jury

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then select―or adequately transform―the one version that in their judgment corresponds to what really happened, a procedure that pre­ supposes a high degree of narrative competence. In particular, this in­ volves the ability to actively employ and analyze as well as to criticize the rhetorical devices and narrative strategies resorted to by the witness in order to lend plausibility to his version of events (Brooks & Gerwitz eds. 1996). Another characteristic central to narrative competence in legal contexts is the ability to compare and evaluate stories in view of their legal relevance. Here, the legal sciences can resort to literary ren­ derings of legal problems (Geary 2005; Brooks 2005; Sternberg 2008), a connection that represents one aspect of the “law and literature move­ ment.” 3.12 Medicine In the field of medicine, questions relating to narrative have been expli­ citly thematized for some time now (Greenhalgh & Hurwitz eds. 2005). This results from an understanding of medicine that regards the discipline not primarily as a natural science, but as a behavioral science: scientific knowledge of the human being is necessary, but in the end it only serves to enable the medical practitioner to heal the patient or provide palliation for his ailment. Stories are generally a central factor in the doctor-patient relationship, particularly where anamnesis is con­ cerned. Before a doctor can begin treating the patient, he must learn as much as possible about his supposed condition on the basis of what the patient tells him. In this situation, linguistic, empathetic and interpretative faculties are required. The doctor needs to “translate” the stories told by the patient into narratives with a medical focus without moving too far beyond the sphere of the patient’s real-life experience, but at the same time providing a structural basis for the next steps in the profes­ sional-medical treatment (Hydén 2005). The doctor’s medical training, however, will in no way have prepared him to meet these requirements. As a medical student, he will have been confronted with a number of significant case studies, but at present there is a lack of systematic so­ ciocultural training of narrative competence. This is relevant because such stories provide the meaning, context and perspective for the spe­ cific problematics of an individual patient’s case. Stories explain how and why someone has fallen ill. By evoking as many subjective aspects of the illness as possible, they make possible a holistic approach to diagnosis and therapy. Periods of sickness are important peripeties in life and often figure prominently in life stories.

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3.13 Philosophy of Science Starting with Danto (1965), the concept of “narrative explanation” (Roth 1989) in the philosophy of science has emerged as a critical posi­ tion that challenges the influence of positivism and logical empiricism on the philosophy of science in the humanities. According to the positivist-nomological position, the humanities, too, are governed by a pro­ cess of logical deduction whereby individual events must be explained, i.e. the event to be explained (the explanandum) is deduced from cer­ tain a priori conditions and empirical laws which, together, constitute the explanans. A critique of this model hinges mainly on the concept of “cultural laws,” although these laws are not to be understood as analog­ ous to the laws of nature. In the humanities we do not expect explana­ tions to be founded on laws, but on motives, reasons and aims, in other words, on the intentions of persons who take part in given scenarios. Furthermore, there are many other factors that lead to cultural events taking place such as the behavior of other people, circumstances and coincidences, etc. Still, the question remains as to whether one is justi­ fied at all, and if so, to what extent, in speaking of intentions in relation to actions that are manifest before and independent of the process of their realization. It is therefore clearly insufficient to explain action―and even more so, complex cultural processes―solely, or even predominantly, on the basis of the intentions of acting subjects (Schwemmer 1987; Meuter 2000). Instead, it is necessary to recon­ struct the individual story of which the action in question forms a part. Furthermore, the purely nomological philosophy of science ignores the fact that the explanandum does not constitute just an event, but a transformation. It is therefore wrong to regard the former state, in the sense of initial conditions, as part of the explanans. On the contrary, the beginning and the end of a process of transformation both form part of the explanandum. On this basis, it is possible to construct the basic formula for a narrative explanation (Danto 1965): a narrative explana­ tion is arrived at by filling in the middle between the temporal starting and ending points of a transformation. A story is the explanation of how a transformation took place from beginning to end: (a) x is F in t-1; (b) H happens in conjunction with x in t-2; (c) x is G in t-3. (a) and (c) form the explanandum, and (b) the explanans of the nar­ rative explanation. Together, the three steps delineate the relevant transformation in keeping with the triadic structure: the explanation has a beginning (a), a middle (b), and an end (c). One must bear in mind, though, that this basic schema is an oversimplification. Many trans­ formations, especially those which the historical sciences seek to ex­

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plain, are far more complex and incorporate numerous factors that have to be integrated into the narrative explanation. The complexity of factu­ al processes cannot serve as an argument against narrative explanations per se. On the contrary, a narrative, by definition, is a symbolic form of representation that is flexible and malleable enough to make possible the integration of (relevant) complex factors into the explanation. In any case, the specific rationality and scientific nature of explanations in cultural studies are directly linked with the narrative formula. In cultur­ al studies, narratives are not regarded as a deficiency―something that one has to fall back on in the absence of alternatives due to a lack of in­ sight into “cultural laws,” for example―but rather a genuine means for formulating insights and research findings. 4 Topics for Further Research 4.1 Natural Sciences Despite the fact that on occasion narrative elements are used in explanations in the natural sciences (e.g. the narrative of “Schroedinger’s cat”; cf. Plotnitsky 2005b) and that certain narrative backgrounds exist (e.g. in the term “natural history” in the theory of evolution and in pa­ leontology), a specifically narratological inquiry in the natural sciences remains a desideratum. In the philosophy of science, this involves the concept of meaning and the related classic dichotomy of “explaining” and “understanding”: the world of nature is devoid of meaning and must be explained through laws and the establishment of causal con­ nections; by contrast, the world of culture and human understanding is rendered meaningful and can be understood through stories (among other means). An application of the concepts of narrative would there­ fore presuppose a revision of fundamental precepts in the natural sci­ ences: it would be necessary to understand nature as something that is not (or at least not entirely) governed by laws and causal connections, but primarily constitutes a dynamic and creative process. This calls for philosophical paradigm shifts, the beginnings of which can be found in Whitehead’s (1929) cosmology. In the tradition of Aristotelian physics, being is conceived as a complex interplay of processes of becoming, each having their own structure. Every occurrence in nature begins with an event which becomes part of a creative process oriented to­ wards the final outcome. From this point of view, it seems possible to describe processes in nature with narrative categories (Meuter & Lach­ mann forthcoming).

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4.2 Systems Theory A systems theoretical approach, which encompasses the difference between nature and culture, might prove productive with regard to po­ tential studies on the role of narrative in the natural sciences. Independ­ ent of this, however, systems theory has the benefit―in contrast to the classic theories of behavior, for example―of reaching a level of ab­ straction that makes possible a discussion of all areas of culture in a single unified theory. As a first step, a narrative can be understood as the “systemic self-organization of meaning and time” (Meuter 2004). Traditional approaches posit that meaning comes into the world through subjects who act intentionally; systems theory, by contrast, ar­ gues that the identity of subjects and actions is formed first of all through processes that produce meaning by means of selective reduc­ tions. From a phenomenological perspective, these processes of meaning appear in the form of stories. A narration is not the realization of a plan, but rather a dynamic series of events that follows its own logic, and because of its peripeties cannot be mastered from without. Subjects are therefore not the sovereign masters of their own stories, but―simil­ ar to their actions―must be regarded as their effects. The systems the­ oretical term “self-organization” lends itself to describing precisely this situation. The decisive factor for a narrative-oriented systems theory is the high improbability of factual events. The reason why a certain event takes place instead of another, equally probable one can only be ex­ plained if one regards events as elements in a meaningful systemic pro­ cess. From a systems theoretical perspective, any experiential meaning is based on the difference between actuality and potentiality: only one possibility can ever be realized out of an abundant potentiality. Under this condition, meaning is by nature experienced as a reduction of com­ plexity, as an inescapable necessity for selection. Here, one has to take into consideration that it is a specific characteristic of a system operat­ ing with meaning that it not only reacts to the selections that have de facto just taken place, but also to the selectivity of these selections. Meaning is therefore inextricably linked with the experience of contin­ gency: systems of meaning select differently due to the experience of being able to select. A systemic process, therefore, is not just a formal “row” or “chain” where identical parts are simply lined up according to a never-changing principle. Rather, every part of the process “leaves its legacy” of selectivity to the one following it, and in the course of this process, ever greater improbabilities accumulate through recursive

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loops. Phenomenologically speaking, this, too, manifests itself in nar­ rative form: whenever one is entangled in a story, one quickly―after only very few peripeties―finds that one has arrived at a point that ini­ tially one would never have thought possible. Thus, narrations explain reality to us, or at the very least, they can help us understand why something is the way it is, even if it is improbable and not created by subjects: what is, is the result of a self-organizing systemic process. (Translated by Nina Stedman) 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
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Gibson, Andrew (1996). Towards a Postmodern Theory of Narrative. Edinburgh: Edin­ burgh UP. Goldberg, Michael (1982). Theology and Narrative. A Critical Introduction. Nashville: Abingdon. Greenhalgh, Trisha & Brian Hurwitz, eds. (2005). Narrative-based Medicine―Sprechende Medizin. Bern: Huber. Halliwell, Stephen (1987). The Poetics of Aristotle. Translation and Commentary. Lon­ don: Duckworth. Hauerwas, Stanley (1983). The Peaceable Kingdom: A Primer in Christian Ethics. London: U of Notre Dame P. – & L. Gregory Jones, eds. (1989). Why Narrative? Readings in Narrative Theology. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Herman, David (1999). “Introduction: Narratologies.” D. H. (ed). Narratologies. New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 1–30. – et al. eds. (2005). The Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Rout­ ledge. Hogan, Patrick Colm (2003). The Mind and its Stories. Narrative Universals and Hu­ man Emotion. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Hydén, Lars-Christer (2005). “Medicine and Narrative.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 293–97. Jaeger, Stephan (2002). “Erzähltheorie und Geschichtswissenschaft.” V. Nünning & A. Nünning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 237–63. Kerby, Anthony Paul (1991). Narrative and the Self. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Keupp, Heiner (1996). “Bedrohte und befreite Identitäten in der Risikogesellschaft.” A. Barkhaus et al. (eds). Identität, Leiblichkeit, Normativität. Neue Horizonte an­ thropologischen Denkens. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 380–403. Kindt, Tom & Hans-Harald Müller, eds. (2003). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kocka, Jürgen ([1980] 1989). “Zurück zur Erzählung? Plädoyer für historische Argu­ mentation.” J. K. Geschichte und Aufklärung. Aufsätze. Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 8–20. Korthals-Altes, Liesbeth (2005). “Ethical Turn.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 142–46. Kraus, Werner (1996). Das erzählte Selbst. Die narrative Konstruktion von Identität in der Spätmoderne. Pfaffenweiler: Centaurus. Kreiswirth, Martin (2005). “Narrative Turn.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 377–82. Krummheuer, Götz (1997). Narrativität und Lernen. Mikrosoziologische Studien zur sozialen Konstitution schulischen Lernens. Weinheim: Deutscher Studien Verlag. Lämmert, Eberhard ([1955] 1991). Bauformen des Erzählens. Stuttgart: Metzler. Langer, Susanne (1948). Philosophy in a New Key. A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite, and Art. New York: Penguin. Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim ([1766] 1984). Laocoön. An Essay on the Limits of Paint­ ing and Poetry. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP.

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Lorenzer, Alfred ([1973] 1995). Sprachzerstörung und Rekonstruktion. Vorarbeiten zu einer Metatheorie der Psychoanalyse. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. – ([1979] 1997). “Die Analyse der subjektiven Struktur von Lebensläufen und das gesellschaftlich Objektive.” D. Baacke & Th. Schulze (eds). Aus Geschichten lernen. Zur Einübung pädagogischen Verstehens. Weinheim: Juventa, 230–55. Lüderssen, Klaus (1996). “Das Narrative in der Jurisprudenz.” K. L. Genesis und Gel­ tung in der Jurisprudenz. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 66–7. Luhmann, Niklas (1989). “Individuum, Individualität, Individualismus.” N. L. Gesell­ schaftsstruktur und Semantik. Studien zur Wissenssoziologie der modernen Gesell­ schaft. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, vol. 3, 149–258. Lyotard, Jean-François ([1979] 2003). The Postmodern Condition. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. MacIntyre, Alasdair ([1981] 2007). After Virtue. A Study in Moral Theory. Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P. Martínez, Matías & Michael Scheffel ([1999] 2007). Einführung in die Erzähltheorie. München: Beck. Meuter, Norbert (1995). Narrative Identität. Das Problem der personalen Identität im Anschluß an Ernst Tugendhat, Niklas Luhmann und Paul Ricœur. Stuttgart: Metz­ ler/Poeschel. – (2000). “Die körperliche und soziale Infrastruktur des Handelns.” Deutsche Zeitschrift für Philosophie 4, 579–93. – (2002). “Müssen Individuen individuell sein?” J. Renn & J. Straub (eds). Transitorische Identität. Der Prozesscharakter des modernen Selbst. Frankfurt a.M.: Campus, 187–210. – (2004). “Geschichten erzählen, Geschichten analysieren. Das narrativistische Paradigma in den Kulturwissenschaften.” F. Jäger & J. Straub (eds). Handbuch der Kulturwissenschaften: Paradigmen und Disziplinen. Stuttgart: Metzler, vol. 2, 140–55. – (2007). “Identität und Empathie. Über den Zusammenhang von Narrativität und Moralität.” K. Joisten (ed). Narrative Ethik. Das Gute und das Böse erzählen. Ber­ lin: Akademie Verlag, 45–60. – & Rolf Lachmann (forthcoming). “Akt.” A. Wildfeuer & P. Kolmer (eds). Neues Handbuch philosophischer Grundbegriffe. München: Alber. Mink, Louis O. (1978). “Narrative Form as a Cognitive Instrument.” R. H. Canary & H. Kozicki (eds). The Writing of History: Literary Form and Historical Under­ standing. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 128–49. Mitchell, William J. Thomas, ed. (1981). On Narrative. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Morrison, Linda (2005). “Sociology and Narrative.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Rout­ ledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 548–50. Müller-Funk, Wolfgang (2002). Die Kultur und ihre Narrative. Berlin: Springer. Nash, Christopher, ed. (1990). Narrative in Culture. The Use of Storytelling in the Sci­ ences, Philosophy, and Literature. London: Routledge. Neubert, Hansjörg (1998). “Pädagogische Theoriebildung und Narrativität.” [http://web.fu-berlin.de/postmoderne-psych/colloquium/neubert.htm]

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Narration in Various Media
Marie-Laure Ryan 1 Definition The term of medium (plural: media) covers a wide variety of phenomena: (a) TV, radio, and the internet (especially the WWW) as the media of mass communication; (b) music, painting, film, the theater and liter­ ature as the media of art; (c) language, the image and sound as the me­ dia of expression (and by implication as the media of artistic expres­ sion); (d) writing and orality as the media of language; (e) handwriting, printing, the book, and the computer as the media of writing. The definition provided by Webster’s dictionary puts relative order in this diversity by proposing two distinct definitions: (1) Medium as a chan­ nel or system of communication, information, or entertainment; (2) Medium as a material or technical means of expression (including artistic expression) . 2 Explication The first definition regards media as conduits for the transmission of information, while the second describes them as “languages” that shape this information (Meyrowitz 1993). (The use of quotation marks in this entry will distinguish “language” as a collection of expressive devices from language as the semiotic code that forms the object of linguistics.) The relevance of the concept of medium for narratology is much more evident for type 2 than for type 1. Ong (1982) has objected to a concep­ tion of media that reduces them to “pipelines for the transfer of a ma­ terial called information.” If indeed conduit-type media were nothing more than hollow pipes for the transmission of artifacts realized in a medium of type 2 (e.g. a film broadcast on TV, a painting digitized on the WWW, a musical performance recorded and played on a phono­ graph), they would bear little narratological interest. But the shape of the pipe affects the kind of information that can be transmitted, alters the conditions of reception, and often leads to the creation of works tailor-made for the medium (cf. films made for TV). For the narratolo­

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gist, channel-type media are only interesting to the extent that they in­ volve “differences that make a narrative difference”—in other words, to the extent that they function as both conduits and “languages.” Among technologies, TV, radio, film, and the internet have clearly de­ veloped unique storytelling capabilities, but it would be hard to find reasons to regard Xerox copy machines or phonographs as possessing their own narrative “language.” 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Historical Background In Western thought, reflection on how narrative is conditioned by the medium in which it is realized—what we may call its mediality—can be traced as far back as Plato’s distinction between a diegetic and a mi­ metic mode of narration. According to Plato, in diegetic narration the poet speaks in his own voice (or rather, in the case of fiction, in the voice of a narrator), while in mimetic narration, he speaks through the characters. Both modes occur in epic poetry, but while diegetic narra­ tion, interpreted as reporting, remains dependent on language, in the long run of the centuries until now mimetic narration, interpreted as showing, has become the dominant mode of presentation in multi-chan­ nel performing arts, such as drama, film, the opera, mime, and ballet. In these last two cases, as well as in silent film, mimetic narration be­ comes emancipated from language. It was left to Aristotle to acknowledge medium as a distinctive prop­ erty of art. After defining poetry as imitation (in the sense of representation), Aristotle mentions three ways of distinguishing various types of imitation: through medium, object and mode. Under medium, he classifies expressive resources such as color, shape, rhythm, melody, and voice. The notion of object (or content) creates a generic distinc­ tion between imitations that share the same medium: for instance, tragedy deals with people of higher standing, while comedy represents people of lower social stature. “Mode,” finally, covers Plato’s distinc­ tion between diegetic and mimetic presentation, but it is recast as an opposition between narration and impersonation: “It is possible to imitate the same objects in the same medium sometimes by narrating (either using a different persona, as in Homer’s poetry, or as the same person without variations), or else with all the imitators as agents and engaged in activity” (1996: 2.2). Here Aristotle regards narration and impersonation as instances of the same medium because both are made of language; but if we make a pragmatic distinction between enacting

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and reporting and regard this distinction as constitutive of medium, then their difference in “mode” marks epic poetry and drama as distinct narrative media in the modern sense of the word despite their common semiotic support. Another landmark in the study of narrative mediality is Lessing’s distinction between spatial and temporal forms of art. Reacting to the 18th-century philosophy of art, which was captured by the saying of Si­ monides of Ceos, “painting is mute poetry, and poetry is speaking painting,” Lessing insisted on the sensory and spatio-temporal dimen­ sions of the two media: painting speaks to the sense of sight, poetry to the imagination; painting extends in space, poetry extends in time. These differences predispose the two art forms to the representation of different subject matters: “signs existing in space can only represent objects whose wholes or parts coexist, while signs that follow one an­ other can express only objects whose wholes or parts are consecutive” ([1766] 1984: 78). While the strength of painting lies in the representa­ tion of beauty, which resides in a relation between the parts of an ob­ ject, poetry excels at the representation of action because action devel­ ops in time. Painting is in essence a descriptive medium, and poetry a narrative one. But Lessing does not exclude the possibility of stretch­ ing each medium in the direction of the other. Poetry can dramatize the evocation of static objects by transforming spatial vision into temporal action, as Homer does when he describes Juno’s chariot by recounting how Hebe put it together piece by piece. The spatial arts, conversely, can overcome their narrative deficiency by selecting a so-called “preg­ nant moment” that offers a window on the preceding and following ac­ tions. Lessing’s example is the famous Greek sculpture of Laocoön, which shows the Trojan priest and his sons in the last moments of a hopeless struggle against a sea serpent. While we can extract observations relevant to what we now call me­ dium in earlier periods, it wasn’t until the 20th century, when techno­ logical inventions such as photography, film, the phonograph, radio, and television expanded the repertory of channels of communication and means of representation that the concept of medium emerged as an autonomous topic of inquiry. McLuhan, an inspiring but somewhat mercurial thinker, popularized the concept with his characterization of media as “extension of man,” his claim that media are “forms that shape and reshape our perceptions,” and his oft-quoted but variably in­ terpreted slogan “the medium is the message” (1996), which puts selfreference at the center of media studies. He was also instrumental in breaking down the barrier between elite and popular culture, a move which lead to the emancipation of media studies from literature, philos-

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ophy, and poetics. For McLuhan, comic strips, advertisements or the composition of the newspaper front page were as worthy of attention as works of high literature. But it was his disciple, Ong (1982), who broke the ground for the study of narrative in media other than written literature with a systematic explorations of the forms of narrative in oral and chirographic cultures (=cultures based on handwriting). In France, the structuralist/semiotic movement gave legitimacy to the study of non-verbal forms of representation (advertisement and photography for Barthes [1980], cinema for Deleuze [1983, 1985] and Metz [1968], TV and mass communication for Baudrillard [1981]). However, structuralism sometimes hampered the understanding of me­ dia due to its insistence on regarding Saussure’s linguistic theory as the model of all semiotic systems. Visual representations, in particular, cannot be divided into discrete units comparable to the morphemes and phonemes of language, and the doctrine of the arbitrariness of the lin­ guistic sign cannot account for the iconic signification of painting and film. In the long run, Peircian semiotics, with its tripartite division of signs into symbols, icons and indices, has proved more fruitful for me­ dia studies. The founding fathers of narratology recognized from the very begin­ ning the medium-transcending nature of narrative: according to Bremond (1973), stories can be realized in media as diverse as literature, stage, ballet, and film. Mixing genres (→ narration in poetry and drama) and media, Barthes (1966) expands the list to include myth, le­ gend, fable, tale, novella, epic history, drama, mime, painting, stained glass window, cinema, comics, news items, conversation, etc. Were he alive today, he would add blogs, hypertext, and video games. Barthes’ and Bremond’s wish to open up narratology to media other than literature went unfulfilled for years. Under the influence of Genette, narratology developed as a project almost exclusively devoted to literary fic­ tion. Media representing the mimetic mode, such as drama and film, were largely ignored, and because of their absence of narrator, some­ times not even recognized as narratives, despite the similarity of their content with the plots of diegetic narration. But this situation changed dramatically in the late 20th century with the so-called “narrative turn” in the humanities. In the past twenty years, the study of non-literary or non-verbal forms of narrative has extended to conversational narrative (Labov 1972), film (Bordwell 1985; Chatman 1978), comic strips (McCloud 1994), painting (Bal 1991; Steiner 1988), photography (Hirsch 1997), opera (Hutcheon & Hutcheon 1999), television (Kozloff 1992; Thompson 2003), dance (Foster 1996), and music (Abbate 1989; Grabósz 1999, 2007: 231–98; Tarasti 2004; Seaton 2005).

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Media studies took a theoretical turn in the 1990s. In the U.S., Bolter & Grusin (1999) proposed the concept of “remediation” to ex­ plain the relations between different media. In their view, every new technology-based medium must be understood, in the context of other media, as an attempt to “remediate” their limitations and get closer to the elusive goal of “achieving the real.” Video games, for instance, re­ mediate film by incorporating narrative techniques commonly used in cinema within an interactive environment; digital photography remedi­ ates analogue photography by making images easier to manipulate; analogue photography remediates painting by being more faithful to its object; and the Internet remediates all other media by encoding them digitally in order to facilitate their transmission. In its narratological applications, “remediation” directs attention to how narrative texts may create networks of connections between different media. But the claim that every new medium constitutes an improvement over an old one cannot be sustained from a narratological and aesthetic point of view, for every gain in expresseness comes at a cost, and new media do not necessarily produce better narratives than old ones. The concept of “intermediality,” now widely adopted in Europe, is more narrowly focused on art forms than remediation, and it avoids the meliorism inherent in this term. As Wolf (2008) observes, intermediality can be conceived in a narrow and in a broad sense. In a broad sense, it is the medial equivalent of intertextuality and covers any transgres­ sion of boundaries between different media. In a narrow sense, it refers to the participation of more than one medium—or sensory channel—in a given work. The opera, for instance, is intermedial through its use of gestures, language, music, and visual stage setting. If intermediality is interpreted in a wide sense, other terms must be forged to differentiate its diverse forms, including a new term for the narrow sense. Wolf (2005) suggests “plurimediality” for artistic objects that include many semiotic systems; “transmediality” for phenomena, such as narrative it­ self, whose manifestation is not bound to a particular medium; “inter­ medial transposition” for adaptations from one medium to another; and “intermedial reference” for texts that thematize other media (e.g. a nov­ el devoted to the career of a painter or composer), quote them (inser­ tion of text in a painting), describe them (representation of a painting through ekphrasis in a novel), or formally imitate them (a novel struc­ tured as a fugue).

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3.2 The Nature of Media The variety of the phenomena subsumed under the concept of medium stems not only from the two distinct functions mentioned by Webster’s definition—transmitting information or forming the support of information—but also from the nature of the criteria that differentiate indi­ vidual media. These criteria belong to three conceptual domains: semi­ otic, material-technological, and cultural, each of which can be linked to different approaches to narrative. As a semiotic category, a medium is characterized by the codes and sensory channels upon which it relies. The semiotic approach tends to distinguish three broad media families: verbal, visual, and aural. The groupings yielded by this taxonomy broadly correspond to art types, namely literature, painting, and music. This rudimentary typology must be expanded in order to account for an art like dance, which is based on the movements of the body, or for an activity like video games, whose distinctive feature is the pragmatic notion of active user parti­ cipation. Insofar as signs extend in time or space, the semiotic analysis of media should also take into consideration their spatio-temporal di­ mensions. Media can be temporal and dynamic (music, oral language transmitted through radio or telephone), temporal and static (i.e. rely­ ing on sequentially ordered signs but freezing them through inscription, as in written literature); they can be purely spatial (painting, photo­ graphy, sculpture, architecture) or spatio-temporal; the spatio-temporal in turn can be a static combination of temporal language and spatial im­ age or inscription (comics, written literature that exploits the two-di­ mensionality of the page), or include a kinetic dimension that controls the duration of the receptive act (film, drama, mime, dance, and oral narrative accompanied by gestures). A semiotic approach to media fo­ cused on narrative will ask about the storytelling abilities and limita­ tions of the signs of the medium under consideration. For instance: How can images suggest time? How can gestures express causality? What is the meaning of the graphic lay-out? How do the various types of signs contribute to narrative meaning in plurimedial art forms? To bring further refinement to semiotic media families, we must ask about the material support of their individual members. Material sup­ port can be either a raw substance, such as clay for pottery, stone for sculpture, the human body for dance, and the human vocal apparatus for singing and oral storytelling, or a technological invention such as writing (subdivided into manuscript, print, and electronic form), indi­ vidual musical instruments, photography, film, television, the tele­ phone, and digital technology. (As a meta-medium that encodes all

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other media, digital technology would be a pure conduit, but by adding interactivity to these media, it reaches the status of “language.”) For the narratologist, the importance of technology lies in its ability to im­ prove or modify the expressive power of purely semiotic media. A case in point is the well-documented and deep-reaching impact of the inven­ tion of writing, and later of print technology, on the form, use and con­ tent of narrative. According to Ong (1982), the influence of writing is felt in the rising and falling contour of the dramatic plot (for Western drama, even though performed orally, relies on a written text), in the development of psychologically complex characters, in the epistemolo­ gical focus of the detective story, and in the self-referentiality of the postmodern novel. Not all phenomena regarded as media can be distinguished on the basis of technological and semiotic properties alone. Newspapers, for instance, rely on the same semiotic dimensions and printing technology as books, but “the press” is widely regarded by sociologists as a medi­ um in its own right because it fulfills a unique cultural role in the “me­ dia ecology.” It is also to cultural practice that we can attribute the grouping of semiotic dimensions into multi-channel media such as drama, the opera, and comic books, or, with the help of a technological support, into film, television, and computer games. The properties of narratives produced in a certain medium are often due to a combination of cultural, technological, and semiotic factors. The prevalence of shooting in American computer games could for instance be explained culturally by the importance of guns in American society (Japanese games are much less violent), as well as by the fact that the computergame industry targets an audience of young males. But it is also motivated semiotically by the presence of a sound track (shooting is primarily manifested through noise) as well as technologically facilitated by the fact that the action of shooting is easily simulated by the manipula­ tion of controls (hitting a key is reasonably similar to releasing a trig­ ger). By far the majority of media studies have been devoted to the cul­ tural use of medium-specific narratives. Possible topics for this ap­ proach include the rhetoric of TV news or the social impact of such phenomena as computer games, Internet pornography, and film viol­ ence. 3.3 The Primacy of Language as Narrative Medium Though we lack documents about the earliest manifestations of narrative among higher primates, it is reasonable to assume that language capacities, storytelling abilities, and human cultures co-evolved in sym-

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biotic relation with each other. Dautenhahn (2003) attributes the need to tell stories to the complex social organizations of humans, compared to that of apes, while Turner (1996) argues that humans did not start telling stories as the result of developing language, but rather that lan­ guage was developed in response to the need to tell stories. In these ac­ counts of the social and cognitive foundations of storytelling, natural language is presented as the original narrative medium. The innate af­ finity of narrative and language can be explained by the fact that nar­ rative is not something that is perceived by the senses: it is constructed by the mind, either out of data provided by life or out of invented ma­ terials. Similarly, as a mode of representation, language speaks to the mind rather than to the senses, though it is of course through the senses that its signs are perceived. Thanks to its semantic nature and its power of articulation, language is the only semiotic system (besides formal notation systems) in which it is possible to formulate propositions. Stories are about characters placed in a changing world, and narration is crucially dependent on the ability of a medium to single out existents and attribute properties to them. Neither images nor pure sound pos­ sesses this intrinsic ability: sound has no meaning, and pictures can show, but they cannot refer (Worth 1981). This makes it difficult for them to foreground specific properties of objects out of the background of their global visual appearance. If we look at the constitutive features of narrative, we see other reasons why natural language is its medium of choice. Narrative is widely regarded by scholars as a discourse that conveys a story; story, in turn, has been defined as a mental image formed by four types of con­ stituents (Ryan 2007): (1) a spatial constituent consisting of a world (the setting) populated by individuated existents (characters and ob­ jects); (2) a temporal constituent, by which this world undergoes signi­ ficant changes caused by non-habitual events (→ event and eventful­ ness); (3) a mental constituent, specifying that the events must involve intelligent agents who have a mental life and react emotionally to the states of the world (or to the mental states of other agents); (4) a formal and pragmatic constituent, advocating closure and a meaningful mes­ sage. The first and fourth of these conditions are not particularly dependent on language. Closure and meaningfulness can be achieved in any semiotic system, and images are more efficient than words at represent­ ing a world populated by existents because of the spatial extension and visual appearance of concrete objects. But the second and third features of narrative are highly language-dependent. As Lessing observed, the temporality of language is naturally suited to represent events that suc­

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ceed each other in time. With its combination of dynamic unfolding and visuality, film may be as efficient as words at representing a suc­ cession of events such as “the king died and then the queen died,” but only words can say “the king died and then the queen died of grief” be­ cause only language is able to make relations of causality explicit. In a film (and even more so in a static image), causal relations between events must be left to the spectator’s interpretation, and without a voice-over narration (→ narration in film), we can never be completely sure that it was grief and not illness that killed the queen. Languagebased narratives may admittedly choose to be highly elliptic in their presentation of causal relations: nothing would be more tedious than a story that left nothing to infer, but if all causal relations had to be guessed, this would place serious limitations on the repertory of stories that can be told by a medium. However, it is with condition 3 that lan­ guage displays its true narrative superiority over other semiotic media. In language, we can express emotions and intents unambiguously by saying “x was scared,” “x was upset,” “x was in love,” or “x decided to take revenge.” Language can dwell at length on the mental life of char­ acters, on their considerations of multiple possible courses of actions, on their philosophy of life, on their hopes and fears, on their daydreams and fantasies, because mental life can be represented as a kind of inner discourse, structured in the same way as language. Cognitive science may tell us that not all thinking is verbal, but the translation of private thought into language is one of the most powerful and widespread nar­ rative devices. Most importantly, only language can represent the most common type of social interaction between intelligent agents, namely verbal exchanges, for the very simple reason that only language can represent language. The narrative power and diversity of film, drama and the opera is mainly due to the presence of a language track. This track, traditionally, has been limited by the conventions of realism to what an observer looking through an imaginary fourth wall can hear, namely dialogue. But phenomena such as the chorus of Greek tragedy, the written signs of epic theater, the asides to the audience of modern drama, and the voice-over narration of film represent an attempt to use language not only to imitate the speech of characters, but also to com­ ment on the action, as it does so often in diegetic narrative. The storytelling potential of a medium is directly proportional to the im­ portance and versatility of its language component.

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3.4 Narrating without Language The independence of narrative from language is a matter of degree. In its strictest interpretation, “narrating without language” means that a story unknown to the appreciator is evoked by the purely sensory, nonsemantic resources of image or sound. (Taste, touch, and smell are far less developed senses, and they do not seem to have any narrative po­ tential.) In a slightly weaker form of non-verbal → narrativity, the work tells a story new to the user, but it uses a language-based title to suggest a narrative interpretation. In the loosest interpretation, a narrative without language is a work that illustrates a story already known to the user (Varga 1988), and its narrativity is parasitic on the narrativity of the original text, which, most likely, will be known through lan­ guage. This illustrative function is by far the most common occurrence in non-verbal narration. 3.4.1 Pictorial Narrative To achieve narrativity, pictures must capture the temporal unfolding of a story through a static frame. Wolf (2005) distinguishes three kinds of pictorial narratives: monophase works that evoke one moment in a story through a single image; polyphase works that capture several dis­ tinct moments within the same image; and series of pictures that cap­ ture a sequence of events. The monophase work presents the greatest narrative challenge be­ cause it must compress the entire narrative arc into a single scene. For an image to suggest a narrative interpretation, it must not only represent a frozen moment in a dynamic action, but must also arouse curios­ ity about the motivation of the agent. From very early on, the visual arts have shown man in action, but the hunting scenes or everyday activities depicted in cave paintings or on Egyptian scrolls do not fully qualify as narratives because they represent repetitive events with an unproblematic life-maintenance function. Similarly, the scenes of 17thcentury Dutch genre painting are low in narrativity, or more specifically in eventfulness, because they rely almost entirely on familiar scripts and schemata for their interpretation. A truly narrative image must depict one-of-a-kind events that cause a significant change of state for the participants: not baking bread but stealing a loaf; not hunt­ ing animals for food, but killing a dragon to save a princess; not mak­ ing music as a group, but secretly fondling a fellow musician (cf. Hühn’s distinction between event I and event II in the present encyclo­ pedia). To read a picture narratively is to ask: Who are the characters shown in the picture? What are their interpersonal relations? What

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have they done before? What are they doing? What are their reasons for acting? What change of state will the action bring? How will the characters react to the event? Pictures cannot answer these questions directly because they are limited to the representation of visual proper­ ties. Not only do images lack a temporal dimension, they are also un­ able to represent language and thought, causal relations, counterfactu­ ality, and multiple possibilities. Other limitations include the inability to make comments, provide explanations, and create suspense and sur­ prise, two effects which depend on a time-bound disclosure of informa­ tion. Even so, the narrative incompleteness of images is a powerful generator of curiosity. As Wolf (2005) has shown, reading a picture narratively necessitates a far more elaborate gap-filling activity than reading a language-based story. Monophase pictorial narratives are either illustrative or indeterminate in their content. An indeterminate picture opens a small window on time through the technique of the pregnant moment, but many different narrative arcs can pass through this window, corresponding to the multiple ways of imagining the longterm past and future that expand the content of the window into a com­ plete story. Perhaps the only type of monophase pictures that tells a de­ terminate story is the humorous single-frame, caption-less cartoon, for humor lies in a narrowly defined feature that people either get or miss. Yet still pictures also have their narrative strengths, when compared to language: they can give a far better idea of the spatial configuration of the storyworld; they can suggest emotions through facial expressions and body language; and they can show beauty directly, rather than naming the property and leaving its specific representation to the reader’s imagination. Though they lack operators of mental activity, they can develop visual conventions, such as the thought balloon, to “derealize” events and represent objects as mental images formed by characters. They often make up for their inability to name characters by using traditional attributes (keys for Saint Peter, horns for the devil), and they can suggest abstract ideas through conventional visual sym­ bols: lilies for purity, pomegranates for lust, a skull for death. When purely visual means fail, they can internalize language by showing in­ tra-diegetic objects bearing inscriptions, such as signs or letters (cf. the very readable letter from Charlotte Corday held by the dead Marat in Jacques-Louis David’s “Marat Assassinated”). Because pictures stand still, the spectator has ample time to inspect them for narratively signi­ ficant details. In polyphase pictures, the narrative arc is much more determinate because it is plotted through several distinct scenes within the same global frame. These scenes are often separated by architectural fea­

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tures: for instance, in Benozzo Gozzoli’s “The Dance of Salome and the Beheading of St John the Baptist” (cf. Steiner 1988), an arched wall separates the beheading scene from the dancing scene, and Salome presents the head of the saint to her mother Herodiad in an alcove of the room were the dancing scene takes place. The space of the pictures may or may not be used as an indicator of temporal sequence: in “The Dance of Salome,” the eye does not read the story told by the painting linearly (i.e. left to right or right to left), but follows a circular path, from the right to the left to the center. This path must be discovered by detecting relations of causality which parallel the direction of time. But the narrative gaps between the individual scenes are so great in this particular painting that a spectator unfamiliar with the biblical story would be unable to decode its narrative logic. Themes such as reward and revenge, crucial to the Salome story, involve mental constructs far too complex for visual representation. It takes a series of pictures to tell a story that is both reasonably de­ terminate and new to the reader. Serial pictures can narrate in two ways. The first, illustrated by William Hogarth’s painting series A Rake’s Progress and Marriage à la Mode (Wolf 2005), consists of de­ voting each picture to one episode in the life of a character by resorting to the techniques of the monophase pictures. The individual paintings depict self-contained mini-narratives separated from each other by sig­ nificant time gaps, but the various scenes are connected by weak causal relations: each painting represents a step in the downfall of the hero, a young man who rises from poverty through inheritance, engages in a life of debauch and dishonesty, gambles his fortune away, is im­ prisoned and ends up in a mental asylum. Narrative content is suggested on the level of the individual images by their reliance on familiar scripts, such as the gambling-house or the prison script, and on the global level by the recurrence of the same character (identified by con­ stant visual features), as well as by the chronological sequence indicated by the spatial arrangement of the pictures. The other technique, common in wordless comic strips, associates every image with one mo­ ment in a continuous action as if it were a frozen frame in a silent film. While in the first technique narrativity exists on both the macro- and the micro-level, here it is limited to the macro-level. The individual im­ ages are separated by smaller time spans than in the first type, but they are linked together by stronger causal relations. An example of this technique is a sketchbook titled “Pipe Dreams” by the French artist Jean-Jacques Sempé, published in The New Yorker on November 20, 2000. “Pipe Dreams” tells the story of a lion who fantasizes loving a unicorn. But since unicorns do not exist, he marries a mare and tries

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unsuccessfully to turn her into a unicorn by putting an ice cream cone on her forehead. The upset bride runs away from him, and he ends up on a psychiatrist’s couch. Through the use of speech and thought bal­ loons, the narrative is able to perform a rare feat in wordless storytelling: a disruption of the chronological order. After an opening frame that shows the lion dreaming of a unicorn, the next five frames (out of fourteen) represent the lion on the couch, and his personal ex­ perience is shown as images within a speech balloon, suggesting that it is being told to the psychiatrist. When the lion’s story escapes from the balloon and fills the entire frame, the storytelling act disappears from sight, and the reader is transported back to the time of the narrated events. The embedded sequence of the past catches up in the last frame with the embedding sequence of the present when the lion is shown knocking on the psychiatrist’s door. Thanks to the visual conventions of the modern comic strip, “Pipe Dreams” remediates many of the lim­ itations of the purely mimetic image without using a single word: even the title is not indicative of narrative content. 3.4.2 Narrating through Gestures As ballet, pantomime, and the movies of the silent area demonstrate, it is possible to tell a story through the kinetic means of gestures and fa­ cial expression. But ballet either fulfills an illustrative function (cf. for this aspect also 3.4.3 on music) with respect to the story referred to by its title (“Cinderella,” “The Nutcracker”) or relies on a summary in the program, while silent movies use music and subtitles to suggest a nar­ rative interpretation. Can body movement tell a story that is new to the spectator without external help? The answer is yes, but the repertory is very limited. A pantomime could for instance tell the story of a scorned lover who becomes depressed and attempts suicide, but suddenly re­ gains his lust for life when an attractive woman walks by. Narrative is about evolving networks of human relations; and gestures and move­ ment, by varying the distance between bodies, are reasonably good at representing the evolution of interpersonal relations, as long as mental life can be translated into visible body language. But even though ges­ tures add a kinetic element to serial still pictures, this does not result in a significant increase in narrative power. On the contrary: it is much more difficult to narrate through continuous gestures than it is through discrete pictures frames. The chronological rearrangements of the Sem­ pé cartoon would be impossible in a pantomime because gestural narra­ tion unfolds entirely in the present. It also operates in a simulacrum of real time that largely limits the narrated time to the time of narration. This real time dimension predisposes gestural narration to the repre-

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sentation of short sketches. Serial pictures, by contrast, break the con­ tinuity of action into distinct frames, and the frames are separated by variable time spans: from a fraction of a second when cartoons repro­ duce continuous action to a lengthy period of time when frames intro­ duce new episodes. Gestural narration could admittedly signal breaks between episodes by making the actors disappear from the stage and re­ appear. But in contrast to still pictures, language, and film, the live per­ formance of gestural narration is incapable of skipping a moderate peri­ od of time. It is only when gestures are recorded through film and the footage put together through montage that it becomes possible to create ellipses of any length in the development of a narrative action (e.g. Bordwell &Thompson 2008: 229–31). 3.4.3 Musical Narratives Music has a long history of being paired with language for narrative ef­ fects (sung poetry, “texted” music, opera, sound track of film and com­ puter games), but it may seem paradoxical to even mention the possibility of telling stories through pure sounds. As a semiotic substance, sound possesses neither the conventional meaning nor the iconic value that allow words and images to create a concrete world and bring to mind individuated characters. Music cannot imitate speech, represent thought, narrate actions, or express causal relations. Its mimetic abilities are limited to the imitation of aural phenomena: the gurgling of a brook, the song of birds, or the rumbling of thunder. Yet in the 19th century, composers frequently attempted to tell stories through music by patterning their works according to what musicologists call a “nar­ rative program.” These programs, expressed in words, instruct the listener’s imagination to look for a precise theme in each part of the composition: for instance, “Awakening of joyful sensations on arrival in the country” and “Scenes at a brook” as the titles of movements in Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony. More recently, a school of musicology has postulated the existence of a “deep narrativity” inherent to all music (or at least, to all music of the classical Western tradition). To tease out this deep narrativity, scholars resort to well-known narrato­ logical models such as Greimas’ semiotic square and Propp’s functions (Tarasti 2004), Ricœur’s theory of narrative temporality (Grabócz 1999), or the classical plot schema of equilibrium, conflict and resolu­ tion (Seaton 2005). Comparisons have also been made with diegetic and mimetic modes of storytelling (Abbate 1989), leading to the con­ clusion that music is a mimetic mode when it stands by itself, but ful­ fills a diegetic function when it is used in plurimedial works such as film and musicals (Rabinowitz 2004). In mimetic modes, according to

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the narrative school, music itself counts as narrative action, while in diegetic modes, it comments upon the enacted events. The appeal of the concept of narrative to both composers and musi­ cologists can be explained by the temporal dimension of music. Narrative lives from a succession of events that brings transformations to the state of the storyworld, while music lives from a succession of sounds that creates melody and harmony through transformations in pitch, rhythm, and loudness. The term “line” is used to describe the develop­ ment of both plot and melody, and in each case, this line controls atten­ tion, builds expectations, and creates effects of suspense, curiosity, and surprise (Sternberg 1992). But unlike verbal narrative, music does not suggest the passing of time by showing its effects on concrete exist­ ents: it captures time in its pure form, as a forward movement, a desirefor-something-to-come, a tension calling for a resolution. In music as in narrative, the appreciator may have a powerful sense that a dénouement is imminent (perhaps more so in music, for in literature the coming end is often signaled not by narrative devices, but by the number of pages left to be read). Through its modest descriptive abilities, music can sometimes sketch a setting (cf. Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony), and in what amounts to creating its own conventional “language,” it can in­ dividuate characters by linking them to a specific instrument or to a leitmotiv. It also possesses an ability unequalled among semiotic media to represent and induce emotions. But these features are not sufficient to tell specific stories. In contrast to the narrativity of language-based texts, the narrativity of music is neither determinate nor literal. It is in­ determinate because narrative content is something that is read into a composition rather than read from it (Wolf 2005). Even when music in­ structs the listener to associate the composition with a certain story, every listener fills in the general pattern in a highly personal way (Nat­ tiez 1990), and many listeners will appreciate the composition without giving any thought to a narrative interpretation. This would be unthink­ able with a language-based story. Meanwhile, from the point of view of the musicologist who uses narratological models to analyze particular compositions, the alleged narrativity of music is the product of a meta­ phor based on a structural analogy. Music and language-based stories present similar formal patterns, but these patterns are filled with vastly different substance: intrinsically meaningless sound in the case of mu­ sic (though of course musical arrangement creates its own type of meaning), concrete semantic content in the case of language-based stories. As the focus of interest of a scholarly approach, the narrativity of music is a purely analytical construct situated, cognitively, on a very different level than the narrativity of language, film, or even pictures

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because it can exercise its power without being consciously recog­ nized. 3.5 Combining Sensory and Semantic Dimensions into Plurimedial Texts Given the overwhelming storytelling superiority of language, one may wonder why mankind ever bothered to develop other narrative media. The limited narrative power of non-verbal media does not mean, how­ ever, that they cannot make original contributions to the formation of narrative meaning. The affordances of language, pictures, movement, and music complement each other, and when they are used together in multi-channel media, each of them builds a different facet of the total imaginative experience: language narrates through its logic and its ability to model the human mind, pictures through their immersive spatial­ ity and visuality, movement through its dynamic temporality, and mu­ sic through its atmosphere-creating, tension building and emotional power. The ultimate goal of art is to involve the whole of the embodied mind, the intellect as well as the senses. To achieve this wholeness, sensorial art forms must be coaxed into conveying messages, while lan­ guage-based art forms must be taught to appeal to the senses. Through narrativization, sensorial arts acquire a sharper mental dimension, and through collaboration with sensorial signs, language-based narrative al­ lows a fuller experience of the storyworld. In multi-channel media, the appreciator can directly see, hear, and maybe even interact with ob­ jects, and the imagination, relieved from the cognitive burden of simu­ lating sensory data, can more easily immerse itself in the story. But this does not mean that multi-channel media are automatically superior to literature in narrative power because every gain in the visual, aural or even interactive domain may bring a loss of attention to the language channel (e.g. for the relation between audiovisual and voice-over narra­ tion in film Kozloff 1988: 8–22). 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) What structural types of plot are particularly well suited to indi­ vidual media? (b) How does medium affect narrative techniques (e.g. which media allow discourse features such as temporal reordering, evaluation, digressions, effects of suspense and surprise, irony, unreli­ ability)? (c) How do media compensate for their narrative deficiencies? (d) How do newly developed media progressively free themselves from

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the influence of older media and discover their own narrative “lan­ guage”? (e) What social practices are generated by the “cult narratives” of mass media (e.g. practices such as the creation of fan communities on the Internet, fan fiction, spoiling, online discussions of plots)? (f) In which media, besides language, does fictionality exist? (g) What forms does (or will) narrative take in interactive environments? 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Abbate, Carolyn (1989). “What the Sorcerer Said.” 19th-Century Music 12, 221–30. Aristotle (1996). Poetics. Tr. & intr. M. Heath. London: Penguin Books. Bal, Mieke (1991). Reading Rembrandt: Beyond the Word-Image Opposition. New York: Cambridge UP. Barthes, Roland ([1966] 1977). “Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narrative.” Image Music Text. New York: Hill & Wang, 79–124. – ([1980] 1981). Camera Lucida. Reflections on Photography. New York: Hill & Wang. Baudrillard, Jean ([1981] 1994). Simulacra and Simulations. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P. Bordwell, David (1985). Narrative in the Fiction Film. Madison: U of Wisconsin P. – & Kristin Thompson (2008). Film Art. An Introduction. New York: McGraw-Hill. Bremond, Claude (1973). Logique du récit. Paris: Seuil. Bolter, Jay David & Richard Grusin (1999). Remediation: Understanding New Media. Cambridge: MIT P. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse. Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Dautenhahn, Kirsten (2003). “Stories of Lemurs and Robots: The Social Origin of Story-Telling.” M. Mateas & Ph. Sengers (eds). Narrative Intelligence. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 63–90; also on WWW at [httü:///homepages.feis.herts.ac.uk/~comqkd/kdnarrative.pdf]. Deleuze, Gilles ([1983] 1986). Cinema 1: The Movement Image. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – ([1985] 1989). Cinema 2: The Time-Image. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Foster, Susan Leigh (1996). Choreography and Narrative. Bloomington: U of Indiana P. Grabócz, Márta (1999). “Paul Ricœur’s Theories of Narrative and Their Relevance for Musical Narrativity.” Indiana Theory Review 20, 19–40. Hirsch, Marianne (1997). Family Frames: Photography, Narrative, and Postmemory. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Hutcheon, Linda & Michael Hutcheon (1999). Opera: Desire, Disease, Death. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Kozloff, Sarah (1988). Invisible Storytellers. Voice-Over Narration in American Fic­ tion Film. Berkeley: U of California P.

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(1992). “Narrative Theory and Television.” R. C. Allen (ed). Channels of Dis­ course, Reassembled. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 43–71. Labov, William (1972). Language in the Inner City. Studies in the Black English Ver­ nacular. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P. Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim ([1766] 1984). Laocoön: An Essay on the Limits of Paint­ ing and Poetry. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. McCloud, Scott (1994). Understanding Comics. New York: Harper Perennials. McLuhan, Marshall (1996). E. McLuhan & F. Zingrone (eds). Essential McLuhan. New York: Basic Books. Metz, Christian ([1968] 1974). Film Language. A Semiotics of the Cinema. New York: Oxford UP. Meyrowitz, Joshua (1993). “Images of Media: Hidden Ferment—and Harmony—in the Field.” Journal of Communications 43, 55–66. Ong, Walter J. (1982). Orality and Literacy. The Technologizing of the Word. London: Methuen. Nattiez, Jean-Jacques (1990). “Can one Speak of Narrativity in Music?” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 115, 240–57. Rabinowitz, Peter (2004). “Music, Genre, and Narrative Theory.” M.-L. Ryan (ed). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 305–28. Ryan, Marie-Laure (2007). “Toward a Definition of Narrative.” D. Herman (ed). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 22–35. Seaton, Douglas (2005). “Narrative in Music: The Case of Beethoven’s ‘Tempest’ Sonata.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Dis­ ciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 65–82. Steiner, Wendy ([1988] 2004). “Pictorial Narrativity.” M.-L. Ryan (ed). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 145–77. Sternberg, Meir (1992). “Telling in Time (II): Chronology, Teleology, Narrativity.” Poetics Today 13, 463–541. Tarasti, Eero (2004). “Music as Narrative Art.” M.-L. Ryan (ed). Narrative across Me­ dia: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 283–304. Thompson, Kristin (2003). Storytelling in Film and Television. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Turner, Mark (1996). The Literary Mind. New York: Oxford UP. Varga, A. Kibédi (1988). “Stories Told by Pictures.” Style 22, 194–208. Wolf, Werner (2005). “Intermediality”; “Music and Narrative”; and “Pictorial Narrativity.” D. Herman et al. (eds). The Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 252–56, 324–29, and 431–35. – (2008). “The Relevance of ‘Mediality’ and ‘Intermediality’ to Academic Studies of English Literature.” M. Heusser et al. (eds). Mediality / Intermediality. Göttingen: Narr, 15–43. Worth, Sol (1981). “Pictures Can’t Say Ain’t.” S. W. Studying Visual Communication. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 162–84.

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5.2 Further Reading
Kafalenos, Emma (2001). “Reading Visual Art, Making—and Forgetting—Fabulas.” Narrative 9.2, 138–45. – (2004). “Overview of the Music and Narrative Field.” M.-L. Ryan (ed). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 275–82. Nünning, Vera & Ansgar Nünning, eds. (2002). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, interme­ dial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT. Ryan, Marie-Laure (2005). “On the Theoretical Foundation of Transmedial Narrato­ logy.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology Beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Dis­ ciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–23. – (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Wolf, Werner (2002). “Das Problem der Narrativität in Literatur, Bildender Kunst und Musik: Ein Beitrag zu einer Intermedialen Erzähltheorie.” V. Nünning & A. Nün­ ning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 23–104.

Narrative Constitution
Michael Scheffel 1 Definition In general terms, the term “narrative constitution” refers to the composition of narratives. In a narrower sense, it involves structural models with two or more tiers that, following the tradition of formalism and structuralism, divide the narrative work into various levels and treat it as the product of a series of transformations (understood in a more or less formal sense) of a set of happenings. In a wider sense, though, the concept touches on the basic questions attached to the construction of narratological models in any form. It concerns, in fact, the theoretical modeling—which can differ widely depending on the methodological approach taken—of both the relationship between happenings and nar­ rative and the relationship between literary and non-literary narration. 2 Explication Building on corresponding formulations associated with Russian formalism, Schmid introduced the expression “narrative constitution” into narratological discussion and has retained the term in a prominent piece of recent work (1982, 1984, 2005: 223–72). Schmid uses narrative constitution to refer to the structural models of narrative that have emerged in the tradition of formalism and structuralism and been de­ veloped with reference to works of literary, i.e. fictional narrative. The work is understood here as an object sui generis and divided into indi­ vidual levels (understood as tiers of its constitution); in the process, certain narrative operations are paired with the transformations that lead from the natural order of the narrated happenings (the ordo naturalis of rhetoric) to the artificial arrangement of the narrative (the ordo artificialis). Various binary oppositions have been put forward, such as fabula/sujet (e.g. Tomaševskij 1925), histoire/discours (e.g. Todorov 1966; story/discourse), and story/plot (e.g. Forster 1927), as have multileveled models such as Geschehen/Geschichte/Text der Geschichte (Stierle 1971; happenings/story/text of the story), histoire/ré­

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cit/narration (Genette 1972, 1983; story/narrative/narrating), and Geschehen/Geschichte/Erzählung/Präsentation der Erzählung (Schmid 1982; happenings/story/narration/presentation of the narration). These distinctions provide a framework in which the approaches involved at­ tempt to grasp the construction of narrative works in a theo-retical manner and represent it as the transformation of a set of happenings in a generative manner in the sense of an abstract model of production. Where the modeling of the relationship between happenings and narrative is concerned, these approaches can be said to make the happenings logically antecedent to the narrative itself. In the sense of the distinc­ tion between the “two principles of narrative” elucidated by Culler, in other words, they assume a theoretical “priority of events” posited in the case of fictional narrative (1981: esp. 179, 186–87). Even if we subscribe to the theoretical premises of approaches with a text-internal or formalist orientation, the practicality of such models is affected not least by the fact that their authors, though sharing the idea that narrative works can be decomposed into levels or components, often have very different starting points and sometimes even associate significantly different meanings and concepts with a particular term (Martínez & Scheffel 1999: 26, for a comparative table of the basic terms used by nineteen theorists from Propp to Schmid). In actual fact, the study of narrative composition should be confined neither to a text-internal perspective nor to works of literary narrative. Thus, against the background of a newly developed interest in narration as one of the fundamental forms of human cultural activity, more re­ cent narratological approaches have adopted a broader understanding of the concept of narrative constitution, in the context of which they take into consideration the problem of the relationship between narrative and reality in general (→ fictional vs. factual narration). The his­ toriographical theorist White took a crucial step in this direction when, in the 1970s, he developed several theses regarding the fiction of the factual. These theses have been taken up repeatedly in the context of post-structuralism. They are based on a multileveled, originally ab­ stract model of production in the tradition of formalism and structural­ ism, and transfer this model of the narrative constitution of fictional narratives to the at first sight non-fictional narratives of historiography and their relationship to historical reality (→ narration in various dis­ ciplines). On this basis, White set out a theory of “emplotment”: this theory takes the form of a typology of how meaning is generated through narrative and treats the transformation of happenings into stories as, at base, a process that gives rise to literature (in this case, the set of happenings presents itself as a product of the narrative, creating

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an unbridgeable gap between historical reality and all narratives of any kind). White’s concept of emplotment has been cited many times in the context of the narrative turn in cultural studies. Ricœur takes an analogous approach when he writes about how a reality that is in and of it­ self contingent is subjected to a fundamental reshaping by a process of mise en intrigue (rendered as “emplotment” by his translators) that is bound up with narrative. In his far more complex concept of a narrative hermeneutics, however, Ricœur—unlike White—takes as his starting point the idea that there is a mutual relationship between narrative and human activity, and that the concept of narrative constitution applies to essential parts of the reality of human life in general. 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Russian Formalism and the Opposition between Fabula and Sujet The beginning of systematic interest in the composition of narrative works belongs to a time when the attention of literary scholars came to be directed toward the question of literariness and with it the problem of the characteristic form of literature. Against this historical back­ ground in the first quarter of the 20th century, one model emerged that was to have a greater influence than any other on subsequent literary research. This model was developed in the context of Russian formal­ ism. The model, which has two tiers, is based on the opposition gener­ ally described using the terms fabula and sujet. Where details are con­ cerned, though, Ėjxenbaum, Šklovskij, Tomaševskij, Tynjanov, Vygot­ skij, and other theorists proceed from markedly different starting points, using the corresponding terms with different, sometimes even opposing meanings in each case (for detailed reconstructions, see e.g. Volek 1977; García Landa 1998: 32–48; Schmid 2005: 224–36). From a historical perspective, the use of the terms fabula and sujet in the manner of a binary opposition can be seen to begin with Šklovskij. The locus classicus for their definition is to be found in an essay in which, at the end of a detailed consideration of the idiosyncratic nar­ rative form of Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, Šklovskij points out the chro­ nological differences between chains of events in “actual life” and in art. In this context, he stresses that the “aesthetic laws” of artistic nar­ rative can be grasped only if we distinguish between sujet and fabula. In the process, Šklovskij explains that the fabula should be understood as the “material for sujet formation” and the sujet as the material of the fabula in artistic form ([1925] 1991: 170; Schmid 2009). It is clear here and in other contexts that Šklovskij, like most other Russian formalists

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after him, does not associate the fabula with a neutral, given phe­ nomenon. Instead, in contrast to the sujet, which is understood as bear­ ing the literariness of the narrative work, he sees the fabula as some­ thing subordinate that is overcome, so to speak, in the work of art (in the same historical context, the opposite is the case in the work of Propp [1928] which, with its model of actants and functions, was con­ cerned solely with the plot structure of narrative works, and more pre­ cisely with the rules governing constitution of the fabula). Numerous Russian formalists took up the pair of terms during the 1920s and put what were at times very different slants on it. Tomaševskij used and popularized the fabula/sujet distinction in a way that re­ tained at least something of Šklovskij’s understanding of it. In the first edition of his textbook-like Teorija literatury (1925, revised 1928), which found a relatively wide readership in Western European literary studies, a footnote deleted from later editions contains the concise, much-quoted formulation that “in short, the fabula is that ‘which really was,’ the sujet that ‘how the reader has learnt about it’” ([1925] 1991: 137). In the main text of the work, on the other hand, Tomaševskij provides a more nuanced definition of the fabula as “the totality of mo­ tifs in their logical causal-temporal chain” and the sujet as “the totality of the same motifs in that sequence and connectivity in which they are presented in the work” (Černov 1977: 40). Thus, here and in other pas­ sages of his Teorija literatury, Tomaševskij—in contrast to Šklovskij —associates the fabula with the property of causally connected motifs (in the sense of events). To this extent, it contains more than the aes­ thetically indifferent, preliterary happenings, and is, even if Tomaševskij himself does not say so directly, already part of the artistic fashion­ ing of the work. 3.2 Story and Plot in the Work of E. M. Forster and other English-speaking Scholars of the 1920s to the 1940s Roughly contemporaneously with the Russian formalists, Forster (1927) outlined a two-tiered model based on the terms “story” and “plot.” Forster sees the story as “the lowest and simplest of literary or­ ganisms,” explaining that “it is a narrative of events arranged in their time sequence—dinner coming after breakfast, Tuesday after Monday, decay after death, and so on” ([1927] 1972: 35). As for plot, the fol­ lowing comment in the book was soon to become famous: “We have defined a story as a narrative of events arranged in their time-sequence. A plot is also a narrative of events, the emphasis falling on causality. ‘The king died and then the queen died,’ is a story. ‘The king died, and

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then the queen died of grief,’ is a plot” (93). For Forster, then, the cru­ cial difference between story and plot lies in the move from simple chronology to causality—in the establishment of a causal relationship between individual events. If we consider the fabula/sujet opposition of the formalists with this in mind, it becomes clear that Forster’s model should not be understood as straightforwardly analogous to the two terms of Russian origin (Volek 1977: 147–48; Sternberg 1978: 8–14, for a detailed description of the terms and concepts involved, and Pier 2003: 77–78, for a discussion of the issue of translating Russian fabula and sujet into English). The concept of sujet has no direct equivalent in Forster’s work; what Forster refers to with “plot” would seem to cor­ respond to the meaning fabula has for Tomaševskij; and Forster’s concept of story corresponds to what the formalists either consider part of the fabula but do not name or, like Tomaševskij, say, distinguish from the fabula and call xronika (“chronicle”; Tomaševskij [1925] 1965: 215). If we exclude the case of Muir, who refers to plot and story but uses the terms imprecisely and at times synonymously (e.g. [1928] 1979: 16–17), it was above all the term “plot,” frequently associated with the Aristotelian concept of muthos, that was soon taken up by other schol­ ars in the English-speaking countries. From the 1930s onward, they used it as a central category in work on the composition of narrative works (reconstructions of this process can be found in e.g. García Landa 1998: 48–60). Brooks & Warren provided a widely known definition: “Plot, we may say, is the structure of an action as it is presented in a piece of fiction. It is not, we shall note, the structure of an action as we happen to find it out in the world, but the structure within a story. It is, in other words, what the teller of the story has done to the action in order to present it to us” ([1943] 1959: 77). 3.3 Histoire and Discours in French Structuralism and Classical Narratology The reception of the texts of Russian formalism in Western Europe began around the middle of the 20th century. As part of this process, French structuralism picked up the terms fabula and sujet and replaced them in the 1960s with the binary oppositions of récit/narration (Barthes 1966) and histoire/discours (Todorov 1966). The two-layered model of histoire and discours has spread far beyond the boundaries of French structuralism and stands out as highly successful from a present-day point of view. It was developed, building on Tomaševskij (1925), by Todorov, a Bulgarian whose academic background lay in

