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New Literary History.
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RichardOhmann
I
UR LIVES withwords,and surfeit
areglutted revulsion
prompts
fromtimeto time. Then people crydown wordsand demand
action instead. When Tom Hayden's sense of urgency
loweredhis tolerancefordemonstrations and ralliessome timeback, it
was typicalof him to expressimpatience (in a speech, at a rally) by
sayingthat he would probablynevermake anotherspeech. When the
time for guns is at hand, the time for words is past, we think. It is
perfectlynatural to draw this distinctionbetween talking and more
purelyphysicalaction. But doing so conceals the fact that speech is
also action,distortsour understandingof both, and thus leads to con-
fusionabout how the world runs.
A semiofficial newspaperlike The New York Times undertakesto
transform mereeventsinto history, by selectingthosethatare significant
enough-fit to print-to bear recordingin this instantarchive. It is
interesting to see how the Times exercisesits siftingtask,how many of
the front-pagestorieson a random day report"real" action and how
many reportspeech acts. In the Times of i o March 1972 (picked up
at the airport on my way to lecture about these matters-so runs
science), nine storieswere about verbal acts, and three about other
kinds of events. The proportionis customary.
First, considerthe three: (I) the dollar plunged furtheron the
internationalmarket,(2) Israeli jets renewedraids on Lebanon, and
(3) in a raid on a card game, Detroit police killed a sheriff'sdeputy
and wounded threeothers. Why are thesenews? The dollar's decline
(hardly a physicalhappening,by the way) on a given day has little
importanceby itself,but indexes the evolutionof the monetarycrisis.
Similarly,althoughthe bombingkilled people and wreckedhomes,its
news value is to tell the temperatureof the war, not to reportthese
* An earlier version of this paper was read at the Wesleyan Center for the
Humanities. Some of its ideas go back to The Logic and Rhetoric of Exposition
which the author wrote with Harold C. Martin and James H. Wheatley.
II
So farI have been referring to speech in what I mightcall the direct
mode. There is also an indirectmode of speech, apparently,in all
human cultures. We are homo ludensin our use ofwords; we joke, use
irony,tell fictions.I'll call thismode of speech literary,for reasons I
hope to make plausibleforthwith.
Austinremarkedthat philosophersof language were constantlyslip-
ping offto one side or the otherof illocutionaryacts-fixing eitheron
locutionaryacts, as with logicians,or on perlocutionaryacts, as with
studentsof ethics. The slippagewas to the detrimentof the subject; in
particular,in this centuryit encouraged an obsessionwith true and
false as categorieswhich,along with the categorymeaningless,should
2 For pertinentdiscussion,see Charles J. Fillmore, "Verbs de jugement; essai de
description s6mantique" and Zeno Vendler, "Les performatifsen perspective,"
Langages, 5 (March 1970), 56-72, 73-90.
3 See Speech Acts (Cambridge, 1969).
how thisworks. And the how is of interest.If, when a poet puts forth
a declarativesentence,he is not actually statingit, what then is he
doing? He is doing somethinglike puttingwords in anotherperson's
mouth,pretendingto be someoneelse. But neitherof thesedescriptions
quite fits,because the otherperson-the personaor speakeror narrator
-does not actuallyexist,and the pretenseis not intendedto deceive.
More exactly,the writerputs out imitationspeech acts, as iftheywere
being performedby someone. This is clearestin a play, or a dramatic
poem like Auden's "Oh what is that sound which so thrillsthe ear."
Here thereis an answer to each question, and obviouslyAuden has
createdtwo characters,bygivingthemspeechactsto performin alterna-
tion. Let me insiston the formulation: neitherhe nor a playwright
createscharactersand thengivesthemlines; rather,the assignmentof
speech acts is the means of creatingcharacters. The same holds true,
thoughless plainly,in a lyricpoem like "Sailing to Byzantium,"where
Yeats givesout a seriesof purportedspeech acts,all evidentlyperformed
by one character,and so creates the man who has sailed fromone
countryto another. In novels with omniscientnarratorsthis process
is least dramatic,yet we have long since learned that even in such
fictionsthe sayingof the storyis itselfpart of the story. The narrator
may not become a vividcharacter,but he is nonethelessentirelydistinct
fromthe author; the logical gap betweenthemopens up as soon as we
apply the usual conditionsfor illocutionaryacts.
I have been regardingthismatterfromthe author'spoint of view.
The importanceof illocutionaryacts is still greaterfor the reader/
hearer,who in the standard case has literallynothingto guide him
exceptthe purportedlocutionaryand illocutionaryacts of one or more
personae. From thoseacts the readermakesinferencesof manykinds:
who the speakeris, what roleshe plays,what kind of a societyhe lives
in, whetherhe is reliable, what relationshiphe intends to establish
betweenhimselfand his heareror reader,what nonverbalactionshe is
supposedlyinvolvedin, and so on. The reader makes thesejudgments
in large part by puttingto work his tacit knowledgeof the conditions
for performanceof illocutionaryacts. If a novel begins,"In a sense,
I am Jacob Horner" (Barth, The End of the Road), the reader is
immediatelyforcedintohypothesesabout the circumstances thatwould
make such a statementappropriate,about what personmightproperly
so identifyhimself,with the odd qualifier"in a sense," and most im-
portantly,about what beliefsand feelingswould legitimatehis state-
ment. As the reader proceeds,he will be abe to determinewhether
Jacob Horner conductshimselfappropriatelyafterward(i.e., whether
his narrativeis consistent),whetherhe is to be trusted,and whether
the storyhe tellsis to be taken at face value. In short,the readerworks
III
IV
I have been speakingof literatureand ordinarytalk in an idealized
way, imaginingthe contextsof acts as uncomplicated,and ignoring
effectsof the media of communication. What I have said is I hope
true, but it is not a full account of literatureand speech acts: the
distinctionsI have drawn would more nearly have exhausted the
domain in a preliteratesocietythan in our own. Now it is timeto draw
closer to the speech environmentmost of us actually inhabit, in a
countryliketheUnitedStates.
Even with the arrivalof printthe relationsI have outlinedbecame
blurred. The writerof a factual newspaper narrative-distinctlynot
a literarywork-does not concretelyknow who his audience is, nor
whethereveryone of themis an appropriatepartnerin the act of in-
forming. Moreover, he cannot give them warrantto believe him in
the usual ways, cannot stand personallybehind his words. And his
subsequent conduct will be hard to connect with the original act of
stating. Add to thishis frequentanonymity, and it is evidenthow thin
the tie between him and his readers has become. In these circum-
stances, language undergoes what Austin called an "etiolation," a
fading of its usual forcesand presuppositions.Not that a newspaper
storyis a cross betweenliteratureand ordinarytalk: it is still non-
literarydiscourse,forthe usual rules of illocutionaryaction all apply.
They simplyare harderto apply in detail, and the guessworkrequired
gives the reader a slightlyfictionalizedexperience.7
Much the same is true of another typical, though very different,
9 The favorite reasons for getting American troops out of Vietnam have been
to save American lives, to cut our losses in an unwinnable war, to redirect our
priorities,win the war on poverty,etc. Only among radical activists and peace
people have the sufferingsof the Vietnamese figuredas the main reason; and such
opponents of the war do not seem to have taken their line fromtelevision,by and
large.
WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY