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ОПОРНЫЙ КОНСПЕКТ ЛЕКЦИЙ

по курсу «Проблемы художественного перевода»

для студентов-магистров специальности «Перевод»


2009

Кафедра иностранных языков и перевода


ОПОРНЫЙ КОНСПЕКТ ЛЕКЦИЙ

по курсу «Проблемы художественного перевода»

для студентов-магистров специальности «Перевод»


2009


Конспект лекций предназначен для студентов-магистров специальности «Перевод» и направлен на углубление знаний по курсу «Проблемы художественного перевода».


ЛЕКЦИЯ 1 (3 часа)

^ ITERARY TEXT AS POETIC STRUCTURE

VERBAL AND SUPRAVERBAL LAYERS OF THE LITERARY TEXT


While reading a literary text one gradually moves from the first word of it on to the last. The words one reads combine into phrases, phrases into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs making up larger passages: chapters, sections, and parts. All these represent the ver­bal layer of the literary text.

At the same time when one reads a text of imaginative literature one cannot but see another layer gradually emerging out of these verbal sequences. One sees that word sequences represent a series of events, conflicts and circumstances in which characters of the literary work happen to find themselves.

One sees that all these word-sequences make a composi­tion, a plot, a genre, and a style, that they all go to create an image of reality and that through this image the author conveys his message, his vision of the world.

Plot, theme, composition, genre, style, image and the like make the supraverbal (poetic) layer which is, never­theless, entirely revealed in verbal sequences. The supraverbal and the verbal layers of the text are thus insepa­rable from each other. The fact that all the elements of the literary text, such as those mentioned above, mate­rialize in word sequences makes the latter acquire a mean­ing that is superimposed by the whole of the literary text.

Thus, the text of a literary work or any part of such is not a mere linguistic entity, it is something more in­volved. The involved nature of the literary text makes it entirely individual (unique), makes it essentially unsubstitutable for any other word sequences. When we substi­tute some purl of a literary text, i. e. some given word sequence for a synonymous one, we simultaneously change the content, for the content of the literary work is indi­visible from its text, (It should be mentioned here that it is in the literary text that the etymological meaning of the word text/ from the Latin textum, texo – to weave/is completely motivated.) A linguistic text, on the contrary, allows of substitution; one verbal sequence may have a sense similar to that of another verbal sequence, conse­quently, one verbal sequence may stand for another, e. g. the sentence: "He was one of the most inefficient liars I have ever known" when viewed just as a linguistic entity allows of a number of substitutions, such as: "one could easily see when he told a lie", or "he didn't know how to tell a lie", etc. When this sentence is part of a literary text its meaning cannot be completely rendered in so many other synonymous words. Something of the meaning will be left unconveyed. And this something is the implication the sentence acquires from the whole of the supraverbal layer. To understand what "an inefficient liar" means in the sentence given above as part of a literary text we have to know the whole poetic context, in this case the poetic context of the novel "The Quiet American" from which the sentence is taken.

The cohesion (сцепление) of the two layers, i. e. of the strictly verbal and the supraverbal constitutes what is known as the poetic structure of the literary text. There is nothing in the literary work that is not expressed in its poetic structure. It is the whole of the poetic structure that conveys the author's message. One element (or com­ponent) of the poetic structure is as important as any-other, for through them all the author's message is con­veyed. All the components of the poetic structure compose a hierarchy, .an organization of interdependent layers. The basic unit of the poetic structure is the word. All the various layers of the structure, i. e. the syntactic, the semantic, the rhythmical, the compositional, the sty­listic are expressed in words.

The concept of unity and interdependence of elements in the poetic structure nuiy be illustrated by the following example. The simile “he watched me intently like a prize-pupil” when taken by itself is nothing oilier than just a play on words, a word-image. But within a literary text (in this case "The Quiet American") it is a unit which along with others in the system of similes (and the latter in its turn as a unit in the system of all tropes and figures of speech used in the novel) goes to depict the image of Pyle. The image of Pyle in its turn, as one of the character-images together with all the other ones in the novel, goes to convey the author's message.

Representation of the literary work in terms of a struc­ture or a hierarchy of layers presupposes the concept of macro- and micro-elements (components) and bears upon form-content relationship.

Macro- and micro-elements is a functional, not an ab­solute category. Within a literary work a simile, for in­stance, is a micro-element in relation to a macro-element which may be the image of a character, and the latter, in its turn, is a micro-element in relation to the macro­-element which is the literary work itself, understood as an image of reality.

The fact that macro-elements of a literary work are made, out of micro-elements means in the final analysis that micro-elements are form in relation to macro-ele­ments which are content.

An isolated simile taken by itself as any other verbal entity is a unity of content and form. The same simile within a literary work is either form or content depending upon the element in relation to which it is taken. Thus, the simile he watched me intently like a prize-fighter is form in relation to the macro-element, the image of Pyle, which this simile goes to build up. On the other hand, the quot­ed simile is content in relat.ion to the form, the elements which it is made up of: watched, intently, prize-fighter.

The following should be emphasized in connection with what has just been stated: an analysis in which the idea of the literary work is considered separate from its verbal materialization is an erroneous and harmful practice. It is harmful in that it leads the reader away from the appre­ciation of the essence of verbal art. Also it indirectly incul­cates in the reader a view that literature is an unneces­sarily long and circumlocutions way of expressing an idea which could otherwise be expressed in a much shorter and simpler manner. Unfortunately this erroneous practice is often followed in classroom discussions of literary works.


^ Principles of Poetic Structure cohesion


Each literary work is a unique instance of imaginative representation of reality. Imaginative representation, however, has its own principles (known as aesthetic prin­ciples) which cohere all elements of the literary text and render it possible for the latter to constitute a world com­plete in itself. These principles are common to all literary works.

We now proceed to discuss some of these principles.


^ Principle of Incomplete Representation


Wholeness in art is different from wholeness in actual reality. We have already shown (see Introduction) that an author in re-creating an object or phenomenon of reality selects out of an infinity of features pertaining to the object only those which are most characteristic. In other words, a literary image represents features that are most characteristic of an object, or which at least, seem such to the author. For instance, in the description of a farm­house (J. Steinbeck's "The Chrysanthemums") the follow­ing features are singled out: "It was a hard-swept looking house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mudmat on the front steps." The farm-house had many other pecu­liarities, no doubt. But those selected very well convey the image of the place. Moreover, they indirectly suggest the image of its owner, the vigorous, beauty-seeking Eliza. Thus, the author, in depicting an image, makes a selection: he picks out part (or parts) which can stand for the whole.

All images in a literary text, those of people, events, situations, landscapes and the like are incompletely rep­resented. At least two factors seem to condition this. First, the linguistic factor. Verbal representation of the whole image is a venture which cannot or should hardly ever be endeavoured. This would take up innumerable pages of writing in which (lie image itself would inva­riably he dissolved, for Micro is a considerable dispropor­tion between linguistic means of representation and the reality which is to be represented. The second, and the main, is the aesthetic factor. Literature, as we know, transmits aesthetic information. To achieve this aim lit­erature must first of all stir up the reader's interest. One way to do this is to make the reader strain his perceptive abilities and fill in for himself those fragments of the whole which have been gapped or, as we have termed it, incompletely represented, that is, represented through a part. The part selected to fulfill such a representative function must, indeed, have the power of stirring up the reader's imagination so as to make him visualize the whole. The trick of conveying much through little is one of the greatest secrets of imaginative literature. An achieved harmony of the whole and the part is a sign of a truly talented work.

The degree of incompleteness of representation depends upon the genre of the literary work as well as upon the individual manner of the writer. The degree of incom­pleteness is greater in lyrical poems and smaller in epic works. But even in large works of narrative prose the degree of incompleteness (or gapping) is consider­able.


Poetic detail. The part selected to represent the whole is a poetic detail. The term "poetic detail" defies a rigor­ous definition for as any other element of poetic structure it is a functional category. It emerges as a result of cor­relation with other elements of the text and can be eval­uated only against the background of all of these. Take, for instance, the following extract from W. Faulkner's story "That Evening Sun" in which Nancy, the main char­acter of the story, a Negro washer-woman, is first intro­duced: "Nancy would set her bundle (of washing) on the top of her head, then upon the bundle in turn she would set the black straw sailor hat which she wore winter and summer. She was tall, with a high, sad face sunken a little where her teeth were missing. Sometimes we would go a part of the way down the lane and across the pasture with her, to watch the balanced bundle and the hat that never bobbed nor wavered, even when she walked down into the ditch and up the other side and stooped through the fence." Nancy is described by a number of features: the way she set and carried her bundle of washing, her height, her face, her missing teeth. But some of these features stand out more prominent than the other: her "black straw sailor lint which she wore winter and summer" and "her missing teeth", These are the details which suggest the image of Nancy. Not that the reader becomes conscious of their suggestiveness at once. Their full impact may get home to him on recurrence or after he has read more about Nancy and her life. One way or another, in his appreciation of an image the reader will be guided by detail, for it is by carefully se­lected details that the author depicts his image.

It would be true to say, that the more vivid the detail the greater is the impetus the reader's imagination receives and, accordingly, the greater is his aesthetic pleasure.

There are details of landscapes, of events, etc. The central image of any literary work, that of a character is manifold, so are the details that represent it. These may be the details of: action, speech, physical portrait, ethical, political views, etc. Here is a detail of Babbitt's speech (S. Lewis, "Babbitt"). Mr. Babbitt and his best friend Paul, greet each other over the telephone.

"'How's the old horse-thief?'

'All right, I guess. How're you, you poor shrimp?'

'I'm first-rate, you second-hand hunk o'cheese.'"

The author then remarks "Reassured thus of their high fondness, Babbitt grunted..."

Another detail from the same novel gives the reader an idea of Babbitt's (the owner of a real-estate firm) attitude to common workman. "He almost liked common people. He wanted them well paid and able lo afford high-rents — though, naturally, they must not interfere with the rea­sonable profits of stockholders."

A poetic detail may be some directly observed and directly expressed feature of an image. Thus, the image of cold autumn ("In Another Country", by E. Heming­way) is conveyed in such details of simple and direct perceptions which may be described as verbal photography: "... small birds blew in the wind and the wind turned their feathers." ... "On one of them (bridges) a woman sold roasted chestnuts. It was warm, standing in front of her charcoal fire, and the chestnuts were warm afterward in your pocket."

A detail of the depicted image, on the other hand, may be represented in an association with some other phenom­enon. In such a case it usually takes the form of a trope as in the following detail of the winter-in-Salinas-valley description from J. Steinbeck's story "The Chrysanthe­mums": "(the fog) sat like a lid on the mountains and made of a great valley a closed pot."

The nature of a truly poetic detail is such that it both typifies and individualizes the image.


^ Principle of Analogy and Contrast

Analogy and contrast are known to be universal prin­ciples of cognition. It is by analogy that the essence of a phenomenon is revealed, the similar and the contrastive in different phenomena discovered.

In the arts and especially in literature analogy/contrast is a way of imaginative cognition. The author contra- and juxtaposes images of real life and in that way reveals the good and the evil, the beautiful and the ugly, the just and the unjust in life.

Analogy and contrast are the organizing axis of poetic structure. They permeate the whole text, all its compo­nents, both macro- and micro-: the character and the event representation, the imagery, etc. G. Greene's novel "The Quiet American" may very well serve as an illustra­tion. The author's ethical message that of the man's responsibility in the modern world is conveyed by a con­trast of the two main characters: Fowler and Pyle. The author depicts them as antipodes in everything: in their physical appearances, in their spiritual and mental make-up, in the stand they take on all essential issues of life. Pyle is young and quiet. With his "unused face, with his gangly legs and his crew-cut, his wide campus gaze" he seemed, at first sight, "incapable of harm". He came to the East full of York Harding's ideas about the Third Force, eager to help them materialize.

Fowler, on the contrary, is an aging man, cynical and sophisticated. He prides himself on detachment, on being uninvolved, on not belonging to this war. Step by step showing Pyle's activity in Viet-Nam the author makes the reader see that in the tragic world of that country it is the quiet, earnest Pyle that turns out to he cold, cruel and menace-carrying. He is impregnably armoured by York Harding's teaching and his own ignorance. His innocence, the author says, is a kind of insanity.»

The cynical Fowler, the man who had prided himself on not being involved, on the contrary, comes to realize that he is responsible for the war "as though those wounds had been inflicted by him." Pyle did not abandon his stand, York Hunting and his teaching. Civilians killed in the street are just mere war casualties for him. To Fowler their deaths cannot be "justified by any amount of killed soldiers".

Thus, it is through the antithesis of Pyle — Fowler and the spiritual and ethical worlds they represent that the author conveys his idea of what man's true responsibility is, of what man should do in the world torn by enmity and conflict.

The principle of analogy and contrast may not be so explicit in some works as it is in the work we have men­tioned above, but it infallibly finds a manifestation in any literary work.

As will be shown below, analogy and contrast underlie quite a number of such elements of poetic structure as tropes and figures of speech.


^ Principle of Recurrence

When we read a literary text our thought does not run in just one, onward, direction. Its movement is both progressive and recursive: from the given item it goes on to the next with a return to what has been previously stated. This peculiar movement of the thought is conditioned by the fact that the literary text as we have shown above (see pp. 25—27) represents a cohesion of two layers the verbal and the supraverbal. The supraverbal layer is not coincident with the strictly verbal layer. The verbal is direct, linear, the supraverbal is essentially recursive.

When we begin to read a book we do not yet perceive the complexity of the content contained in the whole of it, though the text (considering that it is written in the language we know) is well understood by us. The covered portion of the text is part of the literary work and as such it gives us but a rough approximation of the meaning of the whole work. This part, however, deepens our under­standing of that portion of the text, which we proceed to read. And the newly read portion of the text adds to our perception of the whole. In this recursive or spiral-like manner we gather the content of the literary work as a whole.

Poetic structure of the literary text is so modeled that certain of its elements which have already occurred in the text recur again at definite intervals. These recurrent elements may be a poetic detail, an image, a phrase, a word.

The recurrence of an element may have several functions, i. e. be meaningful in a variety of ways. One of these func­tions is that of organizing the subject matter, giving it a dynamic flow. Consider, for instance, the following expo­sitory passage from E. Hemingway's "Old Man at the Bridge" and see how the recurrent phrase "old man" organ­izes and frames it up. "An old man with steel-rimmed spec­tacles and very dusty clothes sat by the side of the road. There was a pontoon bridge across the river and carts, trucks, and men, women and children were crossing it. The mule-drawn carts staggered up the steep bank from the bridge with soldiers helping push against the spokes of the wheels. The trucks ground up and away heading out of it all and the peasants plodded along in the ankle deep dust. But the old man sat there without moving. He was too tired to go any farther."

A recurrent element may represent the leit-motif of the literary work, expressing the author's message as, for instance, in "The Basement Room" by G. Greene. The story tells about a seven-year-old boy whose parents have gone on a fortnight's vacation leaving him in charge of the butler, Baines, and his wife, Mrs. Baines. The boy descends into the basement room, the dwelling-place of the Baines' and ... finds himself involved in their life, with its con­flicts, its secrets and its bitterness. Each of them, in turn, entrusts his/her secret to the boy and expects him to keep it. The boy is entirely on the side of the butler; he hates and abhors the butler's wife. But when it happens that the s butler unintentionally causes the death of his wife, the boy betrays him to the police, for he feels it unbearable to keep the secret, to have the responsibility Baines has laid upon him.

The following two sets of phrases run parallel to each other at certain intervals through the whole of the story. The first set is: "Philip began to live"; "this is life", "this was life"; "it was life he was in the middle of;" "Philip extracted himself from life"; "a retreat from life". And the second set: "And suddenly he felt responsible for Baines"; "Again Philip felt responsibility"; "He would have nothing to do with their secrets, the responsibilities they were determined to lay on him"; "he surrendered responsi­bility once and for all." These two recurrent sets of phrases run as the leit-motif of the story: living means having responsibilities, asserts the author; when one surrenders responsibilities one retreats from life.

It may be mentioned here in passing that it is Upon the recurrent elements (phonetic, syntactic, lexical, etc.) and their peculiar distribution within the poetic structure that the rhythm of the text largely depends, for rhythm is repetition with variation.

Quite a number of figures of speech are based upon the principle of recurrence.


^ COMPONENTS OF POETIC STRUCTURE

MACRO-COMPONENTS OF POETIC STRUCTURE


Poetic structure of the literary work involves such entities as image, theme, idea, composition, plot, genre and style. As components of poetic structure they are essentially inseparable from each other, but as basic categories of the theory of literature they may be treated in isolation.


Literary Image. The world of a literary work is the world of its characters, situations, events, etc. similar to those of real life. Characters and the situations they are engaged in may be entirely phantastic, nevertheless, they, too, are inspired by' objective reality. Here is how H. W. Longfellow has poetically expressed this idea in his "Song of Hiawatha".

The fact that literary images are similar to life breeds a belief in an untrained reader that literary characters are people of real life and not imaginative representation of the author's perception of life. This is an erroneous belief, stemming from one's ignorance of the intrinsic prop­erties of literature. Literature cognizes and interprets life by re-creating life in the form of images inspired by life and in accord­ance with the author's vision (see Introduction). It means that, for instance, Soames from J. Galsworthy's "Forsyte Saga" is not just an English bourgeois, but a literary character created by Galsworthy in precisely the way his talents, his vision, his understanding of the English middle class life have urged him to create. In giving the image of Soames as well as the other images of "The Forsyte Saga" the author transmits to the reader his own philosophy of life, his ethic and moral code.

Literary image is thus the "language" of literature, the form of its existence.

The term "image" refers not only to the whole of the literary work or to such of its main elements as char­acters or personages but to any of its meaningful units such as detail, phrase, etc.1

Literature being a verbal art, it is out of word sequences that literary images emerge, although images as such are supraverbal entities. Consider, for instance, the fol­lowing word sequences from E. Caldwell's short story "Wild Flowers" that build up an image of nature. "The mocking-bird that had perched on the roof top all night, filling the clear cool air with its music, had flown away when the sun rose. There was silence as deep and myste­rious as the flat sandy country that extended mile after mile in every direction. Yesterday's shadows on the white sand began to reassemble under the trees and around the fence posts, spreading on the ground the lacy fo­liage of the branches and fuzzy slabs of the wooden fence."

All images in the literary work constitute a hierarchical interrelation. The top of this hierarchy is the macro-image, the literary work itself, understood as an image of life visioned and depicted by the author. Say, "The Forsyte Saga" by J. Galsworthy, or "An American Tragedy" by Th. Dreiser taken as a whole. Within the literary work it is the image of the character or characters that top the hierarchy of images. Say, the images of Old Jolion, Soames, Irene, Fleur in "The Forsyte Saga", or the images of Clyde, Roberta in "An American Tragedy". At the bottom of the hierarchy there is the word-image, or a micro-image: simile, epithet, metaphor, etc. They together with other elements build up character-images, event-images, landscape-images, etc. E. g. "The three with the medals were like hunting-hawks." (E. Hemingway) "The rain hissed on the live-oak and magnolia trees." (R. P. Warren).

Each such micro-image, when in isolation, is just a trope, but within the poetic structure it is an element which, equally with others, shares in the expression of the content. Its meaningfulness becomes apparent when such a word-image or its synonymic variant is found to recur in the text. A. Huxley's story "The Gioconda Smile" is a good example in this respect. Here is its plot: A cer­tain Miss Spence had poisoned the wife of her neighbour, Mr. Hutton, a country gentleman. She had done that in the hope that <Mr. Hutton would eventually marry her. But when it became obvious that the gentleman was not in the least inclined to propose to her, she spread rumors accusing Mr. Hutton of the murder. The man was tried and condemned to capital punishment.

The surface layer of the story contains no direct hint of the true nature of Miss Spence, That she is the murder­ess is revealed to the reader only at the very end. It is the layer of word-images superimposed upon the simple story layer that is suggestive in this respect. It begins with the title: "The Gioconda Smile". The allusive epithet "Gioconda", -that describes Miss Spence's smile, later recurs in a number of its variants such as: "her queer face"; "there was something enigmatic about her"; "the myste­rious Gioconda"; "there was some kind of a queer face behind the Gioconda smile"; "every woman's small talk was like a vapour hanging over mysterious gulfs"; "a pale mask", etc. Such words as "mysterious", "enigmatic", etc. inter­play with another set of. phrases suggestive of the nature of the "enigma", e. g. "She leaned forward aimed so to speak, like a gun, and fired her word"; "She was a machine-, gun riddling her hostess with sympathy"; "Today the mis­siles were medical"; "'Your wife is dreadfully ill,' she fired off at him"; "She shot a Gioconda in his direction" and at last: "Her eyes were two profound and menacing gun-barrels". It remains with the reader to put all these sug­gestive metaphors together and decipher their meaning-fullness, the simple story layer being his guide.


^ Theme and Idea

The theme of a literary work is the represented aspect of life. As literary works commonly have human charac­ters for their subject of depiction, the theme of a literary work may be understood to be an interaction of human characters under certain circumstances, such as some social or psychological conflict (war and peace, race dis­crimination, a clash of ideologies, and the like). A writer may depict the same theme, say, the theme of war, from different angles. The same theme may, on the other hand, be differently developed and integrated with other themes in different works. Within a single work the basic theme may alternate with rival themes and their relationship may be very complex. Thus, for instance, the basic theme of "The Forsyte Saga" may be defined as the life of the English middle class at the end of and after the Victo­rian epoch. This basic theme is disclosed mainly in the representation of the Forsyte family, specifically in its Jolion — Soames lines. The by-themes in this comprehen­sive trilogy are numerous: the Boer and the First World War, the first Labour government, the post-war genera­tion, the general strike, the arts and artists, etc. They are all linked together to represent a unity. Indeed, a link between the various constructive themes is indispensable: without such a link the literary work loses its essential characteristic, which is unity of all its elements.

The theme of a literary work can be easily understood * from the plot (the surface layer) of the work: it allows of a schematic formulation, such, for instance, as: "this is a story of race discrimination in the USA", and the like.

The idea of a literary work is the underlying thought and emotional attitude transmitted to the reader by the whole poetic structure of the literary text. Poetic structures being a multi-layered entity, all of its layers pertain to the expression of the idea.

We shall try to illustrate this by E. Caldwell's seven-page story "Wild Flower". The story has a direct metaphorical and symbolic layer. It is out of an interplay of all these that the poetic idea emerges.

The plot of the story (the direct, surface layer) is aus­terely simple. Somewhere deep in the South of the USA a young tenant and his wife (an expectant mother) are ordered to leave the dilapidated house they live in. The two set out on a long and exhaustive tramp across the lonely country of sand and pines in search of a shelter.. Exhaustion precipitates that what otherwise would have come about in another week or two. The husband runs for help which is not easy to find in that country of a few isolated homesteads. When, at length, he returns with two Negroes, who have agreed to help, he finds his wife dead. She has died in childbirth, alone amidst beautiful but indifferent Nature. Such is the surface plot of the story. It tells the tragedy of a young couple, denied a home, and evicted in spite of the condition the woman was in.

This idea, which is easily gathered from the surface layer, is made more profound by a metaphor, a pronounced analogy between the young couple and wild flowers that grow hidden by weeds and scrubs near the road the two trudges by. The metaphor clearly indicated in the title "Wild Flowers", adds an nuance to the idea, expressed in the plot. It ever so imaginatively suggests the frailty of the protagonists’ existence, their insecurity in the face of a cruel and indifferent world. The world of those who give orders and evict is not directly shown in the story, it is obliquely represented by a “he”, who, the reader finds out, had been pleaded with by Vern, the husband, to be allowed to stay, but remained adamant. “Doesn’t he care, Vern?” asks Nelly, alluding to the state she is in. “I guess, he doesn’t”, answers Vern.

The story is set amidst Nature. There are just Vern and Nelly and the flat sandy country that extends mile after mile in every direction. In that country of pine and sand the farms and houses are sometimes ten or fifteen miles apart. Silence, deep and mysterious, hangs over the land. The recurrent image of the vast and silent country is not a mere setting of the story. It has an impact more profound, symbolizing the solitude of Vera and Nelly, complete indifference of the vast world to their existence. The image of Nature thus constitutes the symbolic layer of the story.

The reader's discovery of all these layers deepens his perception of the poetic idea, and, as a result, affords him greater aesthetic pleasure.

There are no two works that have exactly the same poetic idea; there are no two works that have exactly the same mode of representation. The poetic idea and its mode of representation form a unity, a unity of content and form.

Plot is a sequence of events in which the characters are involved, the theme and the idea revealed. Events are made up of episodes, episodes, in their turn, of smaller action details. Thus, for example, in "The Quiet Ameri­can" the events of the war in Viet-Nam are built up out of a series of episodes, such as Fowler's visit to the front­line, his flight, in a French plane, over the front-line vil­lages, his crossing of the river full of dead bodies, etc. The event of Pyle's assassination is prepared and developed in such episodes as Fowler's visit to the lumber-shop in which he finds evidence of Pyle's criminal activity, in the episode of an explosion in the square, instigated by Pyle and others.

Each and every event that represents a conflict (the gist of the plot) has a beginning, a development and an end. The plot, accordingly, consists of exposition, story, climax and denouement.

In the exposition the necessary preliminaries to the action are laid out, such as the time, the place, and the subject of the action. Also some light may be cast on the circumstances that will influence the development of the action. Here is the exposition from L. Hughes's story "Cora Unashamed" that may well illustrate the pattern. "Mel­ton was one of those miserable in-between little places, not large enough to be a town, nor small enough to be a vil­lage — that is, a village in the rural, charming sense of the word. Melton had no charm about it. It was merely a non-descript collection of houses and buildings in a re­gion of farms — one of those sad American places with sidewalks, but no paved streets; electric-lights, but no sewage; a station but no trains.., Cora Jenkins was one of the least of the citizens of Melton. She was what the people referred to when they wanted to be polite, as a Ne­gress, and when they wanted to be rude, as a nigger — sometimes adding the word "wench" Tor no good reason, for Cora was usually an inoffensive soul, except that she sometimes cussed,"

Story is that part of the plot which represents the begin­ning of the collision and the collision itself. In L., Hugh­es's "Cora Unashamed" (Part 1) it is the arrival at Mel­ton of a white boy, Joe, Cora's short love, and the birth of her baby.