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Slavonic studies in Sofia (in fact, Todorov drew the terms histoire and discours from a model developed by the linguist Benveniste, who actu­ ally uses them to mean something different, namely the contrast to be found in the tense system of French between forms of narration with and without a clearly apparent speaking entity, discours and histoire re­ spectively; Benveniste 1959). Todorov’s formulation is still potentially compatible with Tomaševskij when he writes: “At the most general level, the literary work has two aspects: it is at the same time a story [histoire] and a discourse [discours]. It is story, in the sense that it evokes a certain reality […]. But the work is at the same time discourse […]. At this level, it is not the events reported which count but the manner in which the narrator makes them known to us” ([1966] 1980: 5). These same words, though, also suggest that the terms histoire and discours are not simply translations of fabula and sujet. Apart from various studies of narrative grammar by Bremond and others (see for example Bremond 1964; Greimas 1967; Todorov 1969), which stand in the tradition of Propp and concentrate entirely on the constitution of the histoire, the subsequent use of the terms histoire and discours in French structuralism and its successors confirms that both the exten­ sion of the two terms and the theoretical framework involved have been altered in certain ways. Unlike Šklovskij, say, who associates the sujet with the dynamic nature and special quality of a principle of literary composition, the French structuralists take discours to mean primarily the result, as it presents itself in the individual narrative work, of a certain way of me­ diating the set of happenings. Indeed, in contrast to the Russian formal­ ists, histoire and discours are explicitly treated as having equal status: “the two aspects, the story [histoire] and the discourse [discours], are both equally literary” (Todorov [1966] 1980: 5). Neither of the two components has priority over the other, which accords well with the fact that writers such as Barthes and Genette drew up their narratological models against the background of the theory of the linguistic sign developed by Saussure. They treat the relationship between histoire and discours as analogous to the dichotomy between signifier and sig­ nified. The two terms are openly understood as having a greater exten­ sion, though. Tomaševskij’s sujet, for example, relates primarily to the order of events in their literary representation; yet as early as Todorov, discours subsumes the literary mediation of a set of happenings in its entirety (not just the sequence of events, that is to say, but also such features as perspective, style, mode, and so on). And unlike To­ maševskij’s fabula, which consists only of those parts of the narrated

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world of relevance to the plot, Todorov’s histoire explicitly contains not just the set of happenings itself, but also the overarching continuum of the narrated world, the continuum within which the set of happen­ ings unfolds. Finally, we may mention Chatman. Building on the development from Russian formalism to French structuralism just described, he has concisely described the canonical view of the two-tier model of his­ toire and discours in classical narratology as follows: “each narrative has two parts: a story (histoire), the content or chain of events (actions, happenings), plus what may be called the existents (characters, items of setting); and a discourse (discours), that is, the expression, the means by which the content is communicated. In simple terms, the story is the what in a narrative that is depicted, discourse the how” (1978: 19; ital­ ics in original). This form of the two-tiered model, upheld in similar fashion by Prince (1982), was adopted most recently by Martínez & Scheffel (1999). Martínez & Scheffel distinguish between a level of wie, or “how,” and a level of was, or “what.” The wie, known as the Darstellung (representation), has two aspects: Erzählung (narrative) and Erzählen (narration). The was is made up of the Handlung (plot) and erzählte Welt (narrated world). In the field of Handlung, Martínez & Scheffel distinguish further between Ereignis (event), Geschehen (happenings), Geschichte (story), and Handlungsschema (plot schema). 3.4 Three- and Four-Tier Models Even in the context of French structuralism itself, extensions of or re­ finements to the binary opposition between fabula/histoire on the one hand and sujet/discours on the other were already being put forward. For example, Genette (1972) outlined a three-part framework to which he returned in (1983). On the one hand, he retains the term histoire, which he defines as “the signified or narrative content.” On the other side of the dichotomy, though, Genette replaces discours, which he cri­ ticizes for being heterogeneous, with the terms récit and narration. By récit, Genette means “the signifier, statement, discourse or narrative text itself”; by narration, in contrast, he means “the producing narrative action and, by extension, the whole of the real or fictional situation in which that action takes place” ([1972] 1980: 27). Genette’s triad of histoire/récit/narration reappears in the guise of different terms, but essentially unchanged with respect to content, as story/text/narration in Rimmon-Kenan (1983; similar also is story/plot/narration in Abbott 2002). Bal (1977: 6), though, points out correctly that Genette’s concept of narration operates on a different logical level from that of the

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two other concepts: it refers to the activity of utterance, whereas récit and histoire refer to the result of this activity (from a theoretical point of view, indeed, Genette did not apply his triadic system consistently: he treats the narration under the heading of voice as part of the dis­ cours; for an alternative model that takes account of the special fea­ tures of fictional narration, see Scheffel 1997: 49–54). Bal (1985) seeks to resolve this problem by means of a tripartite division fabula/story/text in which text refers to the signifiers or surface struc­ ture of the story, which itself refers to the signifiers or surface structure of the fabula. Adopting a similar approach to Bal and Volek, who refers in Ger­ man to the triad Fabula/Sujet/Text (Volek 1977: 165), García Landa distinguishes between three levels of the narrative work in a mono­ graph that has been influential in the Spanish-speaking countries. These levels, essentially of equal importance, are arranged above one another in tiers or nested within one another. They are acción (plot), relato (narrative), and discurso narrativo (narrative discourse). By ac­ ción, García Landa means the sequence of narrated events; by relato the presentation (‘representación’) of the narrated events (i.e. tense and mood in Genette’s sense; → perspective); and by discurso the presentation of the relato, the transformation of the relato, that is to say, into a sign system in conjunction with the act of utterance that is the narra­ ción (‘narration’). In this latter level García Landa includes what Genette covers under voice as well as pragmatic aspects such as the communication between author and reader (García Landa 1998: esp. 20–1; → mediacy and narrative mediation). Unlike Genette and Rim­ mon-Kenan, who take distinctions in the field of the discours as the basis for their tripartite models, García Landa’s relato is situated in a borderline region between discours and histoire, and he himself treats it as a kind of intersection (a “terreno commún”) between acción and discurso. Stierle, meanwhile, makes clear that his proposed triad of Geschehen/Geschichte/Text der Geschichte is grounded in the field of the fabula. Here, Geschehen is the aesthetically neutral narrative material implied by the Geschichte, which is understood as the result of artistic operations that generate meaning. Text der Geschichte, on the other hand, resembles the discours of, for example, Todorov in that it in­ cludes both the arrangement of the events as well as the Geschichte as manifested in a medium (Stierle 1971). The concepts of Genette and others on the one hand and those of Stierle on the other are based on distinctions in the field of the discours and the fabula, respectively. They are developed further, or indeed in a

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sense synthesized, in Schmid’s four-tiered model of Geschehen/Geschichte/Erzählung/Presentation der Erzählung. Schmid developed his model at the beginning of the 1980s and has defended it again in the re­ cent past (1982, 1984, 2005, 2007). According to this framework, Geschehen is the “implied raw material” for selections whose output con­ stitutes the Geschichte, understood in the sense of Tomaševskij’s fabula and Todorov’s histoire (selected happenings in ordo naturalis). Erzählung, on the other hand, is “the result of the ‘composition’ that arranges the happenings in an ordo artificialis,” and Präsentation der Erzählung means the representation of the Geschichte in a particular medium (the result, that is, of the elocutio; cf. 2005: 241–72). Schmid treats the Präsentation der Erzählung as a pheno-level, the only level accessible to empirical observation, whereas the three other levels are geno-levels that can be arrived at only by means of abstraction. In addi­ tion, Schmid’s model assumes that the four levels can be identified from changing angles, specifically from the producer’s or recipient’s side of the narrative work. If we move in an upward direction, an ab­ stract perspective on production takes shape, extending from the Geschehen to the Präsentation der Erzählung; if we move in the opposite direction, namely downward, a semiotic perspective, the beginnings of which can also be found in Bal and others, takes shape. Seen from this latter perspective, the Präsentation der Erzählung is a signifier denot­ ing the signified Erzählung, which itself is a signifier pointing to the Geschichte as a third level, and so on. 3.5 Narrative Constitution in Historiographical and Philosophical Theory In the 1970s, White (1973) adopted the model of narrative constitution in the formalist and structuralist tradition and applied it to the descrip­ tion of historiographical texts. So, something originally concerned with literary texts and meant as an abstract model of production—one ab­ stracting away from the actual process by which narratives are made— is openly applied to non-fictional narratives, their actual genesis, and their relationship to historical reality. White uses the terms “historical field,” “chronicle,” “story,” and “emplotment” to describe the genesis of a historiographical work as follows. Historians are presented with their material, the elements of the historical field, in the form of events. The first step involves arranging these events into a chronologically ordered chronicle. The second step involves transforming this chrono­ logical sequence of events into a structured unity in the guise of a story with beginning, middle, and end; in the process, individual events ac­

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quire the function of initial motifs, transitional motifs, and the like. There then remains the question of the story’s meaning. According to White, this question involves the problem of explaining the set of hap­ penings in the sense of grasping “the structure of the entire set of events considered as a completed story” (1973: 7; italics in original). This is where emplotment comes in, a concept much quoted in the con­ text of the narrative turn in cultural studies but used somewhat vaguely by White himself. There is a famous passage in which White defines it thus: “Providing the ‘meaning’ of a story by identifying the kind of story that has been told is called explanation by emplotment” (1973: 7; italics in original). For White, then, who does not make a precise theoretical distinction between the acts of production and reception, the meaning of a story takes shape as the historian shapes or discerns a plot in the story formed on the basis of the chronicle: the events arranged into a story, that is to say, are subsumed into a particular plot schema (→ schemata) (“Thus, in telling a story, the historian necessarily re­ veals a plot;” 1978: 52). Drawing on Frye (1957), White assumes fur­ ther that there is a limited number of archetypal “modes of emplot­ ment” (mythoi in the sense of Frye’s Poetics-based terminology) that can provide a story with meaning, irrespective of whether it is a case of literary or non-literary narration. Specifically, White believes there are four such modes of emplotment: romance, tragedy, comedy, and satire. If we recall now the origins of the two-tiered model for works of lit­ erary narrative in Russian formalism, it becomes clear that White in his Metahistory employs an essentially comparable model of narrative con­ stitution with precisely the opposite objective. Šklovskij develops the concept of a sujet that should be distinguished from the fabula, and does so in order to set a certain emphasis by treating the fact of being artificial as an essential quality of a particular form of narration, spe­ cifically literary narration (with Šklovskij seeing the function of this form of narration as being “to return sensation to our limbs” [(1925) 1991: 6]). White, on the other hand, uses the idea of emplotment, situated on a level between fabula and sujet, to show that the transforma­ tion of happenings into stories necessarily involves a process of making literature; the signs are that this process is understood as one of fiction­ alization (accordingly in this respect, White describes historiographical narration as “essentially a literary, that is to say fiction-making opera­ tion;” 1978: 85). Ricœur takes an analogous approach to White when, in discussing narratives, he writes about how a reality that is in and of itself contin­ gent is subjected to a fundamental reshaping by a “synthesis of the het­ erogeneous” in the form of a process of mise en intrigue (rendered as

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“emplotment” by his translators). By this, Ricœur means “the operation that draws a configuration out of a simple succession” ([1983/85] 1984/88, vol. 1: 5); configuration here, similarly to White’s emplot­ ment, is linked to the Aristotelian concept of muthos, a story, that is to say, in the sense of a whole with beginning, middle, and end. Thus, for Ricœur, too, it is a fundamental fact that narratives of every kind have the nature of creative constructions. In the context of the “narrative hermeneutics” (Meuter 1994) outlined by Ricœur, though, the relation­ ship between happenings and narrative should be conceived of not simply in the sense of an unbridgeable gap but, in so far as the happen­ ings are concerned with human action, in the sense of a special kind of mutual relationship. The following ideas from Ricœur’s complex theoretical approach are significant where the issue of narrative constitution is concerned. Ricœur links the principle of configuration to the Aris­ totelian concept of mimesis and distinguishes between three levels, which he identifies as mimesis I, mimesis II, and mimesis III. Mimesis II refers to the structure and medium of the narrative, ultimately, that is, to Todorov’s discours or Schmid’s Erzählung and Präsentation der Erzählung. Mimesis I and mimesis III, on the other hand, involve that on which the narrative depends and that to which it gives rise. Roughly speaking, in other words, mimesis I (prefiguration) concerns the world in which people act and the models for their actions; mimesis II (con­ figuration) relates more or less directly to that world; and mimesis III (refiguration) concerns the recipient’s realization of the mise en in­ trigue manifested in mimesis II. The recipient here is himself influ­ enced more or less directly in his activity (including the models that de­ termine his image of himself and of the world in which people act) by the reception of mimesis II. Thus, in contrast to the structural models of narrative constitution belonging to the formalist and structuralist tradition, Ricœur’s idea of a narrative hermeneutics does far more than identify the formal construc­ tion of narratives. Furthermore, his perspective on the question of nar­ rative constitution, widened as it is by the idea of interplay between ex­ perience and narrative, reveals new angles of research for a contextbased narratology with an interest in the pragmatics of narrative: “For a semiotic theory, the only operative concept is that of the literary text. Hermeneutics, however, is concerned with reconstructing the entire arc of operations by which practical experience provides itself with works, authors, and readers. […] What is at stake, therefore, is the process by which the textual configuration mediates between the prefiguration of the practical field and its refiguration through the reception of the work” ([1983/85] 1984/88, vol. 1: 53).

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4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The place of voice as a text- and fiction-internal pragmatic dimen­ sion of the narrative in models of narrative constitution has not to date been properly described where fictional narration is concerned. (b) If we follow Ricœur in considering the problem of narrative constitution in the broader sense of a narrative hermeneutics, we are presented with a wide range of questions to be tackled both by empirical studies of the interplay between human experience and narrative and by work on its theoretical foundations. (Translated by Alastair Matthews) 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Abbott, H. Porter ([2002] 2008). The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative. Cam­ bridge: Cambridge UP. Bal, Mieke (1977). Narratologie. Les instances du récit. Essais sur la signification narrative dans quatre romans modernes. Paris: Klincksieck. – ([1985] 1997). Narratology. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Barthes, Roland ([1966] 1977). “Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narratives.” R. B. Image Music Text. London: Fontana, 79–124. Benveniste, Émile ([1959] 1971). “The Correlations of Tense in the French Verb.” É. B. Problems in General Linguistics. Coral Gables: U of Miami P, 205–15. Bremond, Claude (1964). “Le message narrative.” Communication No 4, 4–32. Brooks, Cleanth & Robert Penn Warren ([1943] 1959). Understanding Fiction. Engle­ wood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Černov, Igor’ (Chernov, Igor) (1977). “A Contextual Glossary of Formalist Terminology.” A. Shukman & L. M. O’Toole (eds). Formalist Theory (Russian Poetics in Translation 4). Oxford: Holdan, 13–48. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse. Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Culler, Jonathan (1981). “Story and Discourse in the Analysis of Narrative.” J. C. The Pursuit of Signs. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 169−87. Forster, Edward M. ([1927] 1972). Aspects of the Novel. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Frye, Northrop (1957). Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton: Princeton UP. García Landa, José Ángel (1998). Acción, relato, discurso. Estructura de la ficción narrativa. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Greimas, Algirdas Julien ([1967] 1970). “La structure des actants du récit. Essai d’ap­ proche génerative.” A. J. G. Du sens. Essais sémiotiques. Paris: Seuil, 249–70.

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Martínez, Matías & Michael Scheffel ([1999] 2007). Einführung in die Erzähltheorie. München: Beck. Meuter, Norbert (1994). “Prä-Narrativität. Ein Organisationsprinzip unseres Handelns.” Studia Culturologica 3, 119–40. Muir, Edwin ([1928] 1979). The Structure of the Novel. London: Chatto & Windus. Pier, John (2003). “On the Semiotic Parameters of Narrative: A Critique of Story and Discourse.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 73–97. Prince, Gerald (1982). Narratology. The Form and Functioning of Narrative. Berlin: Mouton. Propp, Vladimir ([1928] 1968). Morphology of the Folktale. Austin: U of Texas P. Ricœur, Paul ([1983/1985] 1984/1988). Time and Narrative. 3 vols. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction. Contemporary Poetics. London: Methuen. Scheffel, Michael (1997). Formen selbstreflexiven Erzählens. Eine Typologie und sechs exemplarische Analysen. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Schmid, Wolf (1982). “Die narrativen Ebenen ‘Geschehen,’ ‘Geschichte,’ ‘Erzählung’ und ‘Präsentation der Erzählung’.” Wiener slawistischer Almanach 9, 83–110. – (1984). “Der Ort der Erzählperspektive in der narrativen Konstitution.” J. J. van Baak (ed). Signs of Friendship. To Honour A. G. F. van Holk, Slavist, Linguist, Se­ miotician. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 523–52. – (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. – (2007). “La constitution narrative: les événéments―l’histoire―le récit―la présent­ ation du récit.“ J. Pier (ed.). Théorie du récit. L’apport de la recherche allemande. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 153–88. – (2009). “‘Fabel’ und ‘Sujet’.” W. Schmid (ed). Slavische Narratologie. Russische und tschechische Ansätze. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–45. Šklovskij, Viktor (Shklovsky, Victor) ([1925] 1991). Theory of Prose. Elmwood Park: Dalkey Archive P. Sternberg, Meir (1978). Expositional Modes and Temporal Ordering in Fiction. Balti­ more: Johns Hopkins UP. Stierle, Karlheinz ([1971] 1973). “Geschehen, Geschichte, Text der Geschichte.” R. Koselleck & W. D. Stempel (eds). Geschichte―Ereignis und Erzählung. München: Fink, 530–34. Todorov, Tzvetan ([1966] 1980). “The Categories of Literary Narrative.” Papers on Language and Literature 16, 3–36. – (1969). Grammaire du Décaméron. The Hague: Mouton. Tomaševskij, Boris ([1925] 1965). Teorija literatury. Poėtika. Moskva: Gos. Izd. Eng­ lish trans. of the chapter “Thematics” from the 1928 ed.: L. T. Lemon & M. J. Reis (eds). Russian Formalist Criticism. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 61–95. Volek, Emil (1977). “Die Begriffe ‘Fabel’ und ‘Sujet’ in der modernen Literaturwis­ senschaft.” Poetica 9, 141–66. White, Hayden (1973). Metahistory. The Historical Imagination in the Nineteenth Cen­ tury. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (1978). Tropics of Discourse. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP.

Narrative Levels
Didier Coste & John Pier 1 Definition Narrative levels (also referred to as diegetic levels) is an analytic no­ tion whose purpose is to describe the relations among the plurality of narrating instances within a narrative, and more specifically the vertical relations between narrating instances. Thus, three narrative levels can be identified in a story where a narrator reports the telling of a story by a narrator-character within his own story: the level within the global text at which the telling of the narrator-character’s story occurs; the level at which the primary narrator’s discourse occurs; the level of the narrative act situated outside the spatiotemporal coordinates of the primary narrator’s discourse. In a broader sense, however, narrative levels also include horizontal relations between narrating instances situated at the same diegetic level, as when a story is told by several narrators. The notion of narrative levels serves to describe the spatiotemporal relations between the various narrating acts occurring in a narrative, and can thus be thought of more accurately as “narration levels” or “narrating levels.” 2 Explication According to Genette, who first proposed the term, narrative level is one of the three categories forming the narrating situation, the other two being time of the narrating and person (1972: chap. 5). Narrative levels, arranged bottom upwards, are extradiegetic (narrative act ex­ ternal to any diegesis), intradiegetic or diegetic (events presented in the primary narrative), and metadiegetic (narrative embedded within the in­ tradiegetic level). What distinguishes narrative level from the tradition­ al notion of embedding is that it marks a “threshold” in the transition from one diegesis (spatiotemporal universe within which the action takes place) to another (Genette [1983] 1988: 84). As every narrative is taken charge of by a narrative act, difference of level can be described “by saying that any event a narrative recounts is at a diegetic level im­

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mediately higher than the level at which the narrating act producing this narrative is placed […]. The narrating instance of a first narrative [récit premier] is therefore extradiegetic by definition, as the narrating instance of a second (metadiegetic) narrative [récit second] is diegetic by definition, etc.” (Genette ([1972] 1980: 228–29). Bal (1977: 35) and Rimmon-Kenan ([1983] 2002: 92–3) invert this order, placing the die­ getic level in a “subordinate” position in relation to the extradiegetic level. Discussions of narrative level frequently overlook the fact that it is not an isolated category but that, forming part of the narrating situation, it correlates with a second type of diegetic relation, a relation of person: hence a → narrator is either heterodiegetic (absent from the narrated world), homodiegetic (present in the narrated world) or autodiegetic (identical with the protagonist). Together, level and person form the narrator’s status, broken down into a four-part typology of the narrator (Genette [1972] 1980: 248; see 3.1.1 below. On the notion of diegesis, cf. Pier 1986). Formulated in terms of enunciation, narrative level in effect opposes “who speaks?” and “who acts?,” thus opening the way to a more pre­ cise description and analysis of change of level through the identifica­ tion of textual markers. Genette ([1972] 1980: 232–34) distinguishes three types of relations binding metadiegetic narrative to primary nar­ rative: (a) explanatory, when there is a link of direct causality between the events of the diegesis and those of the metadiegesis; (b) thematic, by way of contrast or analogy between levels, as in an exemplum or in mise en abyme, with a possible effect of the metadiegesis on the diegetic situation; (c) narrational, when the act of (secondary) narrating merges with the present situation, diminishing the prominence of the metadiegetic content (Rimmon-Kenan [1983] 2002: 93, names the lat­ ter relation “actional”). With reference to Barth (1981), these types were later refined into six “functions” ordered by decreasing thematic relation between primary and second-level narrative with increasing emphasis on the narrative act itself: (a) explicative; (b) predictive; (c) purely thematic; (d) persuasive; (e) distractive; (f) obstructive (Genette [1983] 1988: 92–4). And finally, by pushing the narrative act as a means of transition between levels yet further, as when the author or the reader enters the domain of the characters, or vice versa, the bound­ aries between levels are violated, resulting in → metalepsis.

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3 History of the Concept and its Study Analogously to → focalization, a systematization of theories of → per­ spective and point of view, narrative levels represent a narratological response to the traditional notions of frame stories and embedded stories. Narrative level, however, is both conceptually more global than either of these practices and more restricted. On the one hand, every narrative, embedded or not, exists by virtue of a narrative act which is necessarily external to the spatiotemporal universe within which the events of that narrative take place, thus situating it in a web of narrating instances. On the other hand, narrative levels come into play only with a shift of voice, which is not always taken into account by the tra­ ditional notions (e.g. the dream sequences introduced into Nerval’s “Aurélie” do not represent changes of level since there is no change of narrator). At the same time, narrative levels provide a set of principles that makes it possible to describe both frame stories and embedded stories. Technically, a process of embedding occurs in both types, but whereas frame stories, usually short, serve to bracket the main story (e.g. the expository pages to Marlow’s narrative in Heart of Darkness), embedded stories, of limited duration, remain subordinate to the primary narrative (e.g. the novella “The Curious Impertinent” in Don Quixote). “If the tale is conceptualized as subsidiary to the primary story frame, a relationship of embedding obtains; if the primary story level serves as a mere introduction to the narrative proper, it will be perceived as a framing device” (Fludernik 1996: 343; see 3.2 below). 3.1 Embedding In a sense that bears on narrative levels only in part, embedding desig­ nates one of the three ways in which sequences can be combined syn­ tactically into more complex forms: linking; embedding; alternation (Bremond 1973; Todorov 1966, 1971). Formally, embedding is defined by syntactic subordination, even though it does not necessarily involve a change of narrating instance (a digression can be related by the primary narrator). 3.1.1 Level and Enunciation By reformulating narrative embedding in terms of the enunciative threshold in the transitions between levels, Genette opened up a debate with far-reaching implications as to the nature of the relations between levels, a debate centered, at least initially, on the prefix meta-. If under­ stood analogously to metalanguage, metanarrative (métarécit or récit

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métadiégétique) would correspond to the embedding narrative—a primary narrative on or about the second-level narrative. But in fact metanarrative (or better: metadiegetic narrative) corresponds to the events related within diegetic narrative. Genette insisted that just as the narrating instance of the primary narrative is extradiegetic, so that of a metadiegetic (second-level) narrative is diegetic ([1972] 1980: 229). In order to resolve the potential terminological ambiguity, Bal points to three usages of meta-: (a) a quoted discourse is metalinguistic in the sense of being fictional in relation to the quoting discourse (a sense close to Genette’s); (b) from a functionalist perspective, the quoted dis­ course is a metanarrative commentary on the quoting discourse (meta­ linguistic textual devices, etc.); (c) an abusive extension of meta- to cover commentary of any kind (Bal 1981: 53–6; on metanarrative com­ mentary, see Nünning 2004). As for embedding proper, this occurs when there is insertion (attributive discourse provides a link between two discourses), subordination (which excludes juxtaposition), and ho­ mogeneity (e.g. one sequence inserted into another)—a set of relations that comes under the prefix hypo-. On this basis, it is proposed that “metanarrative” and “metadiegetic” be replaced, respectively, by “hy­ ponarrative” and “hypodiegetic”—a level below rather than in the die­ getic level (Bal 1977: 35; 1981: 43–53; cf. Fludernik 1996: 342; Rim­ mon-Kenan [1983] 2002: 92–6). It must be noted, however, that this re­ vision inverts the order of narrative levels in Genette’s presentation, creating a relation of hierarchical subordination with the extradiegetic level situated at the top, and that it does so at the expense of the intended relation of inclusion between primary and embedded narrative. The terminological refinement thus comes at a price, since it prefigures a hierarchical top-down ordering of narrating instances that may not per­ tain to all narratives, and also because it severs the significant link between metanarrative and metalepsis (Genette [1983] 1988: 91–2); it further conflicts with the specific use of hypo- in the study of hypertex­ tual relations where a hypotext (e.g. The Odyssey) is prior to a hyper­ text (e.g. Ulysses) (Genette 1982). Interestingly, Bal later abandoned her neologisms and radically altered the notion of narrative level itself. Her comments on “levels of narrative,” based on grammatical subor­ dination of the actor’s text by the narrator’s text, are devoted to various forms of → speech representation, while embedding, which she ex­ plains as text interference between actor’s text and narrator’s text, re­ verts to the traditional concept in which an embedded fabula serves to explain or to explain and determine the primary fabula or in which there is a relation of resemblance between the two (Bal [1985] 1997: 43–60). As a result, the threshold marking the transition between

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diegeses disappears, and with it the vectors of embedding/embedded and narrating instance constitutive of narrative level. Narrative levels, then, cover the enunciative situation of narrative in general as well as various forms of embedded narrative. A multifaceted concept, embedding can be found in various disciplines including lin­ guistics, logic, psychology, communication, computer science, etc. With reference to the criteria of punctuation and continuum, boundary, and logical levels that characterize the concept in these fields, Füredy (1989) identified the more extreme forms of embedding found in artist­ ic representation: (a) intact and multiplying boundary (e.g. mise en abyme, which in principle is open to infinite recursion); (b) intact but reified boundary (escape from the undecidable and oscillating bound­ ary built into Escher’s Drawing Hands is possible only through access to an otherwise inviolate metalevel); (c) transgressed boundary (meta­ lepsis). In the field of conversation analysis (→ conversational narra­ tion/oral narration), by contrast, embedding, which is more closely bound up with context, is referred to as “embeddedness.” Thus a nar­ rative of personal experience will be embedded in accordance not with syntactic subordination or logical level so much as it is with surround­ ing discourse (explanation, prayer, etc.) and social activity (frequency and length of turn-taking, degree of thematic and rhetorical integration into the general conversation) (Ochs & Capps 2001: 36–40; on the → performativity of oral narration as “situated communication,” see Young 1987: chap. 4). In possible worlds narrative theory, on the other hand, embedded narratives are a variety of alternate possible worlds that exist as beliefs, intents, etc. in the form of retrospective interpreta­ tions of the past or projections about the future in relation to the actual world, and thus contribute to the intelligibility of the fabula (Ryan 1986). The possible worlds approach does in fact open the way to a logically consistent model of narrative embedding. Distinguishing between discourse as an illocutionary category and story as an ontological cat­ egory, Ryan (1991: chap. 9) adopts a cross-classification of three di­ chotomies: +/- illocutionary; +/- ontological; +/- actual crossing. On this basis, a system of four types of narrative boundaries, organized into a “concentric structure,” is then elaborated: (1) no boundary, as a given speaker describes a same level of reality; (2a) actually crossed il­ locutionary boundary, as when the first and second speakers are differ­ ent but refer to the same reality (e.g. dialogue quoted in direct speech); (2b) virtually crossed illocutionary boundary (e.g. character’s narrative presented by the narrator’s discourse in indirect speech); (3a) actually crossed ontological boundary with no change of speaker (change in

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levels of reality in Alice in Wonderland reported by the primary narrator); (3b) virtually crossed ontological boundary by the same speaker (dream anchored in reality but described from the outside); (4a) actu­ ally crossed ontological boundary with change of speaker (a story with­ in a story, as in the Arabian Nights); (4b) virtually crossed ontological boundary with change of speaker (primary narrator projects an imagin­ ary story by a second-level narrator). One advantage of this model of narrative levels (and by implication, Genette’s, though he is not re­ ferred to) is that it provides a solution to the difficulty for traditional accounts of embedding and frame tale in marking off discourse bound­ aries from the boundaries separating different narrative contents. The system of narrative boundaries or frames, which is classificatory and static, is completed with the notion of “stacks,” a metaphor borrowed from computer science (cf. Hofstadter 1980: 127–31) in order to ac­ count for the dynamic and sequential ordering of levels in texts. “In a canonical narrative, the building and unbuilding of the stack follows a rigid protocol which restricts the range of legal operations. This pro­ tocol requires that levels be kept distinct, that they be pushed or popped on the top of the stack exclusively; that pushing and popping be properly signaled; and that every boundary be crossed twice, once dur­ ing the building and once during the unbuilding. At the end of the text, the only level left on the stack should be the ground level. This pro­ tocol is respected by all standard narrative texts, but not by all texts of literary fiction. Far from being constrained by the conditions of nar­ rativity, the fictional text may subvert the mechanisms of the stack, thus openly taking an antinarrative stance” (Ryan 1991: 187). The au­ thor goes on to discuss various “subversions” of the canonical narrative (the endlessly expanding stack, strange loops, contamination of levels, etc.; see also McHale 1987: chap. 8), suggesting in effect that the stack metaphor operates through execution of a code rather than in accord­ ance with the enunciative principle according to which the narrative act occurs in a spatiotemporal universe external to that of the narrative events, and that non-canonical narratives are deviant in relation to “standard” narratives. However, the logical consistency of Ryan’s model notwithstanding, it might be wondered if is not precisely bound­ ary crossings, irregular as well as “legal” (→ event and eventfulness), that contribute to a text’s → narrativity. In contrast to Ryan’s modeling of boundary crossings, derived from the story/discourse dichotomy, Schmid (2005: 72–99) considers narrative levels, together with presence/non-presence of the narrator in the diegesis, a basic element in the elaboration of a typology of narrators. Rejecting traditional typologies, which generally combine first- and

