Williams: 1; Kruschek: 0

Joseph Williams' article "The Phenomenology of Error" is an extremely interesting look into his thoughts and research on writing errors and how readers respond to it. Using Erving Goffman's work on social faux pas as an analogy, he claims that the intensity of a reader's response to grammatical errors will range far and wide depending upon the reader and their feelings on whichever particular error they happen across. Williams finds that there is a pretty wide chasm between a reader's "conscious directive," meaning what the reader consciously defines as grammatically incorrect when asked, and the "unreflexive experience," meaning how said reader actually responds to a grammatical error when reading a document for content, particularly when that reader considers themselves to be "educated and literate and defenders of good usage," i.e. someone in academia (426). He makes his point, and hilariously so, by finding grammatical errors in grammar handbooks that the authors themselves advise against.

The primary thing that got me thinking occurred on 416, when he writes about reading for content versus reading for typographical errors, and later in the essay makes that claim that "if we read any text the way we read freshman essays, we will find many of the same kind of errors we routinely expect to find and therefore do find" (420). It made me think about another essay we read this semester (I can't remember the name, or maybe it was from class discussion...anyway, its in the ether) whose author suggested that, as instructors, we should be more concerned with whether a student is making a good point or claim as opposed to whether that student is making said point or claim eloquently. This is something that I struggle with as an instructor. Most of the time I am unable to separate reading for content and reading for typographical errors, regardless if it is a paper I'm grading or an article I'm reading. For me, the two go hand in hand. My opinion is that if you cannot state your point or claim in an understandable manner then it doesn't matter how good your point or claim is, its pretty much dead in the water, or at least severely limited in its impact, until and unless the wording can be worked out. At the same time, I fully recognize that having a good point or claim to make is sometimes the more difficult of the two to accomplish. Its a vicious cycle.

 On a final note, before I read this selection, I read the description in the contents section and knew in advance there were grammatical errors hidden in the text. I consider myself to be a pretty ardent grammarian, and thought that I'd be able to spot these errors without a problem, so I found it very interesting that, though there were places in the text where I thought the sentences were a little clunky, I couldn't give a name to what was necessarily wrong with it. Point: Williams.

To Err Is Human

Williams argues that writing instructors should rethink their definition of error in student's papers. In an attempt to prove his point, he, without warning, included 100 grammer errors in his essay challenging his readers to list the errors they noticed on first reading it. He maintains that, because he is a professional writer whose relationship to his readers is quite different from the teacher-student relationship, many of the errors in his article have gone undetected. Clever Williams. He has in essence proven that we read the writing of our colleagues differently than we do student writing and that error is not a fixed feature of a text but something constructed by the reader.

But that trick, nor his exposure of grammarians making the very mistakes they admonish against, is not half so clever as his definition of error as a social phenomenon. Williams claims that error is a "flawed verbal transaction between a writer and a reader" (417). He warns the reader against conceiving error as "a discrete entity, frozen at the moment of its commission" (417), such as might be suggested by a tabulation of 432 comma splices "in so many pages or words of student writing.

Williams problematizes such empirical research on the grounds that "[m]erely by being asked, it becomes manifest to [researchers] that they have been invested with an institutional responsibility" to uphold a certain "standard" (418). By throwing the light of the "expert" back on itself, Williams exposes some of the unstated political assumptions behind the statistical measurements of error. He frees up space for the reader, and the pedagogue, to widen the scope.

He talks about "errors" in everyday social life, comically contrasting them with "grammatical" indecencies such as split infinitives or dangling modifiers: "We break wind at a dinner party and then vomit on the person next to us. We spill coffee in their lap, then step on a toe when we get up to apologize. … Or the error metaphorically violates psychic space: We utter an inappropriate obscenity, mention our painful hemorrhoids, tell a racist joke, and snigger at the fat woman across the table who turns out to be our hostess" (419-20).

Dramatizing the concept of "error" in commonplace situations gives the reader as a broad a starting point for error as she or he is likely to find, beyond the freshman or "basic writing" classroom, but, one might argue, analogously applicable to it.

Williams has demonstrated that we are likely to find errors where we look for them, that our reading of professional prose is happily oblivious to error whereas the reading of our students' prose is hard-nosed and scrutinizing.

Photo: Kendell Geers T:error

Chaim Perelman

"The Social Contexts of Argumentation"

Chaim Perelman (252-256)

 

Chaim Perelman analyzes the historical process and distinction of argumentation from demonstration.  He explains that argumentation is dependent on the audiences and their expectations.  As readers, the claim and argument will not be effective for ALL.  Therefore, Perelman says that there is no way for an argumentation to be universally applied to all audiences.  His biggest truth is “that universal audience which is then not a concrete social reality but a construction of the speaker based on elements in his experience” (253).  The rhetoricians are assuming the audiences merely based on presumptions and experiences of their own. 