^ Climax is the highest point of the action. In "Cora Unashamed" it is the death and burial of Cora's baby.

Denouement is the event or events that bring the action to an end. The story referred to (Part I) ends with Cora returning after the burial of her baby to work for the family of white folks: to nurse their baby.

There is no uniformity as far as the above mentioned elements of the plot and their sequence in the text are concerned. Thus, among short stories, there are such which begin straight with the action (the conflict) without any exposition. Here is how Ring Lardner's story "Hair­cut" begins "I got another barber that comes from Carterville and helps me out Saturdays, but the rest of the time I can get along all right alone", while others have no de­nouement in the conventional sense of the word ("most of E. Hemingway's stories may serve as an example). A work of narrative prose that has all the elements mentioned above: exposition, story, climax, denouement as clearly discernable parts, is said to have a closed plot struc­ture. This type of writing was most consistently cul­tivated by such American short story writers as W. Ir­ving, E. Poe, N. Hawthorn, Bret Hart, H. James, and O. Henry and others.

A literary work in which the action is represented with­out an obvious culmination, which does not contain all the above mentioned elements understood in their conventional sense, is said to have an open plot struc­ture.

Plot structure is not a formal factor. It is as meaningful as any other component of the literary work: whether it is open or closed is conditioned entirely by the content. For illustration let us refer to the short .story genre (which by the way, is considered by some writers to be the highest form of narrative prose).

There are known two types of short stories. First: a plot (action) short story. As a rule, this type has a closed structure, it's plot being built upon one collision. ' The action dramatically develops only to explode at the very end; the sequence of events thus forms an ascending line from the exposition on to the climax and down to the denouement. O. Henry's stories reveal this pattern very well.

Second: a psychological (character) short story. It generally shows the drama of a character's inner world. The structure in such a story is open. The traditional com­ponents of the plot are not clearly discernable and the action is less dynamic as compared to that of the plot short story. Many of E. Hemingway's stories are of such a type. Little, if anything, happens in his "Cat in the Rain". A young American couple is staying at an Italian hotel. It is raining. The wife stands at the window looking out at a cat that sits crouching under a table. The wife goes out to fetch the cat, for "it isn't any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain". But the cat is gone. Back in the room she sits at the mirror, with her husband reading. There is a knock at the door. It is the maid with a big tortoise-shell cat sent to the American wife by the hotel-keeper. The plot, as such, is practically eventless. But an attentive reader will see that the life situation it represents makes only the surface layer. He will also see that out of this surface layer there emerges another — the implied,, the metaphor -ic. The image of a cat crouching under a table to avoid the rain suggests an analogy with the state of misery and nostalgic restlessness the young American woman is in. This poetic content has conditioned the specific compo­sition and plot-structure.

Speaking about the two types of short stories, i. e. the plot short story and the character short story, it should be emphasized that they do not represent the only types. The more usual is the so-called mixed type, which in­cludes a great variety of stories ranging from psychological plot short stories (G. Greene's "Special Duties") to short story-essays (S. Lewis's "Americans in Italy. Mr. Eglan­tine") in each of which the specific content conditions its own form of representation, i. e. its own type of composi­tion and plot-structure.

It is doubtless, that the content always bears within itself the nucleus of the form.

^ Plot Structure and Literary Time

Life events span in lime; they make a sequence of the past, the present and the future. Each single event takes the place of one that has occurred before so that they all may be figured as forming one straight Hue.

Time in the literary work differs from natural, histor­ical time. The narrative may begin at any moment in the life of the character and end at any other moment, which is not necessarily the one which chronologically follows the former. It may end with the event that preceded those given at the beginning or in the middle of the narrative. Time in the literary work is called literary or poetic, and its representation is conditioned by the laws of narrative literature and the work's content. The difference between a natural sequence of events and their arrangement (or disposition) in a work of narrative prose as well as the meaningfulness of this arrangement may be shown by the example of G. Greene's "The Quiet American".

If we array in chronological order all the major events narrated in the novel, their sequence would be as follows:

a. Fowler, an English reporter, and Pyle, a young Ameri­can on a special mission in Viet-Nam, meet at a hotel in Saigon.

b. Two months after his arrival Pyle meets Phuong (a young Vietnamese girl, Fowler's mistress) at the same hotel.

c. Fowler goes to the front-line to file news for his newspa­per.

d. In the dead of night in the front-line village he is awak­ened by Pyle who has punted there from Saigon to tell Fowler he loves Phuong.

e. Pyle makes a proposal of marriage to Phuong through Fowler who is to act as an interpreter.

f. Fowler meets Pyle at a Caodaist ceremony held near Saigon. On their way back to Saigon they are both trapped in a paddy-field.

g. Fowler is given evidence of Pyle's subversive activity in Saigon.

h. Phuong leaves Fowler; and moves to Pyle's place.

i. A bomb explodes in the Square with heavy civilian casualties and Pyle appears to him responsible for this.

j. Fowler at last "takes sides" and decides to help the Vietnamese communists to eliminate Pyle: he invites Pyle 1o dine at a restaurant and informs the Viet­namese about it.

k. Pyle does not turn up at the restaurant at the appoint­ed time.

1. Fowler in his flat is anxiously waiting for Pyle until midnight when lie and Phuong are suddenly summoned to the French police station.

m. At the police-station they are asked to identify the body of Pyle.

n. The French police repeatedly make Fowler give proof of his alibi.

o. Fowler is left in peace at last and Phuong is by his side, but there is little peace in his heart. All the above-enumerated events (only the principal ones are enumerated) could be represented as making one straight line, were they the events that occurred in actual life.


In the novel, however, these events are differently ar­ranged. The first sentence of the novel — "I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the rue Catinat. He has said, 'I'll be with you at latest by ten,' and when midnight had struck I couldn't stay quiet any longer and went down into the street," — plunges the reader straight into what is practically the denouement of the novel and what we have marked as point 1. The action then moves on to point m. at the police-station, then back to what chronologically makes the first item: Fowler and Pyle meet at a hotel in Saigon, then again, come the events following Pyle's murder: sum­mons to the French police-station; Fowler's visit to Pyle's former flat; Phuong's return, etc. These forward and back­ward shifts in time characterize the plot-structure of the novel. (See the following diagram.)