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third-person narration with internal vs. external perspective, Schmid adopts Genette’s criteria, although with a revision of his terminology. First, diegesis designates the level of the narrated world, and exegesis the level of the narrating. Second, the diegetic narrator belongs to both levels, and the non-diegetic narrator only to the exegesis. The elimina­ tion of personal pronouns and the disappearance of the prefixes homo-/auto- and hetero- serve to underscore a differentiation which is current in German narrative theory and implicit in Genette’s system, namely erzählendes Ich/erzähltes Ich, or “narrating I”/“narrated I” (cf. sujet de l’énonciation/de l’énoncé; “subject of the enunciation”/“the enunciated” in French linguistics). These emendations make possible a terminologically and conceptually clarified typology of narrators: primary non-diegetic (=extra- heterodiegetic); primary diegetic (=extrahomodiegetic); secondary non-diegetic (=intra- heterodiegetic); sec­ ondary diegetic (=intra- homodiegetic); tertiary non-diegetic (=metaheterodiegetic); tertiary diegetic (=meta- homodiegetic) (Schmid 2005: 87; cf. Genette [1972] 1980: 248). It must be remembered, however, that Genette’s terminology is additionally intended to account for the narrating instance, i.e. the difference of level resulting from the fact that the narrative act necessarily takes place in a spatiotemporal uni­ verse which is external to that of the events related. From a poststructuralist perspective, the notion of narrative levels is symptomatic of a “boxing of narrative,” “a structure of supervision,” and “purity of composition.” According to Gibson (1996: 215): “It is crucial to the Genettian concept of levels that there be no seepage or osmosis across the threshold. The substance composing each stratum must be unadulterated. There must be no hint of ambivalence or para­ dox in the definition of a given stratum, no irrational features that might trouble its terms. Equally, there must be no anomalies in any of the strata, nothing mixed or hybrid.” However, Gibson’s critique of “narratological geometrics” (which can also be leveled against Ryan and Schmid) remains silent on such limit cases as mise en abyme, meta­ lepsis, and pseudo-diegetic narrative, overlooking the fact that levels exist by virtue of their thresholds and are perpetually exposed to trans­ gressive crossings, just as it fails to mention Genette’s study of “trans­ textual” relations (1982, 1987). Nor does the critique take into account the potential descriptive utility, widely acknowledged by theoreticians of differing orientations, of narrative levels, embedding, frames, stacks, etc., despite the inevitably metaphorical nature of whatever terminology is employed. In presenting his notion of “narrative laterality” (in­ spired from Serres, Deleuze, Derrida), Gibson himself makes ample

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use of the very terminology and concepts he denounces in order to de­ scribe the “collapse of hierarchies” (cf. García Landa 1998: 304). 3.1.2 Embedding as a Communicational Function To be sure, formalist/structuralist models of narrative levels, which set out to reformulate the traditional notions of embedding and framing in terms of a general theory of narrative, may not be so rigid and con­ straining as supposed. As the transgressive and subversive passages between levels noted above make clear, the relations between levels surpass those of subordination and hierarchy. Genette suggests as much when, in redefining these relations, he adopts a functional perspective ([1983] 1988: 92–4; cf. 2 above), stating however that the province of narratology is not that of “interpretation” (87) and thus stopping short of taking full stock of this position. In fact, he implicitly shifts to a speech act approach to narrative levels, but without putting it in those terms: as shown by Shryock (1993: 6–8), the explanatory function (by metadiegetic analepsis) and the predictive function (by metadiegetic prolepsis) of the second-level narrative operate by virtue of their illocu­ tionary force, while the persuasive, distractive, and obstructive func­ tions can be qualified as such only by their perlocutionary effects, the obstructive function in particular binding the two levels together solely by an act of narration (a point disregarded by Rimmon-Kenan when she renames the narrational relation between levels “actional”). In this light, narrative levels are so many ways of appealing to active participation by the addressee, and not a mere “stratagem of presentation” or “conventionality,” as concluded by Genette ([1983] 1988: 95): the way is opened toward a functional approach to narrative levels in place of the more monological information-based model of narrative communication generally adhered to by classical narratology (cf. Chatman 1978: 151) (→ mediacy and narrative mediation). One consequence of formulating narrative levels in functional terms is the reordering of the notion of levels itself. Following a critique of Bal’s revisions of Genette, Nelles (1997: 127–43) introduces two dis­ tinctive types of embedding: “horizontal” embedding occurs when a story is told by two or more narrators without a change of diegetic level, and “vertical” embedding when there is a change of level and of speaker and/or of narratee. These forms can be likened, respectively, to Ryan’s type 2a, 2b and 4a, 4b boundary crossings. An additional case is the alternate universes created in a character’s mind, as in a dream (cf. Ryan’s type 3b), which Nelles explains not as a change of level but of the spatiotemporal coordinates of the story, or what Young (1987: 24) calls “Taleworld” (“the realm of the events the story is about”) as

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opposed to the “Storyrealm” (the “region of narrative discourse within the realm of conversation”). With reference to McHale’s (1987) epi­ stemological vs. ontological fictions, he renames horizontal and vertical embedding “verbal” and “modal,” respectively. Nelles contends that the function of embedded narrative is thematic (by contract or analogy) and that the interpretive strategies implemented by embedding can be analyzed on the basis of the hermeneutic, proairetic, and formal codes, adapted from Barthes’ analysis of “Sarrasine.” Another functional approach to narrative levels has been elaborated by Coste. Rooted in a communicative theory of narrative, this approach emphasizes the role of the narrator not as homo- vs. heterodiegetic, but as the enunciator: “A narrator is the subject of enunciation of one or more utterances that either contain a narrateme or are involved in the production of a narrateme by the reader” (Coste 1989: 166; on the no­ tion of narrateme and the structure of narrative meaning, see chap. 2). Essential here is the functional separation between subjects of enunciation and subjects of the enunciated, splitting the subject as narrating in­ stance between present storyteller and past (or future) character (cf. Schmid above). Subjects of enunciation, always exterior to the enunci­ ated, are thus determined according to their relations with: (a) enunci­ ated utterances; (b) other subjects of enunciation; and (c) addressees, intentional or not (167). On these premises, Coste sets forth two types of narrative embedding: hypotactic, resulting from grammatical subor­ dination and materialized in the form of delegated narration; paratactic (juxtaposition, coordination), forming a system of “parallel” narrators at the same level and related to → dialogism in which narratives are combined either by sequential relay, concurrent/conflictive versions, or narrational crossfire (167–73). The same distinction is made by García Landa (1998: 302), who has also drawn attention to the link between paratactically embedded literary narratives and face-to-face communication. In this type of narration, addressee roles are more varied than those typically found in written texts: as in conversational narratives, paratactically organized stories and novels may not be restricted to in­ tended addressees (narratee, implied reader), but also fall on the ears of mere auditors or even those of overhearers or eavesdroppers, including narratologists (García Landa 2004; cf. Goffman 1981). To the extent that both types are enunciative, they can be likened to Nelles’s hori­ zontal or verbal embedding and to Ryan’s illocutionary boundary crossings and, respectively, to her types 2b and 2a. Where Coste’s sys­ tem differs from these models is in the notion of “overall narrator,” a cooperative construct that acts as an organizer or control function which may be textualized (editor in the 18th-century novel) or not

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(→ implied author), although it must be mentioned that Ryan (2001), in a different spirit and independently of her work on narrative bound­ aries, has argued in favor of breaking the narrator down into the cre­ ative (self-expressive), transmissive (performative), and testimonial (assertive) narratorial functions constitutive of “narratorhood.” Of central interest in Coste’s model are the interdependent, organic rela­ tions between the two types of embedding, captured by the image of the “narrational tree”: while the roots grow deeper and the trunk higher (hypotactic or vertical embedding), the branches spread out laterally (paratactic or lateral embedding). 3.2 Frame Tale and mise en abyme A significant and oft overlooked fact of the principle of narrative levels is that it focuses on formal features of embedding and as such does not —nor is it intended to—distinguish between the relative importance, quantitative or otherwise, of primary and second-level narrative: the process of embedding employed in the Arabian Nights is identical to that of the interpolated narratives in Don Quixote. The deployment of narrative levels and the modalities of transitions between them are ex­ tremely variable, both historically and generically (the Decameron, the picaresque novel, the epistolary novel, postmodern fiction, etc.; for a brief historical survey of frame tales, see Kanzog 1966; for embedding in various genres, see Duyfhuizen 1992). As already discussed, there exist several ways of organizing narrative levels including the weight of thematic criteria relative to the degree of prominence of the narrative act (Genette), the vectorization of illocutionary and ontological boundaries (Ryan), the combination of narrating I / narrated I with level in a typology of the narrator (Schmid), and the separation of levels into horizontal and vertical embedding (Nelles, Coste). It is also possible to examine the textual integration of narrative levels according to the length of primary and second-level narratives relative to one an­ other, the two poles of which are the frame tale and mise en abyme. The simplest definition of the frame tale—“one story encloses an­ other like a frame” (Kanzog [1966] 1977: 321)—is ambiguous because it fails to distinguish between the framing and the framed, and it is also misleading in that (a) picture frames (to which the metaphor alludes) rarely form a part of the framed pictorial representation and (b) “framed” narratives do not come forth unmediated but necessarily in­ teract with surrounding discourse. When examined from the perspective of narrative levels, frame tales must be qualified as a particular type of intradiegetic narrative with regard to the narrative in which they

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are contained (cf. Ryan’s type 4a border crossing) and are thus, how­ ever brief they might be, subject to the criteria of narrativity in their own right (cf. Wolf 2006: 181). In addition to change of voice and level and to the potential for multiple levels of embedding, narratives that employ the framing technique—and this accessorily to the prin­ ciple of narrative embedding properly speaking—can incorporate a single second-level narrative (Heart of Darkness) or multiple secondlevel narratives (the Arabian Nights) as well as, within a given secondlevel narrative, additional embedded narratives (as in “The Three Ladies of Baghdad”). A fourth feature of frame stories is their compositional distribution: a framing can be complete (appearing at the be­ ginning and end of the embedded story), incomplete (introductory only or terminal only, possibly producing metaleptic effects), or interpolated (appearing intermittently) (adapted from Wolf 2006: 185–88). Overall, the frame tale, together with its second-level narrative, re­ lies heavily on compositional means. Most notably, it offers the possibility of linking together an otherwise disparate group of stories and of establishing thematic relations among them, and it thus contributes to textual → coherence. Semiotically, this corresponds to the syntactic di­ mension of semiosis. Another feature of the frame tale, particularly in its written form, is that it replicates the communicative situation of oral storytelling, indicating a time and place of the narrative act and the audience and buttressing the “narratorial illusionism” of the framed tale (Kanzog [1966] 1977: 322; Nünning 2004: 17; Williams 1998; 110, 113; Wolf 2006: 188–89). The communicative specificities of the framing technique thus come within the scope of pragmatics. And fi­ nally, the traditional function of the frame tale (carried over, inter alia, to the elaborate prefatory material of the 18th-century novel) is to validate the framed story (which itself may be improbable) with an air of authenticity, thanks to the impartial report by the primary narrator. This does not necessarily mean, however, that the primary narrator vouches for the veracity of the related facts: a potentially rhetorical move (as in the case of an unreliable narrator), authentification by the primary nar­ rator consists in principle in affirming that the second-level narrator re­ lated such-and-such, not in asserting what s/he related (cf. Duyfhuizen 1992: 134; Williams 1998: 114; Wolf 2006: 192). This aspect of the framing technique can be assimilated to the semantic dimension of se­ miosis, although it also merges with pragmatic considerations. The defining characteristic of mise en abyme is the relation of repetition and reflection the second-level narrative entertains with the quantitatively greater narrative within which it is contained. Iconic in the semiotic sense (cf. Bal 1978) and producing disruptive but poten­

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tially significant effects on the progression of the primary narrative, the device exists in three basic forms (Dällenbach 1977): (a) mise en abyme of the utterance (e.g. portions of the romance The Mad Trist that parallel certain incidents in Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher”); (b) mise en abyme of the enunciation, or highlighting of the process of narrative communication (e.g. the exemplum, whose aim is to instill in the reader a moral awareness); (c) mise en abyme of the code or text (e.g. Abish’s Alphabetical Africa, where chapter 1 employs only words beginning with letter “a,” chapter 2 only words beginning with the let­ ters “a” and “b,” etc. up to chapter 26, the second half of the novel re­ versing this order). These varieties of the device also come respectively within the scope of semantics, pragmatics, and syntactics, although in the case of mise en abyme, unlike in the framing technique, these di­ mensions are modeled iconically into the primary narrative. 4 Topics for Further Investigation It is not by coincidence that Genette’s study of paratext—the “unde­ cided zone” between the interior and the exterior of the text occupied by prefaces, epigraphs, notes, interviews, etc. which constitutes a space of transaction between author and reader—is titled Seuils (thresholds), the very term employed to describe the transitions between narrative levels. One broad area of inquiry for additional study is the interaction of narrative levels with speaker-hearer relations from a sociolinguistic perspective, beginning with “frame analysis” (Goffman 1974, 1981; Ochs & Capps 2001; Young 1987). Another need, within the scope of → cognitive narratology, is to gain further insight into the WHAT, WHERE, and WHEN that can be provided by narrative levels in the construction of storyworlds as focused on by research in text worlds (Werth 1999), deictic shifts (Duchan et al. eds. 1995), and contextual frames (Emmott 1997). 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Bal, Mieke (1977). Narratologie (Essais sur la signification narrative dans quatre romans modernes). Paris: Klincksieck. – (1978). “Mise en abyme et iconicité.” Littérature 29, 116–28. – (1981). “Notes on Narrative Embedding.” Poetics Today 2.2, 41–59. – ([1985] 1997). Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Barth, John (1981). “Tales within Tales within Tales.” Antaeus 43, 45–63.

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Bremond, Claude (1973). Logique du récit. Paris: Seuil. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Coste, Didier (1989). Narrative as Communication. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. Dällenbach, Lucien ([1977] 1989). The Mirror in the Text. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Duchan, Judith F., et al. eds. (1995). Deixis in Narrative: A Cognitive Science Per­ spective. Hillsdale: Erlbaum. Duyfhuizen, Bernard (1992). Narratives of Transmission. Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickin­ son UP. Emmott, Catherine ([1997] 1999). Narrative Comprehension: A Discourse Perspective. Oxford: Oxford UP. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Füredy, Viveca (1989). “A Structural Model of Phenomena with Embedding in Literature and Other Arts.” Poetics Today 10, 745–69. García Landa, José Ángel (1998). Acción, relato, discorso. Estructura de la ficción narrativa. Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad Salamanca. – (2004) “Overhearing Narrative.” J. Pier (ed). The Dynamics of Narrative Form: Studies in Anglo-American Narratology. Berlin: de Gruyter, 191–214. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. – ([1982] 1997). Palimpsests. Literature in the Second Degree. Lincoln: U of Neb­ raska P. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – ([1987] 1997). Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Gibson, Andrew (1996). Towards a Postmodern Theory of Narrative. Edinburgh: Edin­ burgh UP. Goffman, Erving (1974). Frame Analysis: An Essay in the Organization of Experience. New York: Harper & Row. – (1981). Forms of Talk. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P. Hofstadter, Douglas (1980). Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid. New York: Vintage. Kanzog, Klaus ([1966] 1977). “Rahmenerzählung.” W. Kohlschmidt & W. Moln (eds). Reallexikon der deutschen Literaturgeschichte. Berlin: de Gruyter, vol. 3, 321–43. McHale, Brian (1987). Postmodernist Fiction. London: Routledge. Nelles, William (1997). Frameworks: Narrative Levels and Embedded Narrative. New York: Lang. Nünning, Ansgar (2004). “On Metanarrative: Towards a Definition, a Typology and an Outline of the Functions of Metanarrative Commentary.” J. Pier (ed). The Dynam­ ics of Narrative Form: Studies in Anglo-American Narratology. Berlin: de Gruyter, 11–57. Ochs, Elinor & Lisa Capps (2001). Living Narrative: Creating Lives in Everyday Stories. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Pier, John ([1986] 2009 forthcoming). “Diegesis.” Th. A. Sebeok et al. (eds). Encyclo­ pedic Dictionary of Semiotics. Berlin: de Gruyter. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2002). Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Routledge.

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Ryan, Marie-Laure (1986). “Embedded Narratives and Tellability.” Style 20, 319–40. – (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative Theory. Blooming­ ton: Indiana UP. – (2001). “The Narratorial Functions: Breaking Down a Theoretical Primitive.” Nar­ rative 9, 146–52. Schmid, Wolf (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Shryock, Richard (1993). Tales of Storytelling: Embedded Narration in Modern French Fiction. New York: Lang. Todorov, Tzvetan (1966). “Les catégories du récit littéraire.” Communications N° 8, 125–51. – ([1971] 1977). The Poetics of Prose. Oxford: Blackwell. Werth, Paul (1999). Text Worlds: Representing Conceptual Space in Discourse. Lon­ don: Longman. Williams, Jeffrey (1998). Theory and the Novel: Narrative Reflexivity in the British Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Wolf, Werner (2006). “Framing Borders in Frame Stories.” W. W. & W. Bernhart (eds). Framing Borders in Literature and Media. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 179–206. Young, Katharine Galloway (1987). Taleworlds and Storyrealms: The Phenomenology of Narrative. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff.

5.2 Further Reading
Meyer-Minnemann, Klaus & Sabine Schlickers (forthcoming). “La mise en abyme en narratologie.” F. Berthelot & J. Pier (eds). Narratologies contemporaines. Villen­ euve d’Ascq: Septentrion. Norrick, Neil (2000). Conversational Narrative. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Seager, Dennis L. (1991). Stories within Stories: An Ecosystemic Theory of Metadie­ getic Narration. New York: Lang.

Narrativity
H. Porter Abbott 1 Definition Though it has become a contested term, “narrativity” is still commonly used in two senses: in a fixed sense as the “narrativeness” of narrative and in a scalar sense as the “narrativeness” of a narrative, the one ap­ plied generally to the concept of narrative, the other applied comparatively to particular narratives. As such, it can be aligned with any num­ ber of modal pairings: e.g. the lyricism of the lyric/a lyric; the descriptiveness of description/a description. Depending on the context, these two uses of the term “narrativity” can serve their purposes effectively. But increasingly over the last three decades, the term has filled a grow­ ing and sometimes conflicting diversity of conceptual roles. In the pro­ cess, other terms have, in varying ways, been drawn into the task of un­ derstanding narrativity, including “narrativeness” (used colloquially above), “narrativehood,” “narratibility,” “tellability,” “eventfulness,” “emplotment,” and “narrative” itself. To define narrativity fully, then, requires a survey not only of its different conceptual uses, but also of the supporting roles these other terms have been sometimes called on to play. 2 Explication This lively contestation has accompanied narrativity’s rise as a central term, and in some cases the central term (Sternberg, Sturgess, Fludernik, Audet), in postclassical narratology. This is in large part because of the way the term has leant itself to a general shift away from the formalist constraints of structuralist narratology (where the term is rarely found) as attention has turned increasingly to the transaction between narratives and the audiences that bring them to life. As such, it has helped open up the study of narrative to an array of approaches— phenomenological, discursive, cognitive, historical, cultural, evolution­ ary—that have transformed the field.

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The term’s advantage in this postclassical renaissance is built into its grammatical status as a reference to a property or properties rather than to a thing or class. As what one might call an “adjectival” noun, narrativity suggests connotatively a felt quality, something that may not be entirely definable or may be subject to gradations. Ryan’s distinc­ tion between “being a narrative” and “possessing narrativity” (2005c: 347, 2006a: 10–1) brings out the difference: where a narrative is a “se­ miotic object,” narrativity consists in “being able to inspire a narrative response” (2005c: 347). This flexibility and comparative freedom from restrictive categorizing (must a narrative have more than one event? [→ event and eventfulness] must narrative events be causally connected? [→ coherence] must they involve human or humanlike entities? [→ character]) also gives the term a certain user-friendliness. To adapt Ryan’s language, if we ask: “Does Finnegans Wake have more or less narrativity than Little Red Riding Hood?” we will get much broader agreement than if we ask “Is Finnegans Wake a narrative?” (Ryan 2007: 30). In short, if narrative itself is a “fuzzy concept” (Ryan 2006b, 2007; Jannidis 2003), narrativity is a term more closely attuned to its fuzziness (Herman 2002). This practical advantage of the term has also abetted the development of a transgeneric and transmedial narratology (Wolf 2002; Ryan 2005c, 2006a) [→ narration in poetry and drama; → narration in various media] that includes narrative in genres and me­ dia where words are no longer central to narration and where readers become viewers and even active participants. It has even facilitated consideration of narrativity in media that lack expectations of eventful­ ness (lyric poetry), sequentiality (painting), or even hetero-referential­ ity (referring to events outside the medial domain) that are the staple of narrative. Most controversial among the latter has been instrumental music, considered by many a purely self-referential artistic medium. Among those sketching a possible “narratology of music” (Kramer 1991; Newcomb 1987; McClary 1997; Wolf 2002, 2004; Grabócz forthcoming), it has been Wolf who has explicitly capitalized on the finer calipers of the term “narrativity” to capture narrative effects achievable in a medium that cannot tell a story. Not surprisingly, then, narrativity has been more often used as a variable quality than as a necessary component or set of components by which narrative can be defined. Thus Herman adopts the term “narrativehood” in the sense given it by Prince (1999) as a “binary predicate” by which “something either is or is not” deemed a story, and in this way reserves “narrativity” as a “scalar predicate” by which something is deemed “more or less prototypically storylike” (Herman 2002: 90– 1). As Herman suggests, this distinction correlates with the distinction

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between “extensional” and “intensional” aspects of narrative which were introduced to narratology through the application of “possible worlds” theory by Doležel (1979, 1983, 1998), Pavel (1986), Ryan (1991), and others. Nevertheless, narrativity has not been used exclusively in an intensional sense. In his most recent reconsideration of this knotty terminological problem, Prince (2008) has sought to expand the concept of narrativity to include both extensional and intensional as­ pects. For the first—the entities that constitute narrative—he has re­ tained the term narrativehood; for the second—the qualities or traits of narrative—he has applied the term narrativeness. In Prince’s view, both are scalar concepts in that they are subject to degrees, the first quantitative, the second qualitative (see also Hühn 2008: 143). Further complicating any effort to organize the range of discourse on narrativity are the ways in which the term has been deployed in modal or generic distinctions to delineate both a field of specifically narrative modes and a broader field in which narrative is one of a num­ ber of communicative and artistic modes. In both, its flexibility as a scalar phenomenon plays a role. At the broadest level of abstraction, then, the discussion of narrativity can be organized under four head­ ings: (a) as inherent or extensional; (b) as scalar or intensional; (c) as variable according to narrative type; (d) as a mode among modes. 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Prehistory of Narrativity As noted above, the term “narrativity” did not develop its lively range of conceptual roles until the emergence of a postclassical narratology in the last decades of the 20th century. The most influential precursor concept is the property of mediation, which Plato identified when dis­ tinguishing between the indirect representational character of diegesis and the direct presentational character of mimesis: the one narrated by the poet, the other performed (The Republic, Bk 3). As Schmid (2003: 17–8) notes, mediation was a central focus of classical narratology well before narratology got its name, notably in Stanzel’s major work of the 1950s and 1960s, later reinvigorated in A Theory of Narrative ([1979] 1984), but lacking the word “narrativity.” Another classical precursor concept is Aristotle’s idea of muthos, “the configuration of incidence in the story” (Greimas & Ricœur 1989: 551), which anticipates the concept of “emplotment,” a central term for Ricœur and others in the discourse on narrativity. In the development of classical narratology, the Russian formalist idea of “the dominant” has also been critical.

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Usually attributed to Tynjanov (1927) and influentially developed by Jakobson, the dominant is the “focusing component of a work of art: it rules, determines, and transforms the remaining components” and as such guarantees “the integrity of the structure” (Jakobson [1935] 1971: 105). The dominant has been taken up by Sternberg and others as a categorical determinant, a perceived modal predominance, distinguishing any particular narrative from other modal kinds (see 3.5 below). 3.2 Narrativity as Inherent or Extensional Though narrativity has leant itself predominantly to usage that is inten­ sional, subjective, and variable according to context, audience, and oth­ er factors, there have been several powerful conceptions of the term as inherent, determinative, and co-extensive with any particular narrative. 3.2.1 Immanence Greimas is the major exception to the general structuralist neglect of narrativity. His conception of the term is also notable for its breadth of application, referring to a structuring force that generates not simply all narratives but all discourse: “le principe organisateur de tout discours” (Greimas & Courtés 1979: 249). With regard to narrative in particular, Greimas distinguishes between an apparent and an immanent level of narration, with narrativity located in the latter. As such, “narrativity is situated and organized prior to its manifestation. A common semiotic level is thus distinct from the linguistic level and is logically prior to it, whatever the language chosen for the manifestation” (Greimas [1969] 1977: 23). It is also important to note that, for Greimas, narrativity is a disor­ ganizing as well as an organizing force in that it disrupts old orders even as it generates new ones. It is “the irruption of the discontinuous” into the settled discourse “of a life, a story, an individual, a culture,” disarticulating the existing discourse “into discrete states between which it sets transformations” ([1983] 1987: 104). To bear this in mind is to see the deep commonality of modes (descriptive, argumentative, narrative) often left segmented in analytical terminology. In an analysis of Maupassant’s “A Piece of String,” Greimas carefully demonstrates how customary distinctions such as that between descriptive and nar­ rative segments give way at a deeper level that organizes “according to canonical rules of narrativity” ([1973] 1989: 625). However static they may appear to be, descriptive segments are imbued with the same un­ dergirding narrativity that organizes the segments of action.

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3.2.2 Emplotment For Ricœur, a key manifestation of narrativity is “emplotment,” the ar­ ticulation of which involves “broadening, radicalizing, [and] enriching” the Aristotelean idea of plot with the Augustinian understanding of time ([1985] 1988: 4). This allows him on the one hand to develop a complex reassessment of the temporal difference between fictional and historical narrative, while on the other to bring out their deep common­ alty. To accomplish this, Ricœur, like Greimas, posits a deep level of narrativity; but unlike Greimas, he sees it as a “pre-understanding” of our historical mindedness—“an intelligibility of the historicality that characterizes us” (Greimas & Ricœur 1989: 552)—and it lies at the heart of his critique of Greimas’s a-temporal model of fictional narrative (Ricœur 1980). In addition, and further differentiating his usage from that of Greimas, Ricœur saw the operation of emplotment as a dialectical process, a dynamic interaction between this “first-order in­ telligence” and the surface level where narrative is structurally mani­ fest in the text (Greimas & Ricœur 1989: 551–52). Emplotment, then, is an evolving, processual feed-back loop between the informing level of narrativity and the particularity of its manifestation. Like Ricœur, White (1973, 1978, 1981) does not limit narrativity to the designated modes of fiction. But where Ricœur’s theory of emplot­ ment not only bonds but distinguishes fictional and nonfictional nar­ rativity (→ fictional vs. factual narration), White has tended over the course of his writings to stress the commonality of their narrativity. More than this, narrativity is for White a “panglobal fact of culture,” without which there is no conveying knowledge as meaning. Narrativity is at one with the perception of meaning because meaning only emerges when events have been “emplotted” with “the formal coher­ ency that only stories can possess” (White 1981: 19). For this reason, history, by definition, cannot exist without narrativity. In its absence, there is a mere succession of events (annals) or, at best, events organ­ ized by some other means than plot (chronicles). It is emplotment that brings events to life, endowing them with cultural meaning, since “[t]he significance of narrative is not latent in the data of experience, or of imagination, but fabricated in the process of subjecting that data to the elemental rhetoric of the narrative form itself” (Walsh 2003: 111). The final irony, then, is that narrativity is the unacknowledged neces­ sity of what we take for truth, for to attain the status of truth, a representation of “the real” requires, at a minimum, “the character of nar­ rativity” (White 1981: 6).

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3.2.3 A Logic of Narrativity For Sturgess, too, narrativity is inherent in narrative. It is an “enabling force” that “is present at every point in the narrative” (Sturgess 1992: 28). He also echoes Greimas when he writes of narrativity’s power over “nonnarrative” segments like descriptive passages. It governs “not only the chronology of a novel’s story, but equally every interruption of that chronology, and every variation in the mode of representation of that story” (22). At the same time, he situates himself in opposition to Greimas’s idea of “a deep structural level of narrative which is pre­ sumed in some way to account for the existence of the narrative in question” (14). Drawing on Bremond’s (1973) critique of Greimas, Sturgess sees narrativity instead as an all-determining “logic” or “power of narrativity which decides” how elements are deployed at any mo­ ment in a narrative (Sturgess 1992: 140–41). Cohen also proposes a logic of narrativity, but one that simply re­ quires that the languages of literary and filmic fiction render their signs consecutively. The result, however, is also a co-extensively inherent narrativity that the reader or viewer is led to apprehend: “an unfolding structure, the diegetic whole, that is never fully present in any one group yet always implied in each group” (1979: 92). Like Sturgess, and unlike Ricœur and White, Cohen restricts narrativity to works of con­ scious art. But Sturgess’s concept differs from all three in two funda­ mental ways. First, for Sturgess, the “logic of narrativity” requires no sequential structuring principle, but simply the ability to arouse “a sense of its own wholeness” as narrative (1992: 28). Second, narrativity only crystallizes when the reader is persuaded that what is being read is a narrative. It is in this sense a reflexive concept. An advantage of both Sturgess’s and Cohen’s logics is the way they can accommodate postmodern and other extreme forms of weakened or obscured storyline that are often considered “anti-narrative,” since “every narrative will possess its own form of narrativity” (Sturgess: ibid.). In Cohen’s words, even “the randomness common to […] sur­ realist experiments points to the fundamental and seemingly inevitable narrativity of cinematic and literary language” (1979: 92). A disadvant­ age of this approach to narrativity is the threat of circularity, which weakens both its analytical leverage and its ability to distinguish nar­ rative competence from narrative incompetence. 3.3 As Scalar or Intensional Some scholars start out with an extensional definition of narrativity, equating it with a “set” of defining conditions, as in “the set of quali-

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ties marking narrative and helping a reader or viewer perceive the dif­ ference between narrative and non-narrative texts” (Keen 2003: 121) or “the set of properties characterizing narrative and distinguishing it from nonnarrative” (Prince [1987] 2003: 65). But these same scholars will often go on to treat the concept of narrativity as an intensional quality by which a text is felt to be “more or less narrative” (ibid.). In­ deed, as Schmid (2003: 30) notes, it is hard to remain objective or to do away with an interpretive stance when discussing the scalar narrativity of texts. This double usage of narrativity is the problem Prince (2008) set out to resolve when he divided narrativity into narrativehood and narrativeness. As he demonstrates, the scalar nature of narrativity is not only complicated by the variable combinability of these two subcat­ egories but by other factors as well. With similar ambition, Ryan has spelled out a “tentative formulation of [nine] nested conditions” that might be used in describing narrative as a “fuzzy set,” recognizable in any particular work according to the number and importance of the conditions present (Ryan 2006b: 194). Many scholars have, nonethe­ less, centered their theorizing on a single manifestation of narrativity, while explicitly or implicitly acknowledging the complexity of narrative response that makes narrativity both a scalar and a fuzzy concept. This in turn means that there can be no pure segregation of their work under one caption or another. 3.3.1 Sequentiality In the 1970s, when Sternberg developed his theory of three overarching “master forces” of narrative—curiosity, suspense, and surprise (1978) —he did not use the word “narrativity.” In more recent years, however, the term “narrativity” has become increasingly important for him as “the play of suspense/curiosity/surprise between represented and com­ municative time,” while a narrative is a text in which “such play dom­ inates.” Narrativity, then, is a scalar property which can be “stronger” or “weaker.” But when it is dominant in any text, its “functional” char­ acter is to act as a “regulating principle” (1992: 529). At this point, the theory transits to a concept of inherency. Thus “strong narrativity […] not merely represents an action but interanimates the three generic forces that play between narrated and narrational time” (2001: 119). All the elements are orchestrated according to “the unbreakable law­ likeness of the narrative process itself” (2003: 328), so that, for ex­ ample, whatever your sympathies regarding the characters in a story, they “must arise from the generic trio, and impinge on everything else in the reading, given the exigencies of intersequence” (ibid.).