The split of the natural time sequence in "The Quiet American" is a device, and as such it has a meaning. Fowler is the narrator of the events, he is also their participant. The narrative is retrospective, i. e. Fowler does not narrate the events as they occur, he speaks of them retrospectively, and he recreates them, bringing them to light from the past. He meditates over them, for he is not just merely an observ­er, he is an active participant of the drama. He is to take a decision, "he is to take sides". For the man who had prid­ed himself on not being involved, on being just a report­er, the decision is hard to take. He is perturbed and hesi­tant and this is indirectly conveyed by the split time sequence and the nervous rhythm it creates. When Fowler finally takes sides for "one has to take sides if one is to remain human", he does so with deep sorrow which is sum­marily expressed in the last sentence of the novel: "Every­thing had gone right with me since he (Pyle) had died, but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry".

Another vivid example of the meaningfulness of liter­ary time representation is W. Faulkner's novel "The Sound and the Fury". It consists of four parts, each being entirely self-contained principally because it is narrated as seen by a different character.

The first part is focused on a 33-year-old idiot. He is the narrator of his own feelings, sensations and distorted mem­ories. There is no time perspective at all in this part as there is no consciousness of time for the imbecile. The past and the present as such do not exist for him. In his mind there are mingled pictures of what must have happened some time ago and what lie sees happening now.

The second part is a deliriously confused (temporally and thematically) narration of and about Quentin, the brother of the idiot. The reader gradually comes to under­stand that what torments him is the thought about his sister Caddy, who is ruined and disgraced. The part ends, with Quentin's suicide.

The third and the fourth parts are different from the first two in that the narration here is clear and consistent. The third part is focused on Jason, the third brother, cruel, tough and money-thirsty. He narrates the events as he sees them, lie consistently reports the happenings in the family and the render sees the image of a tyrant, completely devoid of humane warmth and family feeling.

The fourth part, narrated by the author, is focused upon Dilsey, an old Negro woman-servant. She alone retains good sense in this shattered household, she is the stays of it.

There is no natural passage from one part to another, the time perspective is twisted or altogether lost. Due to all this the plot structure of the novel may appear to be oddly if not confusedly organized. But on perusing the whole book the reader comes to perceive the meaningfulness of this device, i. e. the meaningfulness of the twisted time perspective, of the disunity between the parts, etc. The novel narrates about a decayed family of Southern aristo­crats, a family that had once been great and thriving but now is defeated from within, is disintegrated and dying. This content has conditioned a specific form: the outward disunity of its parts, a lack of time perspective, etc. Thus, what might seem at first sight to be an oddly loose writing, when viewed from within, from the content, turns out to be meaningful and consequently well-organized.

Composition. The subject matter of a literary work (the sequence of events, character collisions, etc.) may be represented in a variety of ways. Intuitively or not, an author chooses his technique according to his meaning.

The narration may be done in the first person, the nar­rator being either his own protagonist: "When I had first opened the door, I did not know what I was about to do; but now that I had seen her in her room, kneeling in prayer beside her bed, unaware that I was looking upon her and hearing her words and sobs, I was certain that I could never care for anyone else as I did for her. I had not known until then, but in the revelation of a .few seconds I knew that I did love her. (E. Caldwell, "Warm River"); or focusing on another: "Oh, there were hundreds of things she had said. I remember everything, but 1 can't recall the words she used. I can't repeat them. She uttered them in a jumble of things. They had come from her lips like the jumbled parts of a cut-out puzzle. There was no man wise enough or patient enough to put the words in their correct order. If I attempted to put them together, there would be too many 'ands', and 'buts' and 'theys' and thousands of other words left over. They would make no sense in human ears. They were messages from her heart. Only feeling is intelli­gible there." (E. Caldwell)

The narration may be done in the third person. The narrator then focuses on some other character or characters. He may have direct knowledge of these find net as tin observer. For instance. "He had been contemptuous of those who wrecked. You did not have to like it because you understood it. He could beat anything, he thought, because no thing could hurt him if he did not care.

All right. Now he would not care for death. One thing he had always dreaded was the pain. He could stand pain as well as any man, until it went on too long, and wore him out, but here he had something that had hurt frightfully and just when he had felt it breaking him, the pain had stopped." (E. Hemingway, "The Snows of Kilimanjaro")

The narrator may have no direct relation to the persons he speaks about, he may not be present at all, be entirely anonymous, as in the following: "But the weather held clear, and by nightfall he knew that the men were certain to be holding his tracks. By nightfall Roy was too exhaust­ed to be cunning, and he lay in his sleeping bag in the first dry corner he found in the rocks." (J. Aldridge, "The Hunter")

The narration, whatever it is: first-person, third-per­son, anonymous, rests on such forms as:

Interior monologue. The narrator as his own protago­nist or the character he narrates about speaks to himself. "Soames moved along Piccadilly deep in reflections excited by his cousin's words. He himself had always been a worker and a saver, George always a drone and a spender; and yet, if confiscation once began, it was he — the worker and the saver — who would be looted! That was the negation of all virtue, the overturning of all Forsyte principles. Could civilization be built on any other? He did not think so." (J. Galsworthy, "To Let")

Dramatic monologue. The narrator (as his own protago­nist) or a character speaks alone but there are those he ad­dresses himself to, g. "I think you take too much care," said Winifred. "If I were you, 1 should tell her of that old matter. It's no good thinking that girls in these days are as they used to be. Where they pick up their knowledge I can't tell, but they seem to know everything." (J. Galsworthy, "To Let")

Dialogue. The speech of two or more characters ad­dressed to each other. (The term is too obvious to need illustration.)

Narration. The presentation of events in their develop­ment, e. g. "The Collector had watched the arrest from the interior of the waiting-room, and throwing open its perfora­ted doors of zinc, he was now revealed like a god in a shrine. When Fielding entered the doors clapped to, and were guarded by a servant, while punkah, to mark the impor­tance of the moment, flapped dirty petticoats over their heads." (E. M. Forster, "A Passage to India")

Description. The presentation of the atmosphere, the scenery and the like of the literary work, e. g. "They are dark. Even when they open towards the sun, very little light penetrates down the entrance tunnel into the circular chamber. There is little to see, and no eye to see it, until the visitor arrives for his five minutes and strikes a match." (E. M. Forster, "A Passage to India")

All these forms of presentation, as a rule, interrelate in a literary text, with one or another of them standing out more prominent.

The arrangement and disposition of all the forms of the subject matter presentation make up the composition of the literary text.1

Genre. The word "genre" which comes from French, where its primary meaning is "a kind", denotes in the theory of literature a historically formed type of literary work.