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Almost all arguments identifying narrativity with sequentiality start from the idea that there is more to it than simply one thing after the other. In this they follow antecedent theorizing ranging from Aristotle’s view of the well-made tragedy to Tomaševskij’s (1925) definition of fabula and Forster’s (1927) definition of plot, all of which stress the importance of causal connection. Since then, much theorizing about narrative has featured a sense of causal agency as “a necessary condi­ tion of narrativity” (Richardson 1997: 106; White 1981; Bal 1985; Bordwell 1985; Rabinowitz 1987; Kafalenos 2006). Pier (2008) more rigorously distinguishes between treatments of causality suitable in de­ fining narrative and “narrative worlds” and a more adequate under­ standing of narrativity in relation to the complex, evolving, process of causal inference “set in motion by heuristic reading and semiotic read­ ing” (134). More recently, understanding of sequentiality has been enlarged by the importation of schema theory from cognitive psychology (Bordwell 1985; Fludernik 1996; Herman 2002; Hühn 2008; → schemata). Espe­ cially important has been the concept of cognitive scripts in analyzing what happens at the script/story interface (Herman 2002). Scripts are stereotypical sequences warehoused in the brain that together contrib­ ute to Bruner’s (1991) “canonicity” or the expectations on which Stern­ berg’s sequence of curiosity/suspense/surprise depends. They participate in varying degrees of narrativity, depending on the extent to which they are breached with the unexpected. (For further commentary on narrativity and schema theory, see 3.2.4 below.) Ryan complicated the sequential unfolding of scalar narrativity when she located it in the varying ratio of two levels: “one pertaining to story (or the ‘what’ of a narrative) and the other to the discourse (or the ‘way’ such narrative content is presented).” For example, “[t]he same text can present full narrativity in sense 1, but low narrativity in sense 2, when it tells a well-formed story but the progress of the action is slowed down by descriptions, general comments, and digressions” (2007: 34 n.25). Kermode (1983) takes this bi-level approach a step further. In narratives of any complexity, he argues, the sequentiality of the story’s narrativity is always at war with the nonnarrativity of the discourse. Narrativity on this view is a kind of psycho-cultural “propri­ ety” that lies in the comforting “connexity” of the fabula, accepted simply as such. In this way, Kermode’s account of the reassurance of story chimes with White’s idea of narrativity as a conduit of ideological doxa. But for Kermode, what disturbs the orthodoxy freighted in the narrativity of the fabula is the sujet or the rendering of the story. It is the sujet that prevents us, if we are intent on not “underreading,”

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from resting in the story’s reassuring sequential narrativity, for it abounds in “mutinous” nonnarrative elements that contend with the text’s narrativity, crying out to be accommodated by interpretation even as they frustrate it (137). 3.3.2 Eventfulness Recent attention to eventfulness by the Hamburg Narratology Research Group responds to the need for a clearer understanding of what consti­ tutes a narrative event than is found in most sequentiality-based theories (Hühn 2008: 146). Schmid (2003) develops his theory of eventful­ ness within a definition of the narrative event as a non-trivial change of state that takes place and reaches completion (is “resultative”) in the actual (“real”) world of any particular fictional narrative. Its narrativity, then, depends on its non-triviality, which in turn is a factor of its eventfulness. For Schmid this depends on five key variable features: relevance, unpredictability, persistence, irreversibility, and non-iter­ ativity. Hühn (2008) supplements Schmid’s concept by drawing on schema theory and Lotman’s concept of the “semantic field.” Combin­ ing these two areas of research gives Hühn’s version of eventfulness an analytical scope that includes both the cognitive drama of schematic disruption and an awareness of historical and cultural contexts afforded by the recognition of differing semantic socio-cultural fields. Audet has sought to disconnect the concept of narrativity from any dependent connection with crafted narrative, identifying it instead with the more widely occurring sense of what he calls “eventness [événe­ mentialité], […] where the tension between a before and an after seems to generate a virtuality, that of a story to come” ([2006] 2007: 34). Audet builds on Lotman’s idea of a hierarchy of events, proposing three levels or types of event: the “inworld event” (concrete action), the “discursive event,” and the “operal event” (“connected to the perform­ ing of the work itself”) (33), each of which in its emergence raises nar­ rativity through its aura of events to come. However far one wishes to go down this road with Audet, he, like Cohen, Sturgess, and as we will see Fludernik, has found a way to accommodate those postmodern ex­ perimental texts that often frustrate narratologists wedded to a narrative-centered theory. 3.3.3 Tellability Originally introduced by Labov (1972), → tellability (or narratibility; cf. Prince 2008) is what makes a story worth telling. It allows a positive answer to the question “What’s the point?” and has often been “hard to disentangle” from narrativity (Ryan 2005b: 589). Specifically,

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tellability is the variable potential of a story as yet unnarrativized, while narrativity is the variable success of its narrativizing. In Her­ man’s precise wording: “Situations and events can be more or less tellable; the ways in which they are told can […] display different de­ grees of narrativity. Thus, whereas both predicates are scalar, tellability attaches to configurations of facts and narrativity to sequences representing those configurations of facts” (2002: 100). Nonetheless, the border between the two concepts has often been blurred. In scalar con­ ceptions of narrativity, tellability often ranks high on the list of qualities that participate in a text’s narrativity. Bruner (1991) asserts that without tellability there can be no narrativity. Tellability is also essen­ tial to Fludernik’s experience-based concept of narrativity. Conceived as the narrator’s emerging sense of the importance (“point”) of the events narrated, tellability, for Fludernik, is the third of three narration­ al operations—reviewing past events, reproducing them, and evaluat­ ing them—that, when conjoined, “constitute narrativity” (2003: 245). For Hühn (2008), eventfulness is the prior concept on which tellability depends. In passing, he makes the useful distinction between narratives with sufficient eventfulness to be tellable and what he terms “process narratives,” found in the sciences, historiography, lawsuits, and even in recipes and instruction manuals, which are “a more descriptive and neutrally informative way of tracing and communicating developments, processes, and changes” (145 n.30). Elaborating further, Hühn argues that tellability is absent from the narrativity of the uneventful, plotless narration of type I events, but is the key distinction of the eventful, em­ plotted narration of type II events (see “Event and Eventfulness”). 3.3.4 Narrative Competence and Experientiality The increasing concern for reader/audience response in postclassical narratology has led to a focus on narrative competence, which has in­ volved varying degrees of a “constructivist” orientation to narrativity like the one Scholes (1982) developed in reaction to the widespread use of the term in film theory as “a property of films themselves.” In English, Scholes argued, the word narrativity “implies a more sentient character than we generally allow an artifact. For this reason and some others,” Scholes employs the word “to refer to the process by which a perceiver actively constructs a story from the fictional data provided by any narrative medium. A fiction is presented to us in the form of a nar­ ration (a narrative text) that guides us as our own narrativity seeks to complete the process that will achieve a story” (60). Echoing Iser (1972) and Sternberg (1978), Scholes’s concept of nar­ rativity engages in fictional world-making by filling in gaps, both

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“passive or automatic” and “active or interpretive,” guided always by the semiotics of fictional and filmic language (Scholes 1982: 61). Once aroused, the “primary effort” of our narrativity is “to construct a satis­ fying order of events.” This it does by exercising the power of our nar­ rativity in concert with the “narrational blueprints” (69) of the art to construct “two features: temporality and causality” (ibid.). Anticipating McHale’s (2001) view of weak narrativity, Scholes argued that this ex­ ercise of our gift of narrativity is essential even in those postmodern and experimental novels and films that seek to disrupt it, since without this cognitive and semiotic equipment the effects of their disruption would go unexperienced (64). Leitch also adopted a constructivist narrativity, but with an account of the capabilities required that is interestingly different from Scholes’: “At its simplest level, narrativity entails three skills: the ability to defer one’s desire for gratification; […] the ability to supply connections among the material a story presents; and the ability to perceive discursive events as significantly related to the point of a given story or se­ quence” (Leitch 1986: 34). For Leitch (similarly to Scholes), it is up to any particular narrative “to cultivate an appropriate degree of narrativity, which may vary widely from one story to the next” (35). How­ ever, both stop short of a more extreme constructivism by contending that narrativity leaves off when we are no longer “under the illusionary guidance of a maker of narratives” (Scholes 1982: 64). This would leave out of account the power of narrativity to read a narrative where none is intended—to project, for example, from natural events the signs of a maker intent on communicating a prophetic story. “Life re­ sumes,” Scholes writes, “when narrativity ceases” (ibid.). Nelles goes further in the direction of readerly control when he defines narrativity as “the product of a tropological operation by which the metaphor of narration is applied to a series of words on a page. To read a text by means of the trope of narration is to read out of it a nar­ rator and its voice, and a narratee and its ear” (Nelles 1997: 116). Nar­ rativity is at work, in other words, when a reader frames, or reframes, a text as narrative, an operation that can be applied even to texts com­ monly designated as something else (a lyric poem, an argument, a piece of music). Once such a text is imbued with narrativity, “the tools of narrative analysis can be applied” (120). From here it is a short step to narrativity as a universal feature of creative perception, that power that White theorizes as at once seeing and making history where there is none—the power to narrativize the real. The infusion of cognitive research has invigorated research on nar­ rative competence. Notable in this regard is the work of Fludernik, for

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whom narrativity is quite explicitly “not a quality inhering in a text, but rather an attribute imposed on the text by the reader who interprets the text as narrative, thus narrativizing the text” (2003: 244). Fludernik de­ rives the essential quality of narrativity from what she calls “human ex­ perientiality,” building on pre-cognitive work by Hamburger (1957) and Cohn (1978) that had keyed narrative to its unique capability of portraying consciousness. Fludernik enlarges this focus with insight gained from Labovian discourse analysis and schema theory, expand­ ing it to encompass a great range of expressive acts, starting with the conversation of everyday life (→ conversational narration/oral narra­ tion). Thus when readers encounter texts formally described as narratives, they draw on an immense accumulation of frames and scripts that arise from the experience of life itself. In this way, Fludernik displaces the centrality traditionally con­ ferred on the formal properties of “story,” “plot,” and “narrator” in definitions of narrative, while (like Cohen, Sturgess, and Audet in their different ways) expanding the range of full narrative legitimacy to ex­ perimental fiction in which these properties are barely perceptible. At the same time, by locating narrativity as a “natural” process not de­ pendent on the experience of literature, Fludernik broadens what Culler (1975: 134–60) called “naturalization”—the process by which a reader gains or seeks to gain cognitive control over texts. She also narrows this process to a specifically narrative operation, replacing Culler’s term “naturalization” with “narrativization,” by which the reader draws on a compendium of experiential, not strictly literary, schemata mar­ shaled under the “macro-frame” of narrativity. It is this that allows a “re-cognization of a text as narrative” (Fludernik 1996: 313). Only to the degree that a text resists narrativization does it discourage percep­ tions of narrativity. Yet even such “unnatural” cases, if repeated often enough, can become part of a reader’s natural experience and thus sus­ ceptible to narrativization. Herman, in his turn, builds on the “natural narratology” of Fludernik, Labov, and others, drawing, as they did, on cognitive theory and discourse analysis. For Herman, too, narrativity can be found in the lar­ ger terrain of human experience, and indeed much of his work inter­ mixes a focus on narrativity as it occurs in conversation, ranging across a spectrum from the banal to the unfathomable. To put this in his words: “Narrativity is a function of the more or less richly patterned distribution of script-activating cues in a sequence. Both too many and too few script-activating cues diminish narrativity” (Herman 2002: 91). But Herman also critiques Fludernik’s reliance on “experientiality” as the determinate factor in gauging a text’s degree of narrativity. To do

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so, he argues, places “too much weight on a participant role whose de­ gree of salience derives from a larger, preference-based system of roles” (2002: 169, 2009: passim). Phelan (2005, 2007), from his quite differently oriented “rhetorical understanding of narrativity,” also advocates maintaining a focus on both sides of the reader/text transaction. For him, narrativity is a com­ plex, “double-layered phenomenon” involving both a progression of events and a progression of reader response. Each is characterized by a “dynamics of instability,” the one driving the tale, the other driving the response to it (Phelan 2007: 7). The tension of characters acting and re­ acting in an unstable situation is accompanied by a “tension in the telling—unstable relations among authors, narrators, and audiences,” and it is the complex interaction of the two kinds of instability that constitutes narrativity and that “encourages two main activities: ob­ serving and judging” (ibid.). Put differently, narrativity involves “the interaction of two kinds of change: that experienced by the characters and that experienced by the audience in its developing responses to the characters’ changes” (Phelan 2005: 323). As a scalar concept, “[v]ery strong narrativity depends on the work’s commitment to both sets of variables (textual and readerly). Weak narrativity arises from the work’s lack of interest in one or both sets of variables” (Phelan 2007: 215; see also Ryan 2007; Prince 2008). 3.3.5 Fictionality Keen draws attention to a “slippage” whereby fictionality has been in­ cluded as an index of narrativity (2003: 121). This controversial associ­ ation of narrativity and fictionality can be traced back to Hamburger (1957). However, as noted above, White (1973, 1978, 1981), has en­ couraged not just a slippage but a conflation of narrativity, fictionality, and history. Historical narratives are “verbal fictions the contents of which are as much invented as found and the forms of which have more in common with their counterparts in literature than they have with those in science” (1978: 82). Consciously or not, White ironizes a distinction that Woolf expressed when she wrote, “Let it be fact, one feels, or let it be fiction. The imagination will not serve under two mas­ ters simultaneously” (Woolf [1927] 1994: 473; see also Ryan 1991; Doležel 1998: 1–28; Cohn 1999: chap. 7). Seeking to moderate both White’s extreme view that “[a]ll narrativity […] shares in the proper­ ties of fictionality” and the counter-argument for an absolute cat­ egorical distinction between fiction and nonfiction, Walsh points out that “[r]eference actually occurs” in fiction, “and the use of language in fiction is shown to be continuous with its use elsewhere” (2003: 111).

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Readers, he contends, are always concerned to bring fictional worlds “into relation with the larger context of their own experience and un­ derstanding” (114). 3.4 As Variable according to Narrative Type, Genre, or Mode Herman writes that “narrative genres are distinguished by different preference-rule systems prescribing different ratios of stereotypic to nonstereotypic actions and events” (2002: 91). Variant narrativities, in other words, accompany generic variations among the totality of narrative genres. In her influential essay, “The Modes of Narrativity,” Ryan (1992) developed a narrativity-based taxonomy of narrative text types that included “simple narrativity” (dealing with a single conflict as in fairy tales and anecdotes), “complex narrativity” (having interconnected narrative threads as in the triple-decker 19 th-century novel), “figural narrativity” (abstract universals, concepts, or collectivities freighted on characters and events as in certain lyrical and philosophical works), “instrumental narrativity” (illustrative support in sermons and treatises), and “proliferating narrativity” (having no overarching narrative but a series of little narratives involving the same cast of characters as in picaresque and magical realist novels). Ryan (1992, 2004, 2005c) also invokes the necessity of a modal view of narrativity if we are fully to grasp the narrative potential of non-verbal media: “It is only by re­ cognizing other modes of narrativity […]—modes such as illustrating, retelling, evoking, and interpreting—that we can acknowledge the nar­ rative power of media without a language track” (2005a: 292). Hühn (in this volume) distinguishes between “broad” and “narrow” definitions of narrativity according to whether one is operating with a minimal definition of narrative with its minimal concept of event (type I) or a more restricted definition of narrative, requiring an event or events that fulfill certain conditions (type II). Hühn’s distinction yields a fixed concept of narrativity for “plotless” or “process” narration built from type I events, but yields a scalar concept of narrativity for “plot­ ted” narration in which type II events play an integral role. Fludernik, resisting the efforts of some to extend full narrativity to historical writ­ ing, categorizes it instead as “restricted narrativity, narrative that has not quite come into its own” (1996: 26). Finally, where Ryan (1992) uses the term “anti-narrativity,” McHale settles on the term “weak nar­ rativity” to describe the way in which Hejinian, Ashbery, and other av­ ant-garde narrative poets interpolate, break up, or suspend narrative lines in their work. In such works, narrativity is not abolished; rather, “we intuit that we are in the presence of narrativity. But at the same

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time that our sense of narrative is being solicited, it is also being frus­ trated” (McHale 2001: 164). 3.5 As a Mode among Modes Chatman’s widely referenced distinction between narrative “texttypes” and “non-narrative text-types” (argument, exposition, descrip­ tion) draws on the idea of a type-determinative “overriding” presence of one property or another (1990: 21). Though he does not use the term “narrativity,” in essence he is echoing the Russian formalist concept of the “dominant” that Sternberg deploys when he writes of the way a pre­ dominating narrativity draws technically non-narrative elements into a narrative whole. Phelan sets narrativity in contrast to two other modes: lyricality, in which the dominant is “an emotion, a perception, an attitude, a belief” or some form of meditation; and portraiture, in which the dominant is the revelation of character. All three can to some extent be present in a text of any length, but a text is hybridized when two or more are present in strength, with one or the other dominating (Phelan 2007: 22– 4). What is meant by “hybrid” and by the terms, “dominate” and “dom­ inant” is itself a question on which there is room for debate. Sternberg, for example, argues for the importance of “properly [naming] the text after its dominant” since, once narrativity dominates, it draws the non­ narrative elements under its control in a way that is absolute. This in­ cludes “language, existents, thematics, point of view, etc.” as well as descriptive phrases and “equivalence patterns.” Under sufficient narrative pressure, “the descriptive turns kinetic” (Sternberg 2001: 119–20). This would appear, however, to exclude the possibility of hybrids for, given the dominant, “everything assimilates and conduces to its nar­ rativity, as inversely with narrative elements in descriptive writing” (121). For Schmid (2003: 21–2), the situation can be more fluid, such that there are hybrid texts in which the functionality of descriptive and narrative elements can vie for dominance. A key element in reading such texts, then, is how the reader chooses to interpret them. In sum, the growing attention to the term “narrativity” has kept pace with the increasing range and richness of narratological debate. Whether or not this term will eventually displace the centrality of the term “narrative,” what Prince wrote a decade ago still holds true: “further study of narrativity constitutes perhaps the most significant task of nar­ ratology today” (1999: 43).

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4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The widely endorsed idea promoted by Bruner, Sacks, and others that “each of us constructs and lives a narrative” (Sacks 1985: 105) has been attacked by Strawson (2004) as a fallacy that does not match the “gappy” discontinuity of consciousness and selfhood. But the issue is more complex than either position (Battersby 2006), and narrativity may play a key role in resolving it. (b) Related to this is the need for more work on narrativity as a part of what Brooks calls “our cognitive toolkit” (2005: 415; Herman 2002, 2009). (c) The narrativity of dreams is a limit case on which much depends in the definition of narrativity. On the one hand, there is flat rejection (Prince 2000: 16); on the other, support (Metz 1974; Walsh forthcoming). (d) Work is needed on nar­ rativity in digital media, especially in narrativized games (Ryan 2006a) and what Aarseth (1997) calls ergodic literature in which the “story” is created in real time insofar as the events are determined by “non-trivi­ al” actions of the players. (e) A highly consequential and disputed area for research is the role narrativity plays in law, its ethics and its prac­ tice (Brooks & Gewirtz 1996; Brooks 2005; Abbott [2002] 2008: 175– 92; Sternberg 2008). (f) Narrativity may well turn out to be a key concept in building a critical and theoretical understanding of “narrative-impaired” art that has recently been gathered under the heading of “unnatural narratology.” 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Aarseth, Espen (1997). Cybertext: Perspectives of Ergodic Literature. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Abbott, H. Porter ([2002] 2008). The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative. Cam­ bridge: Cambridge UP. Audet, René ([2006] 2007). “Narrativity: Away from Story, Close to Eventness.” A. R. et al. (eds). Narrativity: How Visual Arts, Cinema and Literature are Telling the World Today. Paris: Dis Voir, 7–35. Bal, Mieke ([1985] 1997). Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P. Battersby, James I. (2006). “Narrativity, Self, and Self Representation.” Narrative 14, 27–44. Bordwell, David (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. Madison: U of Wisconsin P. Bremond, Claude (1973). Logique du récit. Paris: Seuil. Brooks, Peter (2005). “Narrative in and of the Law.” J. Phelan & P. Rabinowitz (eds). A Companion to Narrative Theory. Malden: Blackwell, 415–26.

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& Paul Gewirtz (1996). Law’s Stories: Narrative and Rhetoric in the Law. New Haven: Yale UP. Bruner, Jerome (1991). “The Narrative Construction of ‘Reality’.” Critical Inquiry 18, 1–21. Chatman, Seymour (1990). Coming to Terms: The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Cohen, Keith (1979). Film and Fiction. New Haven: Yale UP. Cohn, Dorrit (1978). Transparent Minds: Narrative Modes for Presenting Conscious­ ness in Fiction. Princeton: Princeton UP. – (1999). The Distinction of Fiction. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Culler, Jonathan (1975). Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics, and the Study of Literature. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Doležel, Lubomír (1979). “Extensional and Intensional Narrative Worlds.” Poetics 8, 193–211. – (1983). “Proper Names, Definite Descriptions, and the Intensional Structure of Kafka’s ‘The Trial’.” Poetics 12, 511–26. – (1998). Heterocosmica: Fiction and Possible Worlds. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Fludernik, Monica (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. – (2003). “Natural Narratology and Cognitive Parameters.” D. Herman (ed). Narrative Theory and the Cognitive Sciences. Stanford: CSLI Publications, 243–67. Forster, Edward M. ([1927] 1962). Aspects of the Novel. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Grabócz, Márta (forthcoming). Musique, Narrativité, Signification. Greimas, Algirdas Julien ([1969] 1977). “Elements of a Narrative Grammar.” Diacrit­ ics 7, 23–40. – ([1973] 1989). “Description and Narrativity: ‘The Piece of String’.” New Literary History 20, 615–26. – ([1983] 1987). “A Problem of Narrative Semiotics: Objects of Value.” A. J. G. On Meaning: Selected Writings in Semiotic Theory. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – & Joseph Courtés (1979). Sémiotique: dictionnaire raisonné de la théorie du lan­ gage. Paris: Hachette. – & Paul Ricœur (1989). “On Narrativity.” New Literary History 20, 551–62. Hamburger, Käte ([1957] 1993). The Logic of Literature. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Herman, David (2002). Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (2009). Basic Elements of Narrative. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. Hühn, Peter (2008). “Functions and Forms of Eventfulness in Narrative Fiction.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 141– 63. Iser, Wolfgang ([1972] 1974). The Implied Reader: Patterns of Communication in Prose Fiction from Bunyan to Beckett. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. Jakobson, Roman ([1935] 1971). “The Dominant.” L. Matejka & K. Pomorska (eds). Readings in Russian Poetics: Formalist and Structuralist Views. Cambridge: MIT P, 105–110.

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Jannidis, Fotis (2003). “Narratology and Narrative.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 35–54. Kafalenos, Emma (2006). Narrative Causalities. Columbus: Ohio State UP. Keen, Suzanne (2003). Narrative Form. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Kermode, Frank (1983). The Art of Telling: Essays on Fiction. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Kramer, Lawrence (1991). “Musical Narratology: A Theoretical Outline.” Indiana The­ ory Review 12, 141–62. Labov, William (1972). Language in the Inner City. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P. Leitch, Thomas M. (1986). What Stories Are: Narrative Theory and Interpretation. University Park: Pennsylvania State UP. McClary, Susan (1997). “The Impromptu that Trod on a Loaf: or How Music Tells Stories.” Narrative 5, 20–35. McHale, Brian (2001). “Weak Narrativity: The Case of Avant-Garde Narrative Poetry.” Narrative 9, 161–67. Metz, Christian ([1974] 1982). The Imaginary Signifier: Psychoanalysis and the Cinema. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Nelles, William (1997). Frameworks: Narrative Levels and Embedded Narrative. New York: Peter Lang. Newcomb, Anthony (1987). “Schuman and Late-Eighteenth-Century Narrative Strategies.” Nineteenth-Century Music 11, 164–75. Pavel, Thomas G. (1986). Fictional Worlds. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Phelan, James (2005). “Narrative Judgements and the Rhetorical Theory of Narrative: Ian McEwan’s Atonement.” J. Phelan & P. Rabinowitz (eds). A Companion to Nar­ rative Theory. Malden: Blackwell, 322–36. – (2007). Experiencing Fiction: Judgments, Progressions, and the Rhetorical Theory of Narrative. Columbus: Ohio State UP. Pier, John (2008). “After this, therefore because of this.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 109–40. Prince, Gerald ([1987] 2003). A Dictionary of Narratology. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (1999). “Revisiting Narrativity.” W. Grünzweig & A. Solbach (eds). Grenzüber­ schreitungen: Narratologie im Kontext / Transcending Boundaries: Narratology in Context. Tübingen: Gunter Narr, 43–51. – (2000). “Forty-One Questions on the Nature of Narrative.” Style 34, 317–17. – (2008). “Narrativehood, Narrativity, Narratability.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 19–27. Rabinowitz, Peter J. (1987). Before Reading: Narrative Conventions and the Politics of Interpretation. Ithaca: U of Cornell P. Richardson, Brian (1997). Unlikely Stories: Causality and the Nature of Modern Nar­ rative. Newark: U of Delaware P. Ricœur, Paul ([1980] 1981). “Narrative Time.” W. J. T. Mitchell (ed). On Narrative. Chicago: U of Chicago P. – ([1985] 1988). Time and Narration. Vol. 3. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative The­ ory. Bloomington: Indiana UP.

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(1992). “The Modes of Narrativity and Their Visual Metaphors.” Style 26, 368–87. (2004). “Introduction.” M.-L. R. (ed). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1–40. – (2005a). “Media and Narrative.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 288–92. – (2005b). “Tellability.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 589–91. – (2005c). “On the Theoretical Foundations of Transmedial Narratology.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism: Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–23. – (2006a). Avatars of Story: Narrative Modes in Old and New Media. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – (2006b). “Semantics, Pragmatics, and Narrativity: A Response to David Rudrum.” Narrative 14, 188–96. – (2007). “Toward a Definition of Narrative.” D. Herman (ed). The Cambridge Com­ panion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 22–35. Sacks, Oliver (1985). The Man Who Mistook His Hat for a Wife and Other Clinical Tales. New York: Summit Books. Schmid, Wolf (2003). “Narrativity and Eventfulness.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 17–34. Scholes, Robert (1982). Semiotics and Interpretation. New Haven: Yale UP. Stanzel, Franz ([1979] 1984). A Theory of Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Sternberg, Meir (1978). Expositional Modes and Temporal Ordering in Fiction. Bal­ timore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (1992). “Telling in Time (II): Chronology, Teleology, Narrativity.” Poetics Today 13, 463–541. – (2001). “How Narrativity Makes a Difference.” Narrative 9, 115–22. – (2003). “Universals of Narrative and their Cognitivist Fortunes (I).” Poetics Today 24, 297–395. – (2008). “If-Plots: Narrativity and the Law-Code.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 29–107. Strawson, Galen (2004). “Against Narrativity.” Ratio n.s 17, 428–52. Sturgess, Philip J. M. (1992). Narrativity: Theory and Practice. Oxford UP. Tomaševskij, Boris (Tomashevsky) ([1925] 1965). “Thematics.” L. T. Lemon & M. J. Reis (eds). Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 61–95. Tynjanov, Jurij ([1927] 1971). “On Literary Evolution.” L. Matejka & K. Pomorska (eds). Readings in Russian Poetics: Formalist and Structuralist Views. Cambridge: MIT P, 66–78. Walsh, Richard (2003). “Fictionality and Mimesis: Between Narrativity and Fictional Worlds.” Narrative 11, 110–21. – (forthcoming). “Dreaming and Narrative Theory.” F. Aldama & P. C. Hogan (eds). Toward a Theory of Narrative Acts. Austin: U of Texas P. White, Hayden (1973). Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP.

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(1978). Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism. Baltimore: Johns Hop­ kins UP. – (1981). “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality.” W. J. T. Mitchell (ed). On Narrative. U of Chicago P, 1–24. Wolf, Werner (2002). “Das Problem der Narrativität in Literatur, bildender Kunst und Musik: Ein Beitrag zu einer intermedialen Erzähltheorie.” V. Nünning & A. Nün­ ning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 23–104. – (2004). “‘Cross that Border—Close that Gap’: Towards an Intermedial Narrato­ logy.” EJES – European Journal for English Studies 8, 81–103. Woolf, Virginia ([1927] 1994). “The new Biography.” A. McNeillie (ed). The Essays of Virginia Woolf. London: Hogarth, vol. 4, 473–80.

5.2 Further Reading
Baroni, Raphaël (2007). La Tension narrative. Suspense, curiosité et surprise. Paris: Seuil. Brés, Jacques (1994). La narrativité. Louvain: Suculot. Fleischman, Suzanne (1990). Tense and Narrativity: From Medieval Performance to Modern Fiction. Austin: U of Texas P. Gaudreault, André (1988). Du littéraire au filmique: système du récit. Paris: Méridien Kincksieck. Kearns, Michael (1999). Rhetorical Narratology. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Kellner, Hans (1987). “Narrativity in History: Poststructuralism and Since.” History and Theory 26, 1–29. – (1990). “‘As Real as It Gets…’ Ricœur and Narrativity.” Philosophy Today 34, 229–42. Meister, Jan Christoph (2007). “‘Narrativité’, ‘événement’ et objectivation de la tem­ poralité.” J. Pier (ed). Théorie du récit: l’apport de la recherche allemande. Villeneuve d’Asq: Septentrion, 189–207. Prince, Gerald (1996). “Remarks on Narrativity.” C. Wahlin (ed). Perspectives on Nar­ ratology: Papers from the Stockholm Symposium on Narratology. Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 95–106. Odin, Roger (2000). De la fiction. Bruxelles: De Boeck. Singer, Alan (1983). “The Methods of Form: Narrativity and Social Consciousness.” SubStance 41, 64–77. Tiffeneau, Dorian, ed. (1980). La narrativité. Paris: CNRS. Wolf, Werner (2003). “Narrative and Narrativity: A Narratological Reconceptualization and its Applicability to the Visual Arts.” Word and Image 19, 180–97.