As with all other art categories it is the content that imposes upon the genre its peculiar limitations.

Who represents the aesthetic reality; what particular aspect of reality is represented; how is the time of repre­sented events related to the time of speech — these and other factors are relevant to genre.

If it is outside events that are objectively narrated by an author, the genre is epic with narrative prose as its main variety.

If the author speaks about an aspect of reality reflected in his own inner world, if his emotions and meditations are represented without a clearly delimited thematic or tempo­ral setting, the genre is lyric with lyric poetry as its main variety. Consider as an instance of such the follow­ing sonnet by John Keats "Keen, Fitful Gusts":


ЛЕКЦИЯ 2 (3 часа)

^ MEANINGS OF LINGUISTIC UNITS


  1. Denotative meaning of the word. An act of verbal communication between the speaker and the hearer is made possible primarily due to the fact that units of communica­tion (i. e. words) are referable to extralinguistic situa­tions, things meant. The word denotes a concrete thing as well as a concept of a thing; the word has a denotative meaning. Thus, the word blue denotes an object that is blue (a blue dress) and the respective concept: something blue or blueness. The word table denotes any object that is a table; it is the name of a whole class of objects that are tables.

An isolated word ^ table denotes the concept of the thing that is a table. The word table within a certain context denotes a definite thing; i. e. has a definite meaning (He bought a deal table). The property of the word enabl­ing it to denote a concrete thing as well as a generalized concept of a thing is an objective feature which has been worked out in the course of a people's history. The knowl­edge of the word-denotation is shared by all those who speak in the given language and this is what makes com­munication possible. Denotative meaning is thus the loading task of any notional word.

b) Connotative meaning of the word. The word besides denoting a concrete thing, action, or concept, may also carry a connotation, an overtone. These overtones or con­notations vary in character. They may express the speak­er's attitude to the thing spoken about (emotive component of meaning), or indicate the so­cial sphere in which the discourse takes place (sty­listic reference). Both these components may be part of the word's dictionary meaning, i. e. be present in the word when it is taken in isolation. They may, on the other hand, be part of the word's contextual mean­ing, i. e. emerge in the word as a result of its correlation with other words. Below we first consider connotation as part of the word's dictionary meaning — it being essen­tial for readers to see the inherent properties of words — only to dwell at length later on the connotations words acquire when they occur in texts.

^ CONNOTATION IN THE WORD'S DICTIONARY MEANING

An emotive component of meaning may have linguistic expression with the help of suffixes; for example, the suffix ie/y in such words as birdie, or Freddy serves to express the diminutive/the hypocoristic. The emotive component of meaning may have no .specific linguistic form but be contained in the concept the given word denotes, as for example, in the words horrid, terrifying, lovely, etc. There are words of purely emotive meaning. These are interjec­tions which differ from words with denotative meanings (i. e. notional words) by their peculiar sound pattern: oh, ouch, alas, hm, etc. They also differ by their syntactic role in an utterance: they are not components but equiv­alents of sentences.

Stylistic reference. Verbal communication takes place in different spheres of human activity, such as everyday life, business, science, etc. Each of these spheres has a peculiar mode of linguistic expression which is gener­ally known as a functional style. Words that are prefer­ably used in one functional style are said to have a stylistic reference conditioned by the respective sphere.

The overtone of stylistic reference is always present in the word alongside its denotative meaning. This can well be illustrated by sets of words with similar denota­tive meanings: get obtain procure; dismiss dis­charge sack; follow pursue go after. Words may be grouped together on the basis of their common stylistic reference. Consider, for example, the following groups of words:

1) inquire 2) ask

obtain get

proceed go

pursue run after

seek look for

Each of these two groups represents a different stylistic layer: the first group contains words of a literary-bookish layer, the second — stylistically neutral words.

While speaking about stylistic reference, the following factor should be emphasized: stylistic reference can be recognized only when there is some common element to refer to. This common element is the similarity of deno­tation, or, in oilier words, synonymy of words. Where there is just one word to denote a certain concept or object of reality there would be no question of stylistic reference. Thus, the major dichotomy is lo be found between sty­listically neutral vs. stylistically marked words.

Subdivisions within (lie class of stylistically marked words are numerous. But (lie main opposition lies between words of literary stylistic layer (words of Standard English) and those of non-literary stylistic layer1 (words of Sub-Standard Eng­lish).

^ Words of literary stylistic layer (Standard English). They are in their turn divided into literary-col­loquial and literary-bookish.

Literary-colloquial are words denoting everyday con­cepts, they constitute the core of the wordstock (see, come, home, right).

Literary-bookish includes:

a) Terms, subdivided into: 1) popular terms of some special spheres of human knowledge known to the public at large (typhoid, pneumonia); 2) terms used ex­clusively within a profession (phoneme, micro-linguistics);

b) Poeticisms, words used exclusively in poetry and the like. Many of these words are archaic or obsolete, such as whilome (sometimes), aught (anything), ne (no, not), haply (may be); for ay (for ever), / ween (I suppose), he kens (he knows); childe (a nobleman's son);

c) Foreign words and barbarisms (bon mot, neglige, au revoir; ad absurdum, Bundeswehr). A dis­tinction is made between the two. Barbarisms are consid­ered to be part of the vocabulary of the given language constituting its peripheral layer. They are usually regis­tered in dictionaries (a propos, vis-a-vis, etc.) while for­eign words are, as a rule, not found in dictionaries. In literature barbarisms are generally used to lend local color: pied-a-terre (a small flat), croissants (breakfast, bread), etc. But it would also be true to say that no straight line of demarcation can be drawn between the two groups.

^ Words of non-literary stylistic layer (Sub-standard English). This layer also includes several subgroups:

a) Colloquialisms. Words that occupy an intermediate position between literary and non-literary stylistic layers and are used in conversational type of everyday speech, (awfully sorry, a pretty little thing, etc.)

b) Slangisms. Words that have originated in everyday speech and exist on the periphery of the lexical system of the given language: crackers (go mad); garr (god); belt up (keep silence), big head (a boaster);

c) Professionalisms. Words characteristic of the conversational variant of professional speech. Contrary to terms, professionalisms are the result of metonymic or metaphoric transference of some everyday words: bull (one who buys shares at the stock-exchange); bear (one who sells shares); sparks (a radio-operator); tin-hat (helmet), etc.

d) Vulgarisms. Rude words or expressions used mostly in the speech of the uncultured and the uneducat­ed, e. g. missus (wife), son of a bitch (a bad person), etc.

The border-line between colloquialisms, slangisms and vulgarisms is often hard to draw for there are hardly any linguistic criteria of discrimination. This explains why one finds so many discrepancies in how these stylistic sub­groups are labeled in various dictionaries.