Narratology
Jan Christoph Meister 1 Definition Narratology is a humanities discipline dedicated to the study of the logic, principles, and practices of narrative representation. Dominated by structuralist approaches at its beginning, narratology has developed into a variety of theories, concepts, and analytic procedures. Its concepts and models are widely used as heuristic tools, and narratological theorems play a central role in the exploration and mod­ eling of our ability to produce and process narratives in a multitude of forms, media, contexts, and communicative practices 2 Explication As a human science, narratology is historically defined and reflects on­ going changes in research agendas and methodologies in the humanities. At the same time, the persistence of narratological inquiry for more than four decades, despite its increasing “centrifugal tendencies” (Barry 1990), testifies to its cohesion as a system of scientific prac­ tices. During its initial or “classical” phase, from the mid-1960s to the early 1980s, narratologists were particularly interested in identifying and defining narrative universals. This tendency is still echoed in a concise 1993 definition of narratology as “the set of general statements on narrative genres, on the systematics of narrating (telling a story) and on the structure of plot” (Ryan & von Alphen 1993: 110). However, a decade later, narratology was alternatively described as (a) a theory (Prince 2003: 1), (b) a method (Kindt & Müller 2003: 211), or (c) a discipline (Fludernik & Margolin 2004: 149). The third option seems most adequate: the concept of discipline subsumes theory and method, acknowledging narratology’s dual nature as both a theoretical and an application-oriented academic approach to narrative. Narratology is no longer a single theory, but rather comprises a group of related theories (cf. Herman ed. 1999). This has motivated

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some to conclude that narratology is in fact a textual theory whose scope extends beyond narratives and to claim that “none of the distinc­ tions introduced by narratology to text theory is specific to any genre” (Titzmann 2003: 201). However, contemporary “postclassical” narratology cannot be re­ duced to a text theory, either. Over the past twenty years, narratologists have paid increasing attention to the historicity and contextuality of modes of narrative representation as well as to its pragmatic function across various media, while research into narrative universals has been extended to cover narrative’s cognitive and epistemological functions. Against this background, two questions deserve particular attention: (a) how does narratology relate to other disciplines that include the study of narrative? (b) how can its status as a methodology be charac­ terized? Five observations can be made in response to these questions which at the same time substantiate the above definition of narratology. (i) Narratology is not the theory of narrative (Bal 1985), but rather a theory of narrative (Prince 1995: 110; Nünning 2003: 227–28). Other theories of narrative coexist with narratological ones. The relation between narrative theory and narratology is thus not symmetrical, but hierarchical and inclusive (Nünning & Nünning 2002: 19). (ii) At the same time, narratology is more than a theory. While it may not have lived up to the scientistic pretension expressed in its in­ vocation as a new “science of narrative” (Todorov 1969: 10), it does qualify as a discipline. It has a defined object domain, explicit models and theories, a distinct descriptive terminology, transparent analytical procedures and the institutional infrastructure typical of disciplines: of­ ficial organizations; specialized knowledge resources (journals, series, handbooks, dictionaries, bibliographies, web portals, etc.); a diverse scientific community engaging in national, international, and interdis­ ciplinary research projects. And last but not least, narratology is taught in undergraduate and graduate courses. (iii) Narratology’s overriding concern remains with narrative representation as type, although it does not preclude the study of narrative tokens. Defining narratology in positive terms may prove difficult, but defining it ex negativo is not: a statement on narrative representation―a theory, an argument, but also a concrete empirical finding―is not narratological if it does not ultimately concern “narrative qua nar­ rative” (Prince 1990: 10). (iv) In the wake of the “narrative turn,” the application of narratological tools to extra-narratological research problems has become more and more widespread, resulting in a multitude of compound or “hyphenated” narratologies. However, in a theoretical perspective not

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every approach labeled “narratological” automatically constitutes a new narratology sensu strictu. While one subset of the new approaches comprises methodological variants (natural narratology, critical narra­ tology, cognitive narratology, etc.; Herman 2002; Fehn et al. eds. 1992; Fludernik 1996), others focus on thematic and ideology-critical con­ cerns (post-colonial narratology, feminist narratology, etc.; cf. Nünning 2003; Nünning & Nünning 2002). (v) Despite the high level of academic attention enjoyed by the practices and products of human narrative competence, the common­ sense notion of narrative is still predominantly associated with textbased narratives. “Narrative representation” is therefore a preferable definition of narratology’s object of study in that it counteracts this re­ ductionism in two ways: (a) narrative representation is not media spe­ cific, since its specificity is of a functional order and lies in narrativity. (b) “representation” denotes the product as well as the process of representing or, as Prince stated: “Narrative is an act and it is an ob­ ject” (1990: 4). 3 History of the Concept and its Study 3.1 Coining of the Term “Narratology” The French term narratologie was coined by Todorov (1969: 10), who argued for a shift in focus from the surface level of text-based narrative (i.e. concrete discourse as realized in the form of letters, words and sentences) to the general logical and structural properties of narrative as a univers de représentations (9). Todorov thus called for a new type of generalizing theory that could be applied to all domains of narrative, and in fact for a hypothetical “science that does not exist yet; let’s call it NARRATOLOGY, or science of narrative.” The neologism alluded to social and natural sciences such as soci­ ology and biology (Herman 2005: 19), and its invention by Todorov is sometimes interpreted as a foundational act. However, the assumption of a direct link between the history of the concept and the history of the discipline is misleading: hardly any of the important contributions to early narratology explicitly associated itself with “narratology” by title (e.g. Communications 8, 1966; Genette 1972; Prince 1973; Bremond 1973; Culler 1975; Chatman 1978). Bibliometrical analysis of some 4,500 entries listed in the online bibliography of the “Interdisciplinary Center for Narratology” (ICN) shows that usage of the concept as a methodological and disciplinary identifier in French, Dutch, German, and English monographs and journal articles only became popular after

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the publication of Bal’s Narratologie in 1977. The first use of the term in an English title is found in Ryan (1979) and in a German title in Schmidt (1989). One of the reasons for the scientific community’s hesitant accept­ ance of the name “narratology” was the proliferation of related and more general concepts as well as of alternative research agendas con­ cerned with narrative. In Germany, the terms Erzähltheorie and Erzählforschung were already well established and had been in use since the mid-1950s (Lämmert 1955), which might also explain why Ihwe’s 1972 attempt to introduce the term “narrativics” (Narrativik) met with limited success. Among the Russian avant-garde, for whom poetry dominated literature, the call for a “theory of prose” amounted to a plea for a revaluation of the other hemisphere, while important American contributions such as Booth (1961) or Chatman (1978, 1990a) evolved from the tradition of New Criticism and rhetoric. Fi­ nally, French narratologists were rooted in structural linguistics and se­ miology (Greimas 1966), in logic (Bremond 1973), or in rhetorical and traditional grammatical categories Genette (1972). 3.2 Precursors

Core elements and ideas at play in the narratological modeling of nar­ rative were introduced as early as Greek antiquity, while others origin­ ated from the late 19th century onward, particularly in the context of phenomenological, morphological and hermeneutic taxonomies and theories of literary and folk narratives. 3.2.1 Plato and Aristotle: Representational Modes and the Functional Relation between Character and Action In The Republic, Plato differentiated literary genres on the basis of the genre-specific constellation of two fundamental modes of speech termed mimesis, the direct imitation of speech in the form of the char­ acters’ verbatim dialogues and monologues, and diegesis, which com­ prises all utterances attributable to the author. According to Plato, the lyric genre is restricted to the use of diegesis and the dramatic genre to the use of mimesis, with only the epic genre combining both. This fun­ damental distinction of the two principal modes of narrating not only anticipated the 20th-century opposition showing vs. telling, but it also prefigured one of the three analytical dimensions adopted by Genette (1972), namely voice. Aristotle’s Poetics presented a second criterion that has remained fundamental for the understanding of narrative: the distinction between

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the totality of events taking place in a depicted world and the de facto narrated plot or muthos. He pointed out that the latter is always a con­ struct presenting a subset of events, chosen and arranged according to aesthetic considerations. This resulted in the Poetics’ functional ap­ proach to fictional protagonists and their actions, the latter explained as governed by the aesthetic and logical requirements of the overall muthos. 3.2.2 The Normative Paradigm: 17th to early 20th-century Theories of the Novel Prose narrative as we know it today became an accepted part of the lit­ erary canon only from the 18th century onward. Focusing on aspects of thematics and didactics, the main question motivating its early theorists (e.g. Huet 1670; Blanckenburg 1774) was therefore normative: would the new literary form stand up to the qualitative standards of the an­ cient epos? This concern continued to dominate many theories of the paradigmatic narrative genre right into the early 20th century, most prominently in Lukács (1916). 3.2.3 Re-introducing the Formal Paradigm: Spielhagen and Friedemann Spielhagen (1876) was one of the first to address formal features of narrative again, and he did so by distinguishing novel and novella in terms of the complexity and functionality of characters and the differ­ ent economies of action and plot design. His study (1883) introduced a fundamental taxonomic distinction between first- and third-person nar­ ration and also reflected on the author-narrator relation. Motivated by a dislike for anti-illusionary narrative devices, Spielhagen declared that the ideal narrative never alerts the reader to the ongoing process of nar­ ration. Friedemann (1910) took exception to this normative postulate. For her, mediality was a constitutive element of narration rather than a de­ fect, and the narrating instance an inherent feature of any narrative, whether (fictionally) present or logically implied. The methodological significance of this insight can hardly be overestimated: Friedemann had effectively defined the essence of narrative in structural terms, tak­ ing the principle of Plato’s phenomenological definition of the epos one step further.

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3.2.4 From Catalogue to Formula: Aarne-Thompson vs. Propp Late 19th-century literary history and theory equated narrative with lit­ erary narrative, thus leaving research on the folktale to specialists. In the 1880s, the pioneers of a new empirical approach in folklore studies formed the “Finnish School,” and in 1910 Aarne, one of its members, published the first version of a catalogue known as the AarneThompson-Index (Aarne & Thompson 1928), used internationally to the present day (Uther 2004). The expanded catalogue now lists 2,500 summarized variants of folk tales across eight categories. A theoretical attempt to reduce literary narratives to basic principles was presented in Forster (1927). He argued that the hypothetical minimal story “The king died, and then the queen died” could be trans­ formed into a valid narrative plot by the addition of an explanatory clause such as “of grief.” Focusing on empirical folk tales, Propp (1928) presented a model of the elementary components of narratives and the way they are combined. However, in contrast to his prede­ cessors, Propp abstracted from the content plane altogether in order to describe a particular type of Russian fairy tales in terms of a sequence of thirty-one abstract “functions.” Propp’s approach was to receive considerable attention among the French structuralists who, while acknowledging the model’s originality, at the same time criticized it for its purely sequential, mono-linear logic of action and suggested replacing it with combinatory, multi-lin­ ear models (Lévi-Strauss 1976). Partly on the basis of such revisions, Propp’s functional model served as a fundamental point of reference for the elaboration of “story grammars,” Chomskian generative gram­ mar being the other. The idea of a generative grammar of narrative was to be taken up not only by narratologists (Prince 1973, 1980; van Dijk 1975; Pavel 1985), but also by Artificial Intelligence (AI) researchers who tried to design artificial story telling systems (Rumelhart 1980; Bringsjord & Ferrucci 1999). 3.2.5 Russian Formalism Russian formalism, which flourished from about 1916 until suppressed by the Stalinists in the late 1920s, had a more radical cultural-ideological agenda: its aim was to prove the autonomy of art as form. Literature in particular was considered a phenomenon sui generis that cannot be explained adequately in terms of content or of biographical or his­ torical context. Šklovskij (1917) postulated the need to study literature in terms of purely formal features such as the principle of defamiliarization, which governs the literary use of language and accentuates the

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textual artifact as an autonomous signifying structure. The most influ­ ential contribution from a narratological perspective was the formalist differentiation of fabula and sujet (Tomaševskij 1925), in which the latter is defined as a defamiliarisation of the former. 3.2.6 Pre-structuralist Theories of Narrative: Perspective, Time, Logic and Rhetoric 3.2.6.1 Perspective Early in the last century, the question of narrative → perspective be­ came the subject of a poetological controversy initiated by the novelist and theorist Henry James. He advocated the scenic method of narration in which narrative perspective is strictly tied to the epistemological constraints of a particular character, a technique demonstrated particu­ larly in The Ambassadors (1903). James’s admirer Lubbock (1921) postulated that such character-bound “point of view” should in fact be considered the qualitative standard for narrative prose, thus elevating James’s technical distinction into one of principle, namely that of “showing” vs. “telling.” According to Lubbock, a coherent mimetic representation can only originate from the epistemological point of view of a character (i.e. from pure “showing”). Descriptive rather than prescriptive by design, Pouillon (1946) broadened the scope and distinguished three principal forms defined in terms of the narrator’s temporal and cognitive stance vis-à-vis the char­ acters. Friedman (1955) extended the scope further, proposing a graded spectrum of eight modes of perspective in which each type is determined by its ratio of character to narrator-bound sequences. An even more complex stratified model in which the positions of character and narrator are correlated in the four dimensions of ideology, phraseology, spatio-temporal constraints, and psychology of perspective was de­ veloped by Uspenskij (1970), a member of the Moscow-Tartu school of semiotics. The idea has been taken further in Schmid (2005), which represents the most comprehensive model of perspective to date. A phenomenological contribution to the theory of perspective was that of the Austrian Anglicist Stanzel, who identified three proto-typical “narrative situations” (1955). In the “I narrative situation,” the nar­ rator exists and acts within the narrated world; in the “authorial narrative situation,” he is positioned outside the narrated world but domin­ ates the process of mediation by commenting on events; in the “figural narrative situation,” the third-person narrator remains unobtrusive while the narrative information is filtered through the internal perspective of the reflector character. Stanzel understood these three narrative

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situations to be ideal types and thus modeled them on a synthetic typo­ logical circle. Actual narratives, he observed, often occupy an interme­ diate position between these situations and are thus best modeled in terms of a synthetic typological circle. The controversy over the pragmatic merits of Stanzel’s approach versus its methodological constraints and inconsistencies continues to the present day (cf. Cohn 1981; Kindt & Müller 2006; Cornils 2007; Schernus 2007), as does the more general narratological general debate on the concept of narrative perspective (cf. van Peer & Chatman eds. 2001; Hühn et al. eds. 2009). 3.2.6.2 Time With respect to the category of time, Müller (1948) introduced an equally fundamental distinction between “narrated time” (erzählte Zeit) vs. “time of narration” (Erzählzeit). The correlation between the two dimensions, as he showed, characterizes the pace of a narrative. This approach was further explored by Lämmert (1955), one of the first large-scale taxonomies of narrative. For Lämmert, the phenomenology of individual narratives can be traced back to a stable, universal repertoire of elementary modes of narrating. He distinguished various types of narration which stretched, abbreviated, repeated, paused and interrupted, skipped and eliminated sub-sequences, while other types perfectly imitated the flow of narrated time. (The category of time in Genette 1972 is examined in similar terms.) Drawing on Lubbock’s (1921) work as well as on Petsch (1934), Lämmert related these ele­ mentary forms of narrative temporality to the principal modes of narra­ tion such as scenic presentation, report, reflection, and description. Un­ fortunately, the systematic gain of his contribution was hampered by an overly complex and at times “fuzzy” taxonomy which tries to account for all forms of narrative flashbacks and flash forwards. 3.2.6.3 Logic and Rhetoric A philosophically more concise contribution to narrative theory was Hamburger (1957), a book which explored the semantics and pragmat­ ics of literary communication, and in particular the specific logic of the use of temporal and personal deixis under the conditions of fictional reference. Hamburger pointed out that neither the subject of an utter­ ance nor the utterance’s temporal location and reference can be ad­ equately inferred from the words and sentences of a literary narrative: literature overwrites the rules and conventions of everyday language use with its own logic.

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The question of the validity and reliability of narrative utterances was again raised by Booth (1961), this time from a rhetorical and ethical perspective. He introduced the concept of “unreliable narrator,” in­ terpreting cases of conflicting and self-contradicting narration as an aesthetic device aimed at signaling the author’s moral and normative distance from his narrator. However, the way in which Booth constructed his argument made it necessary to introduce a second, more speculative concept, namely that of the → implied author. While the concept of “unreliable narrator,” rejected by structuralists such as Genette (1983), has become more accepted in post-classical narratology, the controversy over the implied author’s plausibility is ongoing (Booth 2005; Kindt & Müller 2006). 3.3 French Structuralism: 1966–1980 French structuralism eventually gave the decisive impulse for the formation of narratology as a methodologically coherent, structure-ori­ ented variant of narrative theory. This new paradigm was proclaimed in a 1966 special issue of the journal Communications, programmatically titled “L’analyse structurale du récit.” It contained articles by leading structuralists Barthes, Eco, Genette, Greimas, Todorov, and the film theorist Metz. Three traditions informed the new structuralist approach toward narrative: Russian Formalism and Proppian morphology; structural lin­ guistics in the Saussurean tradition as well as the structural anthropology of Lévi-Strauss; the transformational generative grammar of Chomsky. Against this background, the structuralists engaged in a sys­ tematic re-examination of the two dimensions of narrative already iden­ tified by Šklovskij, fabula and sujet, re-labeled by Todorov in French as histoire and discours and by Genette as histoire and récit. From 1966 to 1972, narratology focused mainly on the former. At the most abstract level, the semiotician Greimas concentrated on the elementary structure of signification. Building on Lévi-Strauss’s (1955, 1958) structural analysis of myths, Greimas (1966) proposed a deeplevel model of signification termed the “semiotic square,” which rep­ resents the semiotic infrastructure of all signifying systems. The map­ ping of this universal deep structure onto a given narrative’s surface structure can then be explained in terms of transformational rules. Fi­ nally, a typology of six functional roles attributable to characters (main vs. secondary character, opponent vs. helper, sender vs. receiver; cf. Greimas 1973) complements the approach. Barthes (1966) proposed a functional systematics of narrated events which distinguishes “ker-

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nels,” i.e. obligatory events that guarantee the story’s coherence, and optional “satellites” that serve to embellish the basic plot. Todorov (1969) furthered the linguistic analogy by equating actions to verbs, characters to nouns and their attributes to adjectives, and then by then linking these elements through modal operators. This narrative syntax operates on the abstract level of a narrative langue: instead of account­ ing only for the manifest sequence of events represented in a given fic­ tional world, this “grammar” also included the logic of virtual action sequences, e.g. those imagined in a narrated character’s mind. Bremond (1973) explored the logic of represented action from yet an­ other angle, modeling it as a series of binary choices in which an “eventuality” results in “action” or in “non-action” and, in the former case, in “completion” or in “non-completion.” The interest in questions of action logic and narrative grammar was taken up in Prince (1973) which synthesized and systematized the earlier approaches, and yet again in Pavel (1985), which combined Bremond’s abstract binary logic with game theory (cf. Herman 2002). While the theoretical ambition and level of abstraction of early structuralist models of narrative were impressive, their practical relevance was hard to prove to philologists. Greimassian semantics is a case in point: used as a descriptive grammar, its categories were defined with a degree of generality too broad to be faulted; put to the test as a generative grammar, its yield was too abstract to demonstrate the necessity or the explanatory power of the transformational process from semiotic deep structure to the surface structure of narrated events and characters. This systematic and methodological gap was addressed by Genette (1972), who presented a comprehensive taxonomy of discourse phe­ nomena developed alongside a detailed analysis of narrative composi­ tion and technique in Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu. Broadly speaking, Genette’s narratological taxonomy covered three functional domains of literary narrative: the temporal structure and dynamics of representation (in the dual sense of product and process of representa­ tional activity); the mode of narration and its underlying logic of nar­ rative communication; and the epistemological and normative con­ straints of the gathering and communication of information during the narrative process. The terminology and neologisms introduced by Genette in together with his taxonomy soon became the narratological lingua franca. In contrast to his formalist predecessors and structuralist colleagues, Genette had no intention of designing a fully coherent and self-con­ tained theory of narrative. This sparked fundamental narratological

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controversies over Genettian concepts such as “focalization” (Bal 1977; Jahn 1996, 1999b) and set the stage for numerous debates that were to result in postclassical narratology. Some of this criticism was addressed in Genette (1983). 3.4 Poststructuralist Narratology: 1980–1990 The following decade was dominated by two major trends: a widening of narratology’s scope beyond literary narrative and the importing of concepts and theories from other disciplines (Ryan & van Alphen 1993: 112). The process thus mirrored the general shift from structural­ ist to poststructuralist methodologies that was taking place in the hu­ manities at that time. Chatman (1978) demonstrated the applicability of narratology to visual narratives. Bal (1985) and others proved narratology’s relevance in the analysis of cross-textual phenomena such as intertextuality and intermediality, as well as in that of intra-textual phenomena of poly­ vocality (Lanser 1981). Derridaen deconstruction was introduced by Culler (1981), who questioned the implicit genealogy from story (his­ toire, fabula) to discourse and argued that the relation of dependency between the two is the exact opposite: discourse generates story. The psychological motivation at play in this process of retrospective em­ plotting was explored in Brooks (1984). Another influence came from feminist studies: Lanser (1986) proposed to include gender as a system­ atic category for the narratological analysis of the narratorial profile as well as of point of view and mode of presentation. On a more abstract level, Pavel (1986) and Doležel (1988) extended the narratological model by introducing modal logic and the theory of possible worlds. These models accounted for the implicit, non-realized virtual narratives indicated by fictional characters’ hopes, wishes, etc. which may not materialize but nevertheless serve to point to the theoretical possibility of an alternative course of events. Ryan (1991) explored this line of reasoning even further, linking it to the simulation paradigm of AI. Fi­ nally, the postclassical phase of narratology saw an increase in the ex­ porting of narratological concepts and theorems to other disciplines (→ narration in various disciplines), thus contributing to the “narrative turn” (cf. White 1980; Kreiswirth 1995). 3.5 Post-classical Narratology and “New” Narratologies: 1990 to Present With time, the tension between structuralist narratology’s original con­ cern for systematicity and logical coherence and the need for a re­

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sponse to calls for a more pragmatically oriented theory of narrative could no longer be ignored, as observed by Prince (2003). Fludernik (1996) signaled a shift in focus from text-based phenom­ ena to the cognitive functions of oral and non-literary narrative, thus opening a new chapter in the narratological project. In contrast, Gibson (1996) argued for a radical deconstruction of the entire conceptual ap­ paratus developed by the structuralists. Whether such philosophical cri­ ticism in the Derridaen vein deserves to be classified “narratological” has however been met with skepticism (e.g. Nünning & Nünning 2002: 15). Even so, the deconstructionist and postmodernist onslaught stimu­ lated a multitude of new approaches aimed at combining the structural­ ists’ concern for systematicity with a renewal of interest in the cultural and philosophical issues of history and ideology. The resulting wave of critically oriented narratological models and theories proved to be methodologically heterogeneous, prompting Herman (ed. 1999) to in­ troduce the plural concept of “narratologies.” A comprehensive survey by Nünning & Nünning (2002) and by Nünning (2003) grouped the proliferation of “new narratologies” that got underway during the 1990s into eight categories, three of which have turned out to be the dominant methodological paradigms of contemporary narratology: (a) Contextualist narratology (Chatman 1990b) relates the phenom­ ena encountered in narrative to specific cultural, historical, thematic, and ideological contexts. This extends the focus from purely structural aspects to issues of narrated content. (b) Cognitive narratology (Herman 2000, ed. 2003) focuses on the human intellectual and emotional processing of narratives. This ap­ proach is not restricted to literary narratives: “natural” everyday and oral narratives are considered to represent an underlying anthropological competence in its original form (Fludernik 1996). Cognitivist ap­ proaches also play a crucial role in AI research, the aim of which is to model or simulate human narrative intelligence (Jahn 1999a; Mateas & Sengers eds. 2003; Meister 2003; Lönneker et al. eds. 2005). (c) Transgeneric approaches (→ narration in poetry and drama) and intermedial approaches (→ narration in various media; cf. Ryan 2005, ed. 2004; Wolf 2004) explore the relevance of narratological concepts for the study of genres and media outside the traditional object domain of text-based literary narrative. Application, adaptation and reformula­ tion of narratological concepts go hand in hand with the narratological analysis of drama (Fludernik 2000; Jahn 2001; Richardson 2007; Fludernik 2008; Nünning & Sommer 2008), poetry (Hühn 2004; Hühn & Kiefer 2005; Schönert et al. 2007), film (Bordwell 1985; Branigan

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1992; Schlickers 1997; Mittell 2007; Eder 2008), music (Kramer 1991; Wolf 2002; Seaton 2005; Grabócz forthcoming), the visual and per­ forming arts (Bal 1991; Ryan 2003, ed. 2004; → performativity), com­ puter games (Ryan 2001, 2006, 2008) as well as other domains. This broadening of the narratological palette beyond specific media high­ lights the necessity for further research on → narrativity. 3.6 Outlook The development of narratology has been dependent not only on its theoretical or meta-theoretical advances, but has also emerged with the gradual consolidation of organizational and institutional structures. In this respect, three phases can be identified: Phase 1: The formation of cross-disciplinary narratological interest groups. Beginning with the contributors to the programmatic 1966 spe­ cial issue of the journal Communications and the creation during the 1970s by Bremond, Genette, Todorov, Marin, and Metz of the Centre de recherches sur les arts et le langage (Centre National de Recherche Scientifique), informal organizational models (also represented by the Tel Aviv group with its influential journal Poetics Today, or in the Am­ sterdam School initiated by Bal) have played a decisive role in shaping narratology as a paradigmatic inter-discipline. Phase 2: The advent of officially funded narratological institutions for academic research and teaching since the late 1990s, such as the “Forschergruppe Narratologie” and the “Interdisciplinary Center for Narratology” at Hamburg University, the “Zentrum für Erzählforschung” at Wuppertal University as well as the “Center for Narrato­ loical Studies” at the University of Southern Denmark and the “Project Narrative” at Ohio State University in the US. Phase 3: The founding of national and international narratological umbrella organizations. These include the North American “Interna­ tional Society for the Study of Narrative,” the Scandinavian “Nordic Network,” and the “European Narratology Network.” To date, the theoretical definition of narratology has generally fol­ lowed one of three lines of reasoning: the first upholds or questions narratology’s original formalist-structuralist credo; the second explores family resemblances among the old and the “new narratologies” and their various research paradigms; the third focuses on the methodological distinction between hermeneutic and heuristic functions, sometimes suggesting that narratology’s scope ought to be restricted to the latter and sometimes arguing that it ought to be defined in even more general terms. While the merit of these theoretical definitions is obvious, narra­

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tology’s potential for further development is perhaps better described in terms of an interaction of three concurrent processes: expansion of the body of domain-specific theories on which narratology is based; continuous broadening of its epistemic reach; consolidation of an insti­ tutional infrastructure, which has helped to transform a methodology into a discipline. 4 Topics for Further Investigation The diversification of narratology since the 1990s has not only borne witness to its continued relevance, but it has also underscored the need to address the problem of methodological identity. What exactly is nar­ ratology (cf. Kindt & Müller 2003)? How can it be defined in theo­ retical and methodological terms? The need for critical self-reflection by practicing narratologists can be argued from two angles. Even during the heyday of poststructuralism, it was observed that “visits to the tool shed of narratology may be of advantage even to those making critical theory their main residence” (Hoesterey 1991: 214). However, can conceptual imports taken from structuralist narra­ tology retain their theoretical precision and integrity in a foreign meth­ odological context, or are they not rather destined to degenerate into mere metaphoric labels? Descriptive concepts such as mise en abyme or metalepsis seem to be less at risk (cf. Wolf 2005; Schmid 2005a), while others―notably the core narratological concept of narrator―resist straightforward appropriation, as film or computer game studies (e.g. Neitzel 2005) have come to realize. Yet examples like these also point to a more fundamental issue that extends beyond the scope of individual concepts. What is the principal methodological status of the undertaking now that it has transformed into a “Narratology beyond Literary Studies” (Meister et al. 2005): is narratology a tool, a method, a program, a theory, or is it indeed a dis­ cipline (Schönert 2004)? Nünning & Nünning’s comprehensive 2002 survey (cf. Nünning 2003) of the multitude of “new narratologies” concluded with a list of six desiderata, calling for: (a) more studies in the history of narratology; (b) concrete examples of narratological analyses of texts; (c) de­ tailed theoretical explication of narratological conceptual fundamentals; (d) narratological reconstructions of phenomena relevant to liter­ ary history; (e) narratological work in the field of cultural history; (f) research on intermedial aspects of narrative. In the intervening years, most of these desiderata have been ad­ dressed at least in part. For example, the Russian formalists’ con­

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stitutive role has been reconstructed in Schmid (ed. 2009), which in­ cludes seminal original texts in (German) translation. Others have in­ vestigated historical links between narratology and German Erzähltheorie (Cornils & Schernus 2003; Fludernik & Margolin 2004). Narra­ tological analyses of texts, films, visual artifacts, etc. were undertaken starting in the 1970s and continue to nourish narratological reflection today. Numerous studies―some of them book-length―have been de­ voted to fundamental concepts such as event and eventfulness (Schmid 2003), narrativity (Sturgess 1992; Sternberg 2001; Audet et al. 2006; Pier & García Landa eds. 2008), action (Meister 2003), character (Jan­ nidis 2004; Eder 2008) and perspective (Hühn et al. eds. 2009); re­ search on procedural aspects of narrative that long remained unnoticed has emanated from digital media studies (Ryan 2002, 2006). By contrast, a narratologically based approach in literary history― called for repeatedly (Bal 1986; Pavel 1990; Nünning 2000; Fludernik 2003, etc.)―is still outstanding. Similarly, the potential for interdiscip­ linary cooperation between narratology and text linguistics has also not been fully exploited yet. After a promising start in the 1970s (van Dijk 1975) this work has been taken up only occasionally (e.g. Adam 1985; Karlgren & Cutting 1994; Toolan 1988). Recent contributions such as Adam (2005), Lehmann (2008) or Janik (2008) demonstrate the syn­ ergy of this approach. Contemporary narratology has clearly responded to the call to broaden the scope of methodology and object domain. At the same time, the last two desiderata underscore literary narrative’s paradigmat­ ic status for the narratological study of narrative representation. 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Aarne, Antti & Stith Thompson ([1928] 1961). The types of the folktale. A classifica­ tion and bibliography. Helsinki: Suomaleisen Tiedeakatemia. Adam, Jean-Michel ([1985] 1994). Le texte narratif. Précis d’analyse textuelle. Re­ vised ed. Paris: Nathan. – (2005). La linguistique textuelle. Introduction à l’analyse textuelle des discours. Paris: Colin. Audet, René, et al. ([2006] 2007). Narrativity: How Visual Arts, Cinema and Literature are Telling the World Today. Paris: Dis Voir. Bal, Mieke (1977). Narratologie. Essais sur la signification narrative dans quatre ro­ mans modernes. Paris: Klincksieck. – ([1985] 1997). Narratology. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P.

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(1986). “Quelle est la faute de l’abbé Mouret? Pour une narratologie diachronique et polémique.” Australian Journal of French Studies 23, 149–68. – (1991). Reading “Rembrandt”: Beyond the Word-Image Opposition. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Barry, Jackson G. (1990). “Narratology’s Centrifugal Force: A Literary Perspective on the Extensions of Narrative Theory.” Poetics Today 11, 295–307. Barthes, Roland ([1966] 1975) “An Introduction to the Analysis of Narrative.” New Li­ terary History 6, 237–72. Blanckenburg, Christian Friedrich von ([1774] 1965). Versuch über den Roman. Mit einem Nachwort von Eberhard Lämmert. Faksimile der Originalausgabe. Stuttgart: Metzler. Booth, Wayne C. ([1961] 1983). The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: U of Chicago P. – (2005). “Resurrection of the Implied Author: Why Bother?” J. Phelan & P. Ra­ binowitz (eds). A Companion to Narrative Theory. Oxford: Oxford UP, 75–88. Bordwell, David (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. London: Methuen. Branigan, Edward (1992). Narrative Comprehension and Film. London: Routledge. Bremond, Claude (1973). Logique du récit. Paris: Seuil. Bringsjord, Selmer & David Ferrucci (1999). Artificial Intelligence and Literary Cre­ ativity: Inside the Mind of BRUTUS, a storytelling machine. Mahwah: Erlbaum As­ sociates. Brooks, Peter (1984). Reading for the Plot. Design and Intention in Narrative. Oxford: Clarendon P. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1990a). Coming to Terms. The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1990b). “What Can We Learn from Contextualist Narratology”? Poetics Today 11, 309–28. Cohn, Dorrit (1981). “The Encirclement of Narrative: On Franz Stanzel’s Theorie des Erzählens.” Poetics Today 2.2, 157–82. Cornils, Anja (2007). “Une théorie narrative pour les lecteurs? Le chemin de Franz K. Stanzel vers le ‘structuralisme modéré’.” J. Pier (ed). Théorie du récit. L’apport de la recherche allemande. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Septentrion, 131–50. – & Wilhelm Schernus (2003). “On the Relationship between the Theory of the Nov­ el, Narrative Theory, and Narratology.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 137–74. Culler, Jonathan (1975). Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics, and the Study of Literature. Ithaca: Cornell UP. – (1981). “Story and Discourse in the Analysis of Narrative.” J. C. The Pursuit of Signs. Semiotics, Literature, Deconstruction. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 169–87. Doležel, Lubomír (1988). “Mimesis and Possible Worlds.” Poetics Today 9, 475–96. Eder, Jens (2008). Die Figur im Film: Grundlagen der Figurenanalyse. Marburg: Schüren. Fehn, Ann, et al. eds. (1992). Neverending Stories. Toward a Critical Narratology. Princeton: Princeton UP.

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Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. – (2000). “Beyond Structuralism in Narratology. Recent Developments and New Ho­ rizons in Narrative Theory.” Anglistik. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Anglistenver­ bandes 11, 83–96. – (2003). “The Diachronization of Narratology.” Narrative 11, 331–48. – (2008). “Narrative and Drama.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Nar­ rativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 355–83. – & Uri Margolin (2004). “Introduction.” Special Issue German Narratology I of Style 38, 148–87. Forster, Edward M. ([1927] 2005). Aspects of the Novel. London: Penguin. Friedemann, Käte ([1910] 1965). Die Rolle des Erzählers in der Epik. Darmstadt: WBG. Friedman, Norman (1955). “Point of View in Fiction. The Development of a Critical Concept.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 70, 1160–184. Genette, Gérard ([1972] 1980). Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cor­ nell UP. – ([1983] 1988). Narrative Discourse Revisited. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Gibson, Andrew (1996). Towards a Postmodern Theory of Narrative. Edinburgh: Edin­ burgh UP. Grabócz, Márta (forthcoming). Musique, Narrativité, Signification. Greimas, Algirdas Julien ([1966] 1983). Structural Semantics: An Attempt at a Method. Lincoln: Nebraska UP. – ([1973] 1987). “Actants, Actors and Figures.” A. J. G. On Meaning: Selected Writ­ ings in Semiotic Theory. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 106–20. Hamburger, Käte ([1957] 1973). The Logic of Literature. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Herman, David (2000). “Narratology as a Cognitive Science.” Image & Narrative 1, http://www.imageandnarrative.be/narratology/davidherman.htm [seen 20.03.2009]. – (2002). Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Neb­ raska P. – (2005). “Histories of Narrative Theory (I): A Genealogy of Early Developments.” J. Phelan & P. J. Rabinowitz (eds). A Companion to Narrative Theory. Malden: Blackwell, 19–35. – ed. (1999). Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Ohio: Ohio State UP. – ed. (2003). Narrative Theory and the Cognitive Sciences. Stanford, CA: CSLI Pub­ lications. Hoesterey, Ingeborg (1991). “Critical Narratology.” Text and Performance Quarterly 11, 207–16. Hühn, Peter (2004). “Transgeneric Narratology: Applications to Lyric Poetry.” J. Pier (ed). The Dynamics of Narrative Form. Studies in Anglo-American Narratology. Berlin: de Gruyter, 139–58. – & Jens Kiefer (2005). The Narratological Analysis of Poetry: Studies in English Poetry from the 16th to the 20th Century. Berlin: de Gruyter. – et al. eds. (2009). Point of View, Perspective, and Focalization: Modeling Medi­ ation in Narrative. Berlin: de Gruyter.

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Huet, Pierre-Daniel ([1670] 1715). THE HISTORY OF ROMANCES. AN Enquiry into their Original Instructions for Composing them; AN Account of the most Eminent AUTHORS; With Characters, and Curious Observations upon the Best Perform­ ances of that Kind. Tr. St. Lewis. London: Hooke. Ihwe, Jens (1972). “On the Foundation of a General Theory of Narrative Structure.” Poetics 3, 5–14. Jahn, Manfred (1996). “Windows of Focalization: Deconstructing and Reconstructing a Narratological Concept.” Style 30, 241–67. – (1999a). “‘Speak, friend, and enter’: Garden Paths, Artificial Intelligence, and Cog­ nitive Narratology.” D. Herman (ed). Narratologies. New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 167–94. – (1999b). “More Aspects of Focalization. Refinements and Applications.” J. Pier (ed). Recent Trends in Narratological Research. Tours: GRAAT, 85–110. – (2001). “Narrative Voice and Agency in Drama. Aspects of a Narratology of Drama.” New Literary History 32, 59–79. Janik, Christina (2008). “Markierungen temporaler, kausaler und lokaler Relationen zwischen Sachverhalten.” R. Hodel & V. Lehmann (eds). Textkohärenz und Narra­ tion. Untersuchungen russischer Texte des Realismus und der Moderne. Berlin: de Gruyter 243–58. Jannidis, Fotis (2004). Figur und Person. Beiträge zu einer historischen Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Karlgren, Jussi & Douglass Cutting (1994). Recognizing Text Genres with Simple Met­ rics using Discriminant Analysis. Morristown: Swedish Inst. of Computer Sc. Kindt, Tom & Hans-Harald Müller (2003). “Narrative Theory and/or/as Theory of In­ terpretation.” T. K. & H.-H. M. (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and An­ swers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 205–19. – (2006). The Implied Author. Concept and Controversy. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kramer, Lawrence (1991). “Musical Narratology: A Theoretical Outline.” Indiana The­ ory Review 12, 141–62. Kreiswirth, Martin (1995). “Tell Me a Story: The Narrativist Turn in the Human Sci­ ences.” M. K. & Th. Carmichael (eds). Constructive Criticism: The Human Sci­ ences in the Age of Theory. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 61–87. Lämmert, Eberhard (1955). Bauformen des Erzählens. Stuttgart: Metzler. Lanser, Susan S. (1981). The Narrative Act. Point of View in Prose Fiction. Princeton: Princeton UP. – (1986). “Toward a Feminist Narratology.” R. R. Warhol & D. P. Herndl (eds). Feminisms. An Anthology of Literary Theory and Criticism. New Brunswick: Rut­ gers UP, 674–93. Lehmann, Volkmar (2008). “Der narrative Redetyp und seine Analyse.” R. Hodel & V. L. (eds). Textkohärenz und Narration. Untersuchungen russischer Texte des Rea­ lismus und der Moderne. Berlin: de Gruyter, 179–226. Lévi-Strauss, Claude (1955). “The Structural Study of Myth.” Journal of American Folklore 68, 428–44. – ([1958] 1963). Structural Anthropology. New York: Basic Books. – (1976): “Structure and Form: Reflections on a Work by Vladimir Propp.” C. L.-St. Structural Anthropology. London: Allen Lane, vol. 2, 115–45.

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Lönneker, Birte, et al. eds. (2005). “Story Generators: Models and Approaches for the Generation of Literary Artefacts.” Proceedings of the 17th Joint International Con­ ference of the Association for Computers and the Humanities and the Association for Literary and Linguistic Computing, Victoria, BC, Canada, June 15–18, 126–33. Lubbock, Percy ([1921] 1972). The Craft of Fiction. London: Cape. Lukács, Georg ([1916] 1993). The Theory of the Novel. A historico-philosophical essay on the forms of great epic literature. Cambridge: MIT P. Mateas, Michael & Phoebe Sengers, eds. (2003). Narrative Intelligence. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Meister, Jan Christoph (2003). Computing Action. A Narratological Approach. Berlin: de Gruyter. – et al. (2005). “Introduction: Narratology beyond Literary Criticism: Mediality, Dis­ ciplinarity.” J. Ch. M. (ed). Narratology beyond Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinar­ ity. Berlin: de Gruyter, ix–xvi. Mittell, Jason (2007). “Film and television narrative.” D. Herman (ed). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 156–71. Müller, Günther (1948). “Erzählte Zeit und Erzählzeit.” Festschrift für Paul Kluckhohn und Hermann Schneider. Tübingen: Mohr, 195–212. Neitzel, Britta (2005). “Levels of Play and Narration.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 45–64. Nünning, Ansgar (2000). “Towards a Cultural and Historical Narratology: A Survey of Diachronic Approaches, Concepts, and Research Projects.” B. Reitz & S. Rieuwerts (eds). Anglistentag 1999 Mainz. Proceedings. Trier: WVT, 345–73. – (2003). “Narratology or Narratologies?” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 239–75. – & Vera Nünning (2002). “Von der strukturalistischen Narratologie zur ‘postklassi­ schen’ Erzähltheorie: Ein Überblick über neue Ansätze und Entwicklungstenden­ zen.” A. N. & V. N. (eds). Neue Ansätze in der Erzähltheorie. Trier: WVT, 1–33. – & Roy Sommer (2008). “Diegetic and Mimetic Narrativity: Some further Steps to­ wards a Transgeneric Narratology of Narrative.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 331–54. Pavel, Thomas G. (1985). The Poetics of Plot. The Case of English Renaissance Drama. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – (1986). Fictional Worlds. Cambridge: Harvard UP. – (1990). “Narrative Tectonics.” Poetics Today 11, 349–64. Petsch, Robert (1934). Wesen und Form der Erzählkunst. Halle: Niemeyer. Pier, John & José Ángel García Landa, eds. (2008). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter. Pouillon, Jean (1946). Temps et roman. Paris: Gallimard. Prince, Gerald (1973). A Grammar of Stories. An Introduction. The Hague: Mouton. – (1980). “Aspects of a Grammar of Narrative.” Poetics Today 1, 49–63. – ([1987] 2003). A Dictionary of Narratology. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. – (1990). “On Narratology (Past, Present, Future).” French Literature Series 17, 1– 14.

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(1995). “Narratology.” R. Selden (ed). The Cambridge History of Literary Criti­ cism. VII: From Formalism to Poststructuralism. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 110– 30. – (2003). “Surveying Narratology.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narrato­ logy? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–16. Propp, Vladimir ([1928] 1958). Morphology of the Folktale. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Richardson, Brian (2007). “Drama and narrative.” D. Herman (ed). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 142–5. Rumelhart, David E. (1980). “On Evaluating Story Grammars.” Cognitive Science 4, 313–16. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1979). “Linguistic Models in Narratology: From Structuralism to Generative Semantics.” Semiotica 28, 127–55. – (1991). Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative Theory. Blooming­ ton: Indiana UP. – (2001). Narrative as Virtual Reality. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP. – (2002). “Beyond Myth and Metaphor: Narrative in Digital Media.” Poetics Today 23, 581–609. – (2003). “Narrative Cartography: Towards a Visual Narratology.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 333–64. – (2005). “On the Theoretical Foundations of Transmedial Narratology.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1–23. – (2006). Avatars of Story. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – (2008). “Transfictionality across Media.” J. Pier & J. Á. García Landa (eds). Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 385–417. – & Ernst van Alphen (1993). “Narratology.” I. R. Makaryk (ed). Encyclopedia of Contemporary Literary Theory. Approaches, Scholars, Terms. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 110–16. – ed. (2004). Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P. Schernus, Wilhelm (2007). “À propos des cercles typologiques, tableaux et arbres généalogiques. Les évolutions et modifications de la théorie narrative de Franz K. Stanzel et leurs représentations visuelles.” J. Pier (ed). Théorie du récit. L’apport de la recherche allemande. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Septentrion, 97–130. Schlickers, Sabine (1997). Verfilmtes Erzählen. Narratologisch-komparative Untersu­ chung zu „El beso de la mujer araña“ (Manuel Puig/Héctor Babenco) und „Cró­ nica de una muerte anunciada.“ Frankfurt a.M.: Vervuert. Schmid, Wolf (2003). “Narrativity and Eventfulness.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Questions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 17–33. – (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. – (2005a). “La métalepse narrative dans la construction du formalisme russe.” J. Pier & J.-M. Schaeffer (eds). Métalepses. Entorses au pacte de la représentation. Paris: Éd. de l’EHESS, 189–95.

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ed. (2009). Russische Proto-Narratologie. Texte in kommentierten Übersetzungen. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schmidt, Siegfried J. (1989). “Erzählen ohne Geschichte. F. Mayröcker oder ein Exem­ pel einer konstruktivistischen Narratologie.” Zeitschrift für Germanistik 10, 397– 405. Schönert, Jörg (2004). “Zum Status und zur disziplinären Reichweite von Narratolo­ gie.” V. Borsò & C. Kann (eds). Geschichtsdarstellung: Medien—Methoden—Stra­ tegien. Köln: Böhlau, 131–43. – et al. (2007). Lyrik und Narratologie. Text-Analysen zu deutschsprachigen Gedich­ ten vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert. Berlin: de Gruyter. Seaton, Douglass (2005). “Narrative in Music: The Case of Beethoven’s ‘Tempest’ Sonata.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 65–81. Šklovskij, Viktor B. (Shklovsky, Victor) ([1917] 1965). “Art as a Technique.” L. T. Lemon & M. J. Reis (eds). Russian Formalist Criticism. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 3–24. Spielhagen, Friedrich ([1876] 1967). “Novelle oder Roman?” F. S. Beiträge zur Theo­ rie und Technik des Romans. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 245–57. – ([1883] 1967). Beiträge zur Theorie und Technik des Romans. Faksimile nach der Erstausgabe. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Stanzel, Franz K. ([1955] 1971). Narrative Situations in the Novel: Tom Jones, MobyDick, The Ambassadors, Ulysses. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Sternberg, Meir (2001). “How Narrativity makes a Difference.” Narrative 9, 115–22. Sturgess, Philip J. M. (1992). Narrativity: Theory and Practice. Oxford: Clarendon P. Titzmann, Michael (2003). “The Systematic Place of Narratology in Literary Theory and Textual Theory.” T. Kindt & H.-H. Müller (eds). What Is Narratology? Ques­ tions and Answers Regarding the Status of a Theory. Berlin: de Gruyter, 175–204. Todorov, Tzvetan (1969). Grammaire du Décaméron. The Hague: Mouton. Tomaševskij, Boris (Tomashevsky) ([1925] 1971). A Theory of Literature. Letchworth: Bradda Books. Toolan, Michael J. ([1988] 2001). Narrative: A Critical Linguistic Introduction. Lon­ don: Routledge. Uspenskij, Boris (Uspensky) ([1970] 1973). A Poetics of Composition. The Structure of the Artistic and Typology of A Compositional Form. Berkeley: U of California P. Uther, Hans-Jörg (2004). The Types of International Folktales. A Classification and Bibliography. Based on the system of Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson. Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum Fennica. van Dijk, Teun A. (1975). “Action, Action Description, and Narration.” New Literary History 6, 273–94. van Peer, Willie & Seymour Chatman, eds. (2001). New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective. Albany: State U of New York P. White, Hayden (1980). “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality.” Critical Inquiry 7, 5–29.

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Wolf, Werner (2002). “Das Problem der Narrativität in Literatur, bildender Kunst und Musik: ein Beitrag zu einer intermedialen Erzähltheorie.” V. Nünning & A. Nün­ ning (eds). Erzähltheorie transgenerisch, intermedial, interdisziplinär. Trier: WVT, 23–104. – (2004). “‘Cross the Border―Close that Gap’: Towards an Intermedial Narrato­ logy.” European Journal of English Studies 8, 81–103. – (2005). “Metalepsis as a Transgeneric and Transmedial Phenomenon. A Case Study of the Possibilities of ‘Exporting’ Narratological Concepts.” J. Ch. Meister (ed). Narratology beyond Literary Criticism. Mediality, Disciplinarity. Berlin: de Gruyter, 83–107.

5.2 Web Resources
NarrBib (short for “Narratological Bibliography”)
www.icn.uni-hamburg.de/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogsection&id=8&Itemid=13

ENN (European Narratology Network)
www.narratology.net/

ICN (Interdisciplinary Center for Narratology, Hamburg University)
www.icn.uni-hamburg.de

Project Narrative (Ohio State University)
projectnarrative.osu.edu/

Zentrum für Erzählforschung (Bergische University, Wuppertal)
www.fba.uni-wuppertal.de/zef/

Center for Narratologiske Studier (University of Southern Denmark, Kolding)
www.sdu.dk/Om_SDU/Institutter_centre/Ilkm/Forskning/Forskningsprojekter/C_Narratologi.aspx

Narrator
Uri Margolin 1 Definition In the literal sense, the term “narrator” designates the inner-textual (textually encoded) speech position from which the current narrative discourse originates and from which references to the entities, actions and events that this discourse is about are being made. Through a dual process of metonymic transfer and anthropomorphization, the term nar­ rator is then employed to designate a presumed textually projected oc­ cupant of this position, the hypothesized producer of the current dis­ course, the individual agent who serves as the answer to Genette’s question qui parle? The narrator, which is a strictly textual category, should be clearly distinguished from the → author who is of course an actual person. 2 Explication A narrator is a linguistically indicated, textually projected and readerly constructed function, slot or category whose occupant need not be thought of in any terms but those of a communicative role. Terms designating this role include discursive function or role, voice, source of narrative transmission, producer of current discourse, teller, reporter, narrating agent or instance. The position occupied by this presumed in­ ner-textual originator of the discourse functions as a logico-linguistic center for all spatio-temporal and personal references occurring in the discourse, i.e. as highest-level center of the discourse. An inner-textual narrator can in principle be assigned to any narrative text, not just a fic­ tional one, and such ascription does not require any knowledge about the actual world producer of the words of the text, be it a human being or a computer program. The linguistically projected narrator and the actual world producer will be confronted at a later stage (3.6). Good reasons, stemming from text linguistics, philosophy, narra­ tology and common sense, can be adduced for the necessity or at least advisability of granting the narrator category as defined above a central

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place in the description and interpretation, both informal and profes­ sional, of literary narratives. In Benveniste’s (1966) and Jakobson’s (1971) text linguistics, any utterance is described as consisting of two indissoluble components: the speech event (énonciation, saying) and that which is said (énoncé) to which correspond, respectively, the sayer (sujet de l’énonciation) and the one spoken of (sujet de l’énoncé). Since narrative utterances are a subset of the universe of utterances, they too must therefore contain a sayer. For narrative, the terms thus translate into narration, narrated event, narrator and narrated agent(s), respectively. A narrator can thus be defined as the sujet de l’énonciation of one or more utterances that represents an event (Coste 1989: 166). In terms of linguistic pragmatics or speech act theory, any narrative, regardless of its length, is a macro speech act of the constative type, claiming that such and such happened. For a claim to be made, there needs to be an agent who makes this claim, hence the narrator. If narrative is a report of acts and events, we need a reporter behind it, and if it is a tale, we need a teller. In terms of communication theory, any act of communication consists of a sender sending a message to a receiver. A narrative consists of someone telling someone else that something happened, and no such act can be imagined without a sender-narrator position. Even a failed, confused or contradictory act of reporting presupposes a narrator no less than a successful one. Follow­ ing Schmid (2005: 45–6), one can say that in writing down his text and communicating it to real readers, the author represents the act(ivity) of narrative communication between textual narrator and narratee. 3 History of the Concept and its Study Plato was the first to claim that the underlying difference between nar­ rative and drama as basic types of discourse consists in the difference between directly showing and indirectly telling or reporting, rooted in the absence or presence respectively of a mediating instance between the characters’ speech and the audience. And the narrator is precisely this mediating instance. Modern arguments for mediacy as the generic hallmark of narrative can be found in Friedemann (1910) and Stanzel (1955). In contemporary narratology it is customary to distinguish between three functions which are essential to give rise to any narrative: doing, seeing and saying (Bal 1981: 45). Thus, characters do cer­ tain things which are viewed from a certain perspective, and what is seen is then reported. To these three functions there correspond three roles: narrative agent, focalizer (which has been a subject of scholarly controversy) and narrator. Baxtin’s (1934/35) influential theory of the

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novel, which can be generalized to all narrative, regards the novel as the site of interplay between two kinds of utterances: those stemming from the characters and those stemming from an inner textual narrator. The whole essence of narrative would be missed if one were to deny the textual existence of a narrator as a stylistic and ideological position. Finally, psychonarratology (e.g. Bortolussi & Dixon 2003) has shown that readers process literary narratives in the same way as they do or­ dinary communication insofar as they assume a textually encoded con­ versational partner responsible for the contents of the narrative. This mimetic-illusionist assumption has recently come under scrutiny by cognitively-oriented narratologists (Nünning 2001; Fludernik 2003; → cognitive narratology). On this view, a literary narrative is a text capable of creating in the reader’s mind the representational illusion of observing an ongoing process of narrative communication in which a more or less personalized narrator plays a key role. Identifying and characterizing such a narrator is an optional naturalization or meaning creation strategy open to the reader and building upon two kinds of in­ put: textual signals and storytelling scenarios (frames, schemes) the reader already possesses from his real-life experience and which are activated once a certain number of narrator indicators have been identi­ fied in the text (→ schemata). Works which destroy the illusion of an independently existing narrated domain may still produce a powerful representational illusion of narrative activity with a narrator figure be­ hind it. One can say in conclusion that the notion of narrator has been approached and defined in terms of three distinct theoretical frame­ works (Grall 2007): rhetoric (speech act, communication); narratology (mediation, interplay of utterances); and cognitive science (reader psy­ chology and models of text comprehension). 3.1 Identifying the Narrator: Constitutive Conditions Some narrators are more marked and individuated than others. But what are the minimal textual conditions under which one could identify a distinct narrating position or voice? Such conditions could be represented as a hierarchical series. The text must be capable of being naturalized as representing one or more reporting utterances or speech acts stemming from one or more agents. Some texts, classified as narratives in our culture, such as unframed interior monologues (Schnitzler’s Fräulein Else) or textes-limites of modernism or postmodernism, do not satisfy this requirement and consequently cannot be considered as possessing any inscribed originators. The second condition is that it should be possible to demarcate the utterances of which the text con­

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sists and assign each of them to a distinct voice or originator. (It is only in rare cases that all utterances recorded in a text were originally made by one speaker at one time.) The third condition is that one should be able to determine the hierarchical relations between the different utter­ ances and their originators, as defined by such questions as who can quote whom, who can refer to whom and who can report about whom (Margolin 1991), but also to determine the total number of such originators and levels of speech in the text. Finally, and most crucially, one should be able to identify a single, highest-level originator of all originators, so to speak: one general, primary or global textual narrating voice, such that (a) the text as a whole can be seen as a macro speech act or utterance emanating from that voice, and (b) all textually occur­ ring utterances originating with other speakers are embedded within this macro speech act, that is, are merely quoted or mentioned in it. There is no algorithm for deciding whether any or all of the above con­ ditions are satisfied by a given text even though readers make such de­ cisions semi-intuitively all the time. The muse who provides the an­ swer to the epic question at the beginning of the Iliad is the earliest Western example of such a global narrator, but this occurs also with the anonymous voices relating the whole of War and Peace or Père Goriot. When it is not possible to identify a single highest-level narrator, we are dealing with multi-narrator narratives (Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying or The Sound and the Fury, Orhan Pamuk’s My Name is Red) in which different textual segments consist of reports stemming from dif­ ferent speakers, none of whom occupy a position higher than the oth­ ers. “Narrator” in the prototypical sense, however, designates the single, unified, stable, distinct human-like voice who produces the whole narrative discourse we are reading. In general, although not uni­ versally, this discourse assumes the shape of an account of independ­ ently existing and known facts. Going one step further, the narrator can be envisioned as a fictional agent who is part of the story world and whose task it is to report from within it on events in this world which are real or actual for him (Thomson-Jones 2007: 78). 3.1.1 “Unnatural Voices” in Postmodern Narratives Richardson (2006) described the difficulty in defining a single or uni­ fied or stable highest-level narrator position in many postmodern texts. In such texts, of which Beckett’s Trilogy is the showcase, it is some­ times impossible to locate a constant highest-level narrator, and even if one is locatable, this utterer has no voice of his own or is mimetically impossible. The first case involves either a constant reversal of levels between quoter and quoted where “the one you invented has invented

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you” (Beckett), or an open-ended regression of levels where whenever we think we have finally reached the primary textual speaker, the un­ quoted quoter, it turns out that this discourse, too, is in fact being quoted by a still higher-level voice. In the second case, the highestlevel speaker is a mere conduit or “mouth” (Beckett) voicing a dis­ course whose inscribed originator is someone else, so that all tokens of “I” in this discourse designate not the utterer, but that “cantankerous other” (Beckett). The net result is that “I seem to speak, it is not I; about me—but it is not about me” (Beckett). The supposedly highestlevel voice ends up lacking all identity, as it is merely a “ghost writer” for another or the mere conduit for another’s discourse or an impersonator speaking as another (Margolin 1986/87). In the mimetically im­ possible case (Richardson 2006: 103–05), the primary speaker turns out to be a number of distinct voices which merge without any explana­ tion, which contain so much incommensurable information that they cannot be unified into one speech position or whose level is indeterminate and floating between the character, narrator and persona of the biographical author, as when such a narrator claims to have invented figures in other texts by the same author (e.g. Beckett’s Trilogy). Fi­ nally, a specific highest-level individual voice cannot be identified in a discourse consisting of a verbal collage of recycled clichés from media reports, advertising and the like (Petersen 1993: 138). 3.2 Individuating the Narrator When a primary global narrator can be defined for a given narrative, the discourse as a whole can be viewed as its macro speech act. Indi­ viduating the narrator in a literary fictional context means constructing or inferring an image of the utterer with the sole means for so doing be­ ing the verbal record of his speech act. This task needs to be guided by two theoretical frameworks: linguistic pragmatics, which seeks to define the time, place, and context of utterance and the utterer’s capabilities, beliefs and communicative intentions; and the cognitive psychological theory of attribution, which seeks to infer from a behavior, in­ cluding verbal, the dispositions and attitudes of the agent (Margolin 1986). Now literary texts vary enormously as regards the kinds and the amount of clues they provide for this purpose and the resultant textual markedness of the narrator or “degree of narratorhood” (Chatman’s term). At degree zero we have the impersonal or transparent mode of narration associated with an anonymous voice or covert (effaced, im­ perceptible) narrator coming from nowhere and announcing categorically that “once upon a time there was.” At the other end stands the

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perceptible, dramatized or personal mode of narration associated with an overt narrator who could say things like “Living now in my old age in the city of NN, I still remember with great affection what X did 30 years ago.” Obviously, the greater the number and diversity of the tex­ tual elements available for speaker indication, the richer the resultant speaker image. Once again, the two extremes would be a mere voice with no psychological person behind it and a concrete figure with both an inner life and a body. 3.2.1 Types of Utterances One major source of data for building the image of the narrator is claims occurring in his/her discourse that go beyond the strict reporting of individual facts. These include summaries, analyses, comments, and generalizations of various kinds, all concerning the narrated domain. Chatman (1978) has proposed a useful typology of such claims in as­ cending order from set descriptions and temporal summaries to reports of what characters did not do, say or think, then to explanations, inter­ pretations and judgments of reported actions or characters, and ending with generalizations of any kind, including purported general truths, maxims and norms of action which go well beyond the reported events. The extent of such claims varies enormously from one author to the other, two extremes being Hemingway and Henry James. The aesthetic desirability of such narratorial “intrusions” or “telling” beyond mere “showing” has been the object of heated critical debate since the 19 th century (e.g. Otto Ludwig, Friedrich Spielhagen, Käte Friedemann, Percy Lubbock and Wayne C. Booth). Critics for whom narratorial me­ diation is a mere handmaiden for showing camera-like what happened would advocate the avoidance of all such material and consider it a mere deviation detracting from the effectiveness of the narration. Con­ versely, those for whom mediation is the very essence of narrative as distinguished from drama would consider such material as radical en­ richment of “mere reporting.” 3.2.2 Situational Indicators The types of utterances just mentioned help us individuate the narrator as a mind, so to speak. But what about him/her as a person in a commu­ nicative situation? Here linguistic features play the major role. Doležel (1967) has outlined several such features, again in hierarchical order. First is the use of first- and second-person pronouns to indicate the presence of the originator and the inscribed addressee of the current speech event, both of whom are absent in third-person discourse. Next is the use of all three major tenses, especially of the present tense, to

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indicate the current communicative transaction relative to which all narrated events are temporally ordered. In pure third-person past-tense narration, on the other hand, the past tense is not related to any particu­ lar speech situation, but is more aspectual, merely indicative of the nar­ rated events already having taken place. Third is the use of deictics (demonstratives, indexicals, shifters) of time and place such as “now,” “here,” “lately,” “yesterday,” etc. relating the narrated events to a present speaker and his embodied space-time position. Another major element is address to the inscribed narratee, such as the famous “Dear reader,” consisting of questions and admonitions and providing the speaking voice with immediacy, projecting an ongoing communicative exchange (telling) in addition to what is being narrated (told). Such ad­ dress is part of the rhetorical strategy employed by the narrator, and embodies his/her communicative intentions. Equally important is the use of subjective semantics, expressing the narrating instance’s atti­ tudes and reactions to the narrated events, which both adds a strong personal element and functions as part of the teller’s rhetorical strategy vis-à-vis the addressee. A final individuating feature is a personal style of narration, indicative of a particular mind style. 3.2.3 Narration-oriented Utterances Narratorial comments are focused on the narrated, while the linguistic features listed above may be indicative of the narrated or the narration. The fullest systematic picture of elements in the communicative situation (narration) which help characterize the narrator can be provided by using Jakobson’s model of verbal communication (1960), five of whose six functions are concerned with enunciation. The expressive function is concerned with the speaker’s self-reference, self-character­ ization, and expression of emotions and attitudes. The conative or ap­ pellative functions may create the illusion of face-to-face communica­ tion where the addressee is urged to listen, understand, sympathize, etc., not only with respect to the narrated, but also regarding the narrator and his current activity. Metalinguistic references to the medium employed (oral or written) and its limitations again highlight the nar­ rator’s present act of telling, and so do discussions of the appropriate­ ness and potentialities of the type of discourse selected (letter, diary, confession, report). And finally, there are of course references to the current narrating activity and its linguistic embodiment as it is being produced. As Prince (1982) and Nünning (1989) have noted, the greater the number of signs of the narration compared to those of the narrated, the more marked the narrator and his activity become. An extreme example