Two more subgroups of the non-literary stylistic layer should be mentioned.

e) Jargonisms (cantisms). Words used within certain social and professional groups.

f) Regional dialectisms. Words and ex­pressions used by peasants and others in certain regions of the country: baccy (tobacco), unbeknown (unknown), winder (window), etc.

Stylistic reference and emotive charge are inherent, connotative features of lexical units. They should not be confused with those connotative effects which practically any word may acquire in speech (text). What specific connotative effects words with different stylistic reference and emotive charge may acquire in texts will be shown below.

It should also be mentioned here, that although we have been speaking exclusively about connotations of lexical units, the word "connotation" is applicable not only to words. Elements smaller than words, such as certain speech sound clusters may also be aimers of some implied (indirectly expressed) idea or attitude. This we shall also dwell on below.

Metaphor, a most widely used trope, is also based upon analogy, upon a traceable similarity. But in the meta­phor, contrary to the simile, there is no formal element to indicate comparison. The difference, though, is not merely structural. The absence of a formal indication of comparison in the metaphor makes the analogy it is based on more subtle to perceive. Thus, in the simile "The three with the medals were hunting-hawks." (E. Hemingway) the element "like" lays bare the analogy between "those three with medals" and "hunting-hawks". One, who knows what a hunting-hawk is can easily imagine what those three were: they were people trained to kill; killing was their business. In the metaphor "I was not a hawk" (E. Hemingway) due to the absence of "like" or any other formal ele­ment of comparison the two objects "I" and "hawk" seem to merge, the scope of analogy widens.

This difference between simile and metaphor leads some scholars to the belief that metaphor is more emotional and consequently more expressive, that it is restricted to more literary style.1 The simile is believed to be heavier and more logical and therefore better fitted to lend preci­sion to the expressed thought due to which it can be used in any type of style even in the most prosaic.2 This asser­tion cannot be readily accepted because both poetical similes and poetical metaphors are individual creations, and their greater or lesser expressiveness depends entirely upon the freshness and novelty of the discovered association. Thus, with G. Greene, for instance, it is often a simile and not a metaphor that is based on a more sudden analogy and is, consequently, more expressive:

1) "Darkness when once it fell, fell like a stone. Then my head came over the earth floor and nobody shot at me and fear seeped away."

2) "She frightened him like an unlucky number. He wasn't safe in the night nursery: their passions had flooded it."

3) "Like a small blunt icicle in her white mackintosh she stood in the doorway. There she was, sniffing round the area."

In purely linguistic terms the metaphor may be defined as a deviation from conventional collocation. E.g. "The last colors of sunset ... were dripping over the edge of the flat world." (G.-Greene) The verb "drip" usually roi-s with such nouns as "water", "lard", "fat", in fact, will) any name of liquid. All such nouns represent one lexico-semantic class. The noun "sun" does not belong to this class; its collo­cation with the verb "drip" is thus a deviation from the con­ventional. Consider other examples: "I saw him coming out of the anesthetic of her charm." (J. Thurber) "Gusts of wind whispering here and there." (J. Keats) "Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain." (J. Keats) "His two million dollars were a little nest egg for him." (Don Mar­quis) "Her eyes were two profound and menacing gun-barrels." (A. Huxley)

A distinction is usually made between poetic metaphors and lexical (dead, trite) metaphors. Poeticmetaphoris based upon a discovery of some new, fresh and striking analogy between two things. This is a discovery made by an individual, that is to say, a poetic metaphor is always an individual creation. (See the above-given examples.)

Lexical metaphor, on the contrary, is a com­monly reproduced lexical unit. It is called dead or trite because it does not call forth any vivid associations; its function is rather that of an intensifier. ^ E. g. Time flies. (Time passes very quickly.) He was flooded with happi­ness. (He was very happy.) As a rule, such a metaphor is an integral part of the word's semantic structure, con­stituting one of its figurative meanings. E. g. a puppy—a young dog (literal meaning); a vain, ill-bred young man (figurative meaning).

A distinction is also made between a s i m p 1 e or elementary metaphor and an extended or pro­longed (sustained) metaphor. The metaphor is simple when it consists of just one word, or a word-group. A simple metaphor may be expressed by a noun or a noun-phrase: "anesthetic of her charm"; by a verb: time flies; an adjective or adverb, in the latter case it is called a metaphoric epithet. (See below.) The metaphor is prolonged or extended when one word used in a trans­ferred sense calls forth a transference of meaning in the whole sequence of words related to it. E. g. "...and I was not a hawk, although I might seem a hawk to those who had never hunted...". (E. Hemingway)

Personification, a kind of metaphor, is a device which endows a thing or a phenomenon with features peculiar of a human being: "At that time my vir­tue slumbered." (R. Stevenson) "Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway." (G. Byron) "My impatience has shown its heels to my politeness." (R. Stevenson)

Personification may take the form of a digressive ad­dress: "Thou, nature, art my goddess." (W. Shakespeare) "Oh Night, and Storm, and Darkness, ye art wondrous strong." (G. Hyron) Digressive address is called apos­trophe no mailer whether it refers to a thing or to a person: "Awake, ye Sons of Spain! awake! advance." (G. Byron)

Units of poetic speech called metonymy (with synecdoche and metonymic antonomasia as its variants) are also based upon analogy. But in them, contrary to the simile and the metaphor, there is an objectively existing relationship between the object named and the object implied.

Metonymic relations are varied in character. The name of an instrument may stand for the name of the action this instrument produces or is associated with, e. g. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears." (W. Shakespeare) or the name of a symbol used instead of that which this symbol denotes, as in: "(England)... sucked the blood of other countries, destroyed the brains and hearts of Irishmen, Hindus, Egyptians, Boers and Burmese." (J. Galsworthy), where the words "blood", "brains", "heart" stand for the economic, intellectual and spiritual life of the people referred to. That what the man possesses may be used for the man himself, e. g. "Director Rippleton had also married money." (S. Lewis), just as a quality of a thing may stand for the thing itself, e. g. "Then she turned round and took a long mournful look at grandma's blackness and at Fenella's black coat." (K. Mansfield)

Synecdoche is based on a specific kind of metonymic relationship, which may be considered as quantitative. This is when a part stands for the whole or when the whole stands for a part, an individual for a whole class, or a whole class for an individual, etc. E. g. "The Goth, the Christian-Time-War-Flood and fire, have dealt upon the seven-hilled City's pride." (G. Byron)

What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see

The cypress — hear the owl — and plod your way

O'er steps of broken thrones and temples — Ye! (G. Byron)

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