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is provided by postmodern narratives where hardly any story gets told, since most of the text is concerned with the process of telling and its difficulties and with the figure of the teller and his struggle to tell (→ metanarration and metafiction). Finally, when the telling process is foregrounded and presented as durative (taking days, months or years), it is possible to draw conclusions not only with respect to some of the narrator’s mental and physical traits, but also as regards possible changes to these features in the course of the narration. 3.3 Major Aspects of a Narrator’s Image Once a certain amount of individuating information about the narrator has been garnered from the textual data listed above, one could attempt to draw an image of this narrator as a human or human-like figure. Now in principle any physical, mental or behavioral aspect of the nar­ rator could enter such a picture, but as regards those aspects most closely tied to the defining teller role, the following have been suggested by various narratologists: degree and kind(s) of knowledge pos­ sessed; reliability; relation to various components of the speech act per­ formed; articulateness; attitude towards the narrated (straightforward, ironic, sympathetic, etc.); projected teller role. 3.3.1 Knowledge Once a global narrator has been identified in a discourse, all informa­ tion about the narrated domain, including characters’ direct discourse, originates with that narrator. Now the knowledge a narrator may have about any of the characters may be restricted to what can be garnered from sense impressions, or it may include direct access to their minds, something not possible outside fiction (® focalization). Even if restricted to external data, a narrator may know more, the same as or less than one or more of his characters, and he may also withhold informa­ tion from his addressee. One egregious example is Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, where the narrator withholds the crucial information that he himself is the murderer. Some, but by no means all, anonymous narrating voices telling their story in the third-person past tense are endowed with omniscience: “Familiarity, in principle, with the characters’ innermost thought and feelings; knowledge of past, present and future; presence in locations where characters are supposed to be unaccompanied […]; and the knowledge of what happened in sever­ al places at the same time” (Rimmon-Kenan [1983] 2003: 96). And such panoramic or Olympian knowledge can be fully authoritative, not open to any challenge or enquiry. This is the maximal degree and kind

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of knowledge any narrator can possess, and the possibility of any nar­ rating instance possessing such knowledge is the most basic con­ stitutive convention of all fiction writing. As soon as the narrator be­ comes personalized, knowledge claims begin to be restricted in scope and kind to the humanly possible (unless the speaker is a supernatural entity) and are open to modalization (“it seems,” “probably,” “as far as can be known”) and thus the challenge of limited epistemic authority. Because of their rhetorical needs, authors sometimes endow personal­ ized narrators with intermittent omniscience. The highly personalized narrator of Proust’s first-person novel À la Recherche du temps perdu can thus on occasion report with certainty about what another person thought or what happened when someone was all by himself. 3.3.2 Reliability Personalized narrators, and only personalized ones, may on occasion be deemed by the reader as unreliable, meaning that the validity of some or even all claims made by them is low or non-existent, that these claims need consequently to be rejected and, if possible, replaced by more valid, reader-formulated ones regarding the given topic. (Notice, though, that if the narrator is cast in the role not of a reporter of facts but of an inventor of tales, unreliability is inapplicable [Walton 1990: 374–75].) Following Phelan & Martin (1999), one can distinguish three axes of unreliability: facts and events of the narrated domain; the inter­ pretation of such facts (i.e. supplied inferences, explanations or motiva­ tions); moral, practical, aesthetic, etc. judgments and evaluations of these facts. While the first two kinds of reliability are epistemic, the third is clearly axiological and normative. Moreover, unreliability of factual claims is the most radical, since it may prevent us from figuring out what the narrative world was “really” like. A narrator may himself alter the reliability of any of his claims by citing lack of information or inability on his part to fathom things. There are numerous indicators of narratorial factual unreliability (cf. D’hoker & Martens eds. 2008) in­ cluding paratextual and intertextual elements such as title (Diary of a Madman) or a narrator figure falling clearly under a codified unreliable literary type (picaro, scoundrel). In multiple narrator texts (3.4), con­ flicts between the reports on the same events by different narrators in­ dicate that at least one of them is unreliable. In realistic literature, a major clash between our world knowledge (extra-textual information) and claims made by the narrator may also serve as such an indicator (Hansen 2007). Inner-textual indicators of factual unreliability are in­ consistency and incongruity between claims made by the narrator re­ garding the same events, while illogicality, invalid or non-sequitur in­

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ferences as well as explanations and generalizations lacking any evidence are grounds for deeming narratorial interpretations of fact unreli­ able. Strong conflict with the moral or aesthetic norms held by the reader are grounds for rejecting narratorial judgments. In the factual and interpretative cases, one also assumes that the events of the nar­ rated domain are in and by themselves amenable to a consistent de­ scription and that valid generalizations and explanations of this domain are possible. Narratorial unreliability is ultimately a readerly computa­ tional hypothesis adopted in order to explain the origin of inconsisten­ cies and incongruities in the narrated world, a crucial point first made by Yacobi (1981). To claim that the narration of a given story is unreli­ able is to assume the existence of a personalized mediator with humanlike cognitive and sensory capabilities whose erroneous or aberrant mind can serve as the source of all textual incongruities with respect to the narrated domain (Marcus 2007). Once we are ready to psychologize the narrator, we could seek for mental explanations for the unreliability of some or all of his claims. Depending on the particular text, such grounds could be the narrator’s lack of knowledge or experience, mental deficiencies ranging from lim­ ited intelligence to insanity or drug-induced hallucinations, self-decep­ tion (in cases of autobiographical narration), a particular mental disposition (the chronic liar), and a deliberate deceptive strategy. Creating a narrator figure whom readers will deem unreliable redirects attention from the told to the telling and the teller, from what is known and eval­ uated to the circumstances and activities of informing and judging, and to the person failing to perform them properly. 3.3.3 Relation to the Narrative Act From the speech act of narration one can construct an image of its per­ former along three major axes: status, involving the speaker’s relation to his speaking activity; contact, involving the speaker-audience rela­ tion; and stance, involving the relation between the speaker and the topic of his discourse. Such is the key thesis of Lanser (1981), the most comprehensive account to date of the narrator in terms of speech act theory. Status covers, among other things, social identity, extent of knowledge, presentation of the told as report or invention, and “mimetic authority” encompassing sincerity and honesty or their absence, trustworthiness (both intellectual and moral), and competence or skill at telling. Contact includes the teller’s attitude towards his inscribed addressee: formality to intimacy, deference to contempt; self-reference and direct address or the absence of both; the teller’s attitude towards his activity including self-confidence or hesitancy, consciousness of

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this activity of telling and reference to it or lack of both. Stance is a more heterogeneous category, but most important probably is the nar­ rator’s relation to his characters: adopting or not adopting their lan­ guage and/or spatio-temporal perspective and/or values (Lanser 1981: 224). Lanser’s pragmatics of narration follows in the footsteps of clas­ sical rhetoric where a speaker is regarded as a human subject with vari­ ous emotions (pathos), values (ethos) and intentions and who, through the organization and manner of delivery of his discourse, seeks to mold in particular ways the attitudes, emotions and judgments of his addressees (Grall 2007: 253–54). 3.3.4 Articulateness Under this heading is understood the manner of telling, especially those stylistic choices that help characterize the speaker’s discourse and, by metonymic transfer, the speaker’s mind as sophisticated, abstract, com­ plex and rational or their opposite, finely nuanced or simplistic, emo­ tional and immediate or rational and distanced, and so on. While such qualifications cannot be strictly defined in any systematic and exhaustive manner, they form an important part of our personality sketch of the narrator as perceiver, chronicler and analyst of the narrated world. Our corresponding judgment of him as intelligent and perceptive or not will have a decisive influence on our assessment of his credibility and ultimately on how much of what he claims about the narrated domain we are ready to accept. 3.3.5 Attitude to the Narrated Equally incapable of formal definition and failsafe determination, yet every bit as important, is the narrator’s attitude towards the told, as manifested in the way characters and events are represented. An openended list of qualifiers would include neutral vs. judgmental, sympathetic vs. detached, involved vs. distanced, cynical, sentimental, emo­ tionally charged, curious, amused, bewildered, and so on. The relation between the tone or manner of telling and its subject matter can itself serve as the basis for second-order characterization of the speaker. Speaking in a cold, distanced manner about an atrocity may lead us to characterize the speaker as heartless or as doing his best to hide his emotions, depending on the context (Margolin 1986). The drawing of such inferences is not an exact science, for it depends on the specific inner-textual contexts as well as on the reader’s cultural context; even so, such inferencing plays an important role in any portrait of the nar­ rator drawn by the reader.

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3.3.6 Projected Teller Role The last key aspect of the narrator’s image is his/her textually projected role. Is the narrator presented as a reporter (chronicler, biographer, his­ torian, eye witness) who vouches for the truth of his assertions regard­ ing the narrated? Or as an editor or publisher transmitting and vouching for the prior existence and/or authenticity of the documents (letters, di­ aries) he is presenting (though not necessarily for the veracity of the claims made in them)? Or as an author-fabricator, a storyteller engaged in the invention of stories, perhaps with a playful attitude? Or maybe as an oral teller, as in the skaz tradition, presenting a story to a live audi­ ence with a focus on the performative or transmissive aspect, on oral address and unmediated audience response? (For the underlying func­ tions, see Ryan 2001; for the key properties of the narrator in his teller role, see Booth 1961 and Petersen 1993.) 3.4 Plurivocal and Multi-level Narration Some narratives do not have a general or global narrator, so that the events on the narrated level are related by numerous independent par­ tial narrators, neither of whom refers to the discourse of the others, thus creating “narrative parataxis” (Coste 1989: 173). Now these par­ tial narrators need not be participants in the narrated events, as when three contemporary historians tell the story of Napoleon’s defeat in Russia. Furthermore, each of them may narrate a different phase of the total action sequence, a pattern labeled “narrative relay” (Coste 1989: 173), or the same events may be covered by all of them in converging or diverging ways. In fictional narratives, one encounters both patterns, but with the difference that the narrators are normally also participants in the events they narrate. Since each character-narrator possesses his own perspective or “take” on the events, the net result is multi-per­ spectival narration where there exist two or more narrating instances who portray the same events in different ways, each from his own standpoint (Nünning 2001: 18). An epistolary novel consisting entirely of correspondence between two or more persons is a plurivocal narra­ tion in which each letter writer reports on and discusses events con­ cerning himself, his addressee or some third party. An epistolary novel with a framing editor’s discourse turns this editor into the global nar­ rator, since all the embedded letters are basically quoted by him, the text as a whole constituting a two-level narrative. In general, a narrative can comprise several hierarchically ordered levels of narration, each with its own narrator. In such cases, the primary narrator is the one who introduces or quotes all the others,

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without himself being introduced by any of them; the secondary narrator is introduced or quoted by the first and introduces in his turn all lower-level narrators, and so on. This story-within-a-story phenomenon has been described by Nelles (2005: 134) as a “structure by which a character in a narrative text becomes the narrator of a second narrative text framed by the first one,” i.e. where one narrator’s discourse em­ beds that of another at a subordinate level. While the primary narrator may remain a disembodied voice, all lower-level narrators are charac­ ters with respect to the primary one and must therefore be individuated to some degree with respect to verbal, mental, behavioral and physical features. Embedded narrators (® narrative levels), too, can function either as reporters, in which case issues of reliability are paramount, or as storytellers, where their skill at story telling and its impact on their destiny are key (Walton 1990: 369–72). 3.5 Narrators and Characters When a narrator employs tokens of “I” and “you” in his discourse, these tokens automatically refer to him in his current speaker role and to his inscribed addressee as participants in the ongoing communicative transaction. But these tokens may also refer to speaker and addressee as entities existing beyond the sphere of narration as objects of telling (=characters, narrative agents) in the narrated sphere. And as → char­ acters, they may be located at points in space and time beyond the nar­ ration’s here and now. Insofar as narrators have themselves as narrative agents, they are engaged in producing a first-person narrative, whereas if it is their addressees who act as narrative agents, a second-person narrative is being produced. If the entities referred to in the narrator’s discourse are not part of the current communicative situation, then a third-person narrative is produced. (Note that it is quite possible to have a third-person narrative in which the speaker and the addressee in their communicative roles are quite prominent.) Put differently, the ref­ erents of first- and second-person narratives participate in both story and discourse systems and those of third-person narratives in the story system only. Using the narrated system as our point of departure, the main distinction is between narratives in which the narrator also parti­ cipates in the narrated events (first-person narrative) and those in which he does not (second- and third-person narratives). Several unusual forms of narration merit special attention with re­ gard to the narrator-character relation. One is the impersonal “one” form where the pronoun can designate anyone and everybody who is or would be in the situation portrayed, including the narrator himself. But

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this particular pronoun endows narration with a depersonalized aura. The “you” form automatically picks out the inscribed addressee and can pick out any reader who is ready to put himself imaginatively in this addressee’s situation. But what if the narrator’s claims are about a “you” in a separate narrated sphere, possibly also distinct in space and time from the narrational sphere? Why tell the addressee his own life story? And how possible is it for a personalized narrator to have access to this “you’s” interiority? No one motivation is possible, only a series of local context-dependent ones (Fludernik ed. 1994). “We”-narrative concerning not speaker and addressee, but rather the speaker and other(s) in a distinct narrated sphere, is especially tricky. “We” is al­ ways I+other(s). So is it the whole group speaking in unison, like the chorus in Greek tragedy, or one speaker only? And if this speaker is one, is he an authorized spokesperson for the group? “We”-narratives may serve as tools for constructing a group’s sense of cohesion and identity, but mental access by the we-narrator is necessarily curtailed. Since we=I+other(s), whenever a text using a first-person plural pro­ noun seeks to depict the thoughts of other(s) beyond the speaker, it ne­ cessarily straddles the line between first- and third-person narration: a character discloses that which can only be known by an external, im­ personal intelligence, that is, an omniscient narrative voice. Such nar­ ratives are thus simultaneously first- and third-person discourses, tran­ scending this basic narratological divide (Richardson 2006: 60). When speaking about his own discourse, the narrator normally ad­ opts his own current epistemic and evaluative perspective, although he can adopt the presumed perspective of his inscribed addressee, as in: “Is it ever boring, listening to you.” When making claims about the nar­ rated domain, the narrator can engage his own perspective, but alternatively he may take on the perspective of a character, speaking “[a]s though he himself were […] in the epistemological position he attrib­ utes to a character, reporting what he takes this character to know” (Walton 1990: 379). In the case of the autodiegetic (=autobiographical) narrator, the character whose epistemological position he adopts may be himself at a different time, usually in the past, but possibly also a projected future version of himself. In his study of Dostoevskij’s poet­ ics, Baxtin (1929) showed the myriad ways in which a character’s per­ spective can be incorporated into the narrator’s discourse, ranging from harmony up to sharp internal dissonance and parodic inversion. Free indirect discourse, one of the hallmarks of fiction writing, is a linguistic form combining the narrator’s deictic position and the character’s idiom and semantics. Finally, a narrator can speak of himself qua nar­ rative agent as of another, that is, in the second or third person (e.g.

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Caesar in De bello gallico). The reasons for such a deictic shift are nu­ merous and local, but the transfer can never encompass the whole text; otherwise, it will not be identifiable. 3.6 Narrator and Author The issue in the context of fiction writing is the relation between the textually inscribed originator of the narrative discourse and the actual person(s) who has (have) composed or written the text. Both textual features and the cultural codes of reading play a role here. When the textually inscribed narrator is individuated in terms of proper name and key attributes (age, sex, location) which are markedly different from the author’s, we tend to say that the author is the mere producer of the words or sentences on the page which are turned into propositions and utterances, claims and reports once they are ascribed to the textually in­ scribed speaker. By producing the words on the page, the author has given rise in such cases to a substitutionary speaker who performs the macro speech act of reporting and who is solely responsible for all claims, specific and general, made in his report (on this issue, Ryan 1981; Martínez-Bonati 1996). The same named and individuated teller may even serve as the narrator on the highest intradiegetic level in sev­ eral works by the same author (Conrad’s Marlow, Hemingway’s Nick Adams). What do we do, however, if the highest textual speaker position is occupied by a wholly non-individuated narrator, an anonymous voice? Most contemporary theories of narrative assume a logical necessity of positing a narrating voice distinct from the author, even in cases of an effaced narrator, since only such a voice could proclaim as true the nar­ rative propositions contained in the text. But there have always been dissenting voices. Hamburger (1957), for example, has argued that one can meaningfully speak of a narrator figure only in first-person narratives, while in all other cases the narrator is a mere metonymy for a narrative textual function. Banfield (1982) has argued on linguistic grounds that the notion of narrator is meaningful only in cases of overt, foregrounded narration, such as the skaz. And finally, Walsh (1997: 507, 511) has claimed that in the absence of a marked narrator, it is the real author who makes the claims, both specific and general, contained in the text, but in a ludic (pretense) mode. A number of further distinctions should be made here. Claims by an anonymous narrating voice involving mental access to others serve as indicators that this is a work of fiction and also as a good reason not to identify this voice with the author, but treat it instead as a substitution­

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ary speaker. However, if the claims to knowledge made by this voice are realistically possible, then it is only paratextual and contextual in­ dicators that can serve as grounds for positing a substitutionary textual speaker. Suppose now an extreme case with no unequivocal paratextual or contextual indicators and realistically possible kinds of claims only. Here we are faced with a possible quandary: historical report or the artistic imitation of such a report? Hildesheimer’s Marbot is a case in point. Even if we are inclined to posit an anonymous inner-textual nar­ rator as the one responsible for all specific claims made in the text, opinions vary as regards the general claims and the moral norms origin­ ating with this voice: are they to be applied to the actual world? Do they reflect the biographical author’s views? Logical consistency and established cultural conventions requiring that we preserve the unity of the text dictate that we apply these claims to the storyworld only and not worry about the actual author’s views. Yet in the case of an effaced narrator, the temptation to relate the claims to actual world and actual author is almost irresistible, as evidenced by endless literary interpreta­ tions. The individuated narrator and the anonymous voice are complemented by the individuated narrator figure showing close resemblance to the author, as when the narrator is portrayed as a professional writer and sometimes even bears the author’s name. The distinctions made earlier apply in this case too, and the best approach seems to treat this narrator figure as the author’s counterpart in the fictional sphere cre­ ated by the text. 4 Topics for Further Investigation (a) The image of the textual speaker as constructed in the context of fiction writing should be examined in its relation to the projected speaker image in lyrical poetry (persona) and in non-fictional narratives. (b) It is assumed here that the diarist and letter writer are narrators, yet Chatman (1978) denies this: is it because he implicitly identi­ fies narrator with global narrator? (c) Can narrators be focalizers, and if so, when and to what extent? This problem has not been touched upon here, yet is the subject of extensive debate in the critical literature. (d) This entry makes no use of the notion of ® implied author, which the present writer finds redundant in a communication-based model. However, the implied author appears in almost every discussion of the narrator. Should this be the case? (e) Narrator unreliability as re­ gards judgments and evaluations has been treated here entirely as a matter of readers’ criteria, unlike factual unreliability, for which there

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are objective inner-textual indicators. Why has this view emerged only recently, and is the resistance to it associated with the implied author postulate? 5 Bibliography 5.1 Works Cited
Baxtin, Mixail (Bakhtin, Mikhail) ([1929] 1984). Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. – ([1934/35] 1981). “Discourse in the Novel.” The Dialogic Imagination: Four Es­ says. Austin: U of Texas P, 259–422. Bal, Mieke (1981). “Notes on Narrative Embedding.” Poetics Today 2.2, 41–59. Banfield, Ann (1982). Unspeakable Sentences. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Benveniste, Émile (1966). Problèmes de linguistique générale. Paris: Gallimard. Booth, Wayne C. ([1961] 1983). The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: U of Chicago P. Bortolussi, Marisa & Peter Dixon (2003). Psychonarratology. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Chatman, Seymour (1978). Story and Discourse. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Coste, Didier (1989). Narrative as Communication. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P. D’hoker, Elke & Gunther Martens, eds. (2008). Narrative Unreliability in the Twentieth-Century First-Person Novel. Berlin: de Gruyter. Doležel, Lubomír (1967). “The Typology of the Narrator: Point of View in Fiction.” To Honor Roman Jakobson. The Hague: Mouton, vol. I, 541–52. Fludernik, Monika, ed. (1994). Second-Person Narrative. Special issue of Style 28.3. – (2003). “Commentary: Narrative Voices—Ephemera or Bodied Beings.” New Lit­ erary History 32, 707–10. Friedemann, Käte ([1910] 1965). Die Rolle des Erzählers in der Epik. Darmstadt: WBG. Grall, Catherine (2007). “Rhetorique, narratologie et sciences cognitives: Quel status pour le narrateur?” J. Bessiere (ed). Litterature, Representation, Fiction. Paris: Honore Champion, 247–66. Hamburger, Käte ([1957] 1993). The Logic of Literature. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Hansen, Per Krogh (2007). “Recognising the Unreliable Narrator.” Semiotica 165, 227–46. Jakobson, Roman (1960). “Linguistics and Poetics.” Th. A. Sebeok (ed). Style in Lan­ guage. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 350–77. – (1971). “Shifters, Verbal Categories and the Russian Verb.” R. J. Selected Writings. The Hague: Mouton, vol. 2, 130–47. – (1990). “The Speech Event and the Functions of Language.” R. J. On Language. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 69–79. Lanser, Susan (1981). The Narrative Act. Princeton: Princeton UP. Lubbock, Percy ([1921] 1947). The Craft of Fiction. Smith: New York. Ludwig, Otto (1977). Romane und Romanstudien. München: Hanser. Marcus, Amit (2007). Self Deception in Literature and Philosophy. Trier: WVT.

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Margolin, Uri (1986). “The Doer and the Deed.” Poetics Today 7, 206–25. – (1986/87). “Dispersing/Voiding the Subject.” Texte 5/6, 181–210. – (1991). “Reference, Coreference, Referring, and the Dual Structure of Literary Nar­ rative.” Poetics Today 12, 517–42. Martínez-Bonati, Félix (1996). “On Fictional Discourse.” C.-A. Mihailescu & W. Hamarneh (eds). Fiction Updated. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 65–75. Nelles, William (2005). “Embedding.” D. Herman et al. (eds). Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative Theory. London: Routledge, 134–35. Nünning, Ansgar (1989). Grundzüge eines kommunikationstheoretischen Modells der erzählerischen Vermittlung. Trier: WVT. – (2001). “Mimesis des Erzählens.” J. Helbig (ed). Erzählen und Erzähltheorie im 20. Jahrhundert. Heidelberg: Winter, 13–47. Petersen, Jürgen H. (1993). Erzählsysteme. Stuttgart: Metzler. Phelan, James & Mary Patricia Martin (1999). “The Lessons of Weymouth.” D. Her­ man (ed). Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 88–109. Prince, Gerald (1982). Narratology: The Form and Function of Narrative. Berlin: Mouton. Richardson, Brian (2006). Unnatural Voices. Columbus: Ohio State UP. Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith ([1983] 2003). Narrative Fiction. Contemporary Poetics. London: Methuen. Ryan, Marie-Laure (1981). “The Pragmatics of Personal and Impersonal Fiction.” Poetics 10, 517–39. – (2001). “The Narratorial Functions.” Narrative 9, 146–52. Schmid, Wolf (2005). Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: de Gruyter. Spielhagen, Friedrich ([1883] 1967). Beiträge zur Theorie und Technik des Romans. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Stanzel, Franz ([1955] 1971). Narrative Situations in the Novel: Tom Jones, MobyDick, The Ambassadors, Ulysses. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Thomson-Jones, Katherine (2007). “The Literary Origins of the Cinematic Narrator.” British Journal of Aesthetics 47, 76–95. Walsh, Richard (1997). “Who is the Narrator?” Poetics Today 18, 495–513. Walton, Kendall (1990). Mimesis as Make-believe. Cambridge: Harvard UP. Yacobi, Tamar (1981). “Fictional Reliability as a Communicative Problem.” Poetics Today 2.2, 113–26.

5.2

Further Reading

Alward, Peter (2007). “For the Ubiquity of Nonactual Fact-Telling Narrators.” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 65, 401–04. Blödorn, Andreas, et al. eds. (2006). Stimme(n) in Texten: Narratologische Positions­ bestimmungen. Berlin: de Gruyter. Chatman, Seymour (1990). Coming to Terms. Ithaca: Cornell UP. Fludernik, Monika (1996). Towards a ‘Natural’ Narratology. London: Routledge. Herman, Luc & Bart Vervaeck ([2001] 2005). Handbook of Narrative Analysis. Lin­ coln: U of Nebraska P.

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Marcus, Amit (2008). “A Contextual View of Narrative Fiction in the First Person Plural.” Narrative 16, 46–64. Nünning, Ansgar, ed. (1998). Unreliable Narration. Trier: WVT. Patron, Sylvie (2009). Le Narrateur. Introduction à la théorie du récit. Paris: Armand Colin. Phelan, James (2001). “Why Narrators Can be Focalizers—and Why it Matters.” W. van Peer & S. Chatman (eds). New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective. Albany: State U of New York P, 51–64. Tacca, Oscar (1985). Voces de la novela. Madrid: Gredos.

Performativity
Ute Berns 1 Definition The terms “performativity” and “performance” derive from the verb “to perform.” They denote the capacity to execute an action, to carry some­ thing out actually and thoroughly, as well as to do according to pre­ scribed ritual. “To perform” may also be used in the sense of “to per­ form an artistic work,” i.e. to act in a play, to play an instrument, to sing or dance. In narratology, performativity denotes modes of present­ ing or evoking action. A performance, i.e. the embodied live presenta­ tion of events in the co-presence of an audience at a specific place and time, is performative in the narrow sense: performativity I. Here the audience experiences the actors and the action directly, i.e. visually and acoustically at a minimum. Performance can take place in the real world (as in a wedding ceremony or a court trial) or it can depict fic­ tional events (as in a theater performance). Verbal or visual scripts can prepare the performance in playtexts and stage directions, film scripts and choreographic sketches. These may also detail gestures, facial ex­ pressions and voice. In a wider sense, the term performativity can also be applied to non-corporeal presentations, e.g. in written narratives: performativity II. Here performativity refers to the imitation or illusion of a performance. In this case, readers reconstruct the performance di­ mension in their minds―the performance is imagined. In systematic terms, actions can be conveyed on two different levels of the presentational process. They can be located, first, on the level of histoire (the story that is presented). This aspect of performativity is called “performativity I.i or II.i.” Here the spectator’s or reader’s atten­ tion is directed to the actions taking place in the story, actions that can be conveyed with varying degrees of immediacy. Secondly, the actions can be located on the level of the narration (the narrator’s act of medi­ ation). This is called “performativity I.ii or II.ii.” In this case, the reader’s or spectator’s attention is directed to the act of narration itself, or to the actions of the narrator, which can be foregrounded to a greater or lesser degree. When the performativity of the act of narration is con­

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sidered in a wider pragmatic and cultural context, aspects of the empirical author (e.g. gender) can also become pertinent to the reception and appreciation of narrative as a form of cultural agency. 2 Explication Performativity and performance are interdisciplinary concepts that have emerged in linguistics and the philosophy of language, in per­ formance, theater and literary studies, as well as in ethnology, soci­ ology and cultural studies (Loxley 2007). Although the terms “per­ formative,” “performance” and “performativity” are frequently referred to across a broad range of narratological investigations, they have re­ ceived no systematic treatment in this field to date. Therefore, this article will aim above all to provide a systematic account of how the concept of performativity currently pertains to narratology. Performativity I refers to the performance of a narrative, i.e. to its fully embodied, live enactment in front of an audience in a real world context or on stage. The audience, co-present with the presenters or actors, can experience this performance visually (as in a pantomime) or both visually and acoustically (as in most theatrical, musical and realworld performances); there may be physical contact between audience and presenters, and some performances even affect the audience’s ol­ factory sense. Performativity II refers to the → illusion of a perform­ ance created in non-corporeal presentations of a narrative, e.g. in writ­ ing, cartoons or film. These presentations of narratives evoke a per­ formance in the mind of the reader or spectator. In narrative, performativity can be located on two levels: the level of the story, or histoire (i); the level of the act of narration or narrator’s action (ii). Performativity I.i refers to the level of histoire (the story that is presented) in the performance, i.e. in the fully embodied enact­ ment of a narrative. The spectator of the performance perceives the un­ folding of a story in a scenic transmission, bodily presented by one or more actors. Performativity II.i refers to the level of histoire (the story that is presented) in the non-corporeal presentation of actions not medi­ ated by a narrator (→ mediacy and narrative mediation). In the strictest sense, this denotes direct speech only, as in dramatic writing, dialogue quoted verbatim, etc. (→ speech representation). Yet performativity can also refer to the level of the narrator’s agency or act of narration (ii). In the case of performativity I.ii, the spectator of a performance perceives an act of narration taking place. Here the performance con­ sists in the presentation of a story by a narrator or presenter, e.g. in the figure of the rhapsodist vis-à-vis an audience. The story is mediated in

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a plurimedial manner by a single narrator/presenter. His or her voice, body or actions rather than those of individually embodied persons or characters form the core of the performance, which allows for different degrees of impersonation. Performativity II.ii (e.g. in written narratives) refers to the narrator’s self-thematizations, to his or her explicit comments on the story or the act of narration and to addresses to the reader (→ metanarration and metafiction). The two levels of performativity (histoire [i] and act of narration [ii]) thus introduce a relation of partial congruity between live perform­ ances and evocations of the illusion of performativity in purely verbal narrative―a congruity that can also be investigated in a historical per­ spective (→ conversational narration/oral narration). The performativity of the illusion of dramatic presentation in written narrative corresponds to or appears to be modeled on scenic performances. Likewise the performativity of the act of presentation or narration, especially in feigned orality or skaz narration, corresponds to or appears to be modeled on performances by an embodied storyteller. Understood as the capacity to generate in the reader’s mind the no­ tion of a performance, performativity on both levels (histoire and act of presentation) can be graded according to a scale of greater or lesser performativity. Direct presentation on the story level (II.i) can be more or less absolute (e.g. mental processes can be presented as an interior monologue or as free indirect speech). Analogously, mediation of the act of narration on the level of the narration (II.ii) can be either more obvious or less so (overt vs. covert). When performativity evokes ac­ tion in the mind of the reader or viewer, the demands it makes on the audience’s imagination vary according to the media in which that ac­ tion is presented. Arguably, the performativity of films and cartoons, thanks to the immediacy of the imagined actions to which they give rise, is greater than that of purely verbal narratives, except when mental actions such as thoughts are presented (→ narration in various media). In the case of both performativity I.ii and II.ii, the actual or implied act of narration can itself present a story or “story of narration” (Erzählgeschichte, Schmid 2005). This story tells of changes in the situation, attitude or behavior of the narrator. Some critics here also ap­ ply the term “mimesis” when they speak of the “mimesis of storytelling” (Mimesis des Erzählens, Nünning 2001), or when they distin­ guish between “process mimesis” and “product mimesis” (Hutcheon 1984: 36–47). On this level, the act of narration is thematized in a selfreflexive manner. Performative in this sense is often used synonymously with self-conscious and reflexive or with metanarrative and metafictional.

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The two basic levels of performativity can also be re-conceptualized in speech act terminology that describes utterances as a mode of action. According to the philosopher Austin (1962), utterances not only have a propositional content―they do not only say something―but they do something as well, provided that they fulfill sp