If thinking about teaching Comp 120 classes, we emphasize the five factors in writing as a method to write “better” in a way that they understand their purpose, audience, etc.  We provide students with an audience for most of the assignments, and they most likely will know their audiences at future jobs or careers.  Sometimes this is easier said than done (or written/spoken).  As Perelman discusses, if there is no universal audience, then this presents a conflict for society.  How are we to classify the audience to one “group” or societal classification of what constitutes that “group” or “norm.”  We can write in hopes to reach most people, but it will not be a universal effect.  In order for a writer to successfully argue a thesis, he/she must consider the whole configuration of the audience.  The writer must be prepared for a mixed audience and not the typical approach to assume the audience as one whole (generalizations). 

Perelman continues to discuss that argumentation relies on the ideas of facts and truths, or the validity of the information provided allows the audience to be persuaded.  People want truth over opinions (255).  Perelman concludes with a look into the history of rhetoric as “More and more, discourse, instead of convincing, was required primarily to please, and rhetoric ceased to be a philosophical technique and became a literary method” (255).  Over the course of time, we have discovered that writing is more complex than the simple write to an audience about this topic.  We have to consider all sociological and the context of the audiences and situations in order to effectively write.

 

Collaborative Learning (Trimbur)

Although I typically enjoy working on group projects, I do not like writing group papers. In the past, I have had numerous negative experiences when it comes to writing papers with others. However, I have to admit that I also had one very productive group paper writing experience. Additionally, I know that I will likely work with some of my colleagues on conference presentations or journal articles in the future. 

Now, as a teacher, I have to decide how collaborative learning fits into my philosophy. Should I let my own perspective impact the way I teach or should I acknowledge that collaborative learning is an important part of education? John Trimbur's article "Consensus and Difference in Collaborative Learning" discusses some of the different ways collaborative learning is viewed. 

Throughout the article, Trimbur focuses on consensus. The more negative view of consensus is that “the use of consensus in collaborative learning is an inherently dangerous and potentially totalitarian practice that stifles individual voice and creativity, suppresses differences, and enforces conformity” (Trimbur 733). However, Trimbus states “Consensus, I will argue, can be a powerful instrument for students to generate differences, to identify the systems of authority that organize these differences, and to transform the relations of power that determine who may speak and what comes as a meaningful statement” (734).

Although some of my fellow grad students require a collaborative paper for English 120, I have only assigned a final group project. However, I think a collaborative paper is an important aspect to consider adding to my course. For example, I think the rhetorical analysis assignment is one that is most commonly assigned to partners. Instead of asking two students to write one paper on an article though, I put them in “article groups” where three or four students with the same article have short brainstorming sessions with each other. Also, this semester I will be holding group conferences before the rhetorical analysis is due to discuss ideas. One of the main things I’m worried about is the possibility of reinforcing a single idea as the “right” one, which is that same view of the critics of consensus. How should we, as teachers, encourage open discussions without obviously favoring certain ideas over others?

Also, do we even need to require group papers as part of collaborative learning in the classroom? I ask students to work in groups for their final video commentary projects, but that isn’t a written work. It is a transformed version of their written commentaries.  Moving forward, I would like to consider Trimbur’s version of consensus: “Through a collective investigation of differences, students can begin to imagine ways to change the relations of production and to base the conversation not on consensus but on reciprocity and the mutual recognition of the participants and their differences” (745). 

Lunsford and Ede: things in relation to other things

Representing Audience: “Successful” Discourse and Disciplinary Critique

--Andrea A. Lunsford and Lisa Ede

I'm on Lunsford and Ede blog duty this week, and I’ll get there, I promise, but I wanted to begin with Trimbur’s “Consensus and Difference in Collaborative Learning,” which opens with the casting of consensus as villain.  Trimbur refers to group think and totalitarianism; I started to think of the many ways this idea is echoed in pop culture: the Borg in Star Trek, the Party in 1984, the agents in The Matrix, Skynet in the Terminator universe, zombies in anything with zombies. As Trimbur points out, collaborative learning often falls into this anti-individualistic line of critique: anything that overstates or privileges the social is denying (or forcibly suppressing) the value of the individual.  Just like the Borg—coming to assimilate all human distinctiveness.   

But Trimbur focuses on a second line of critique, one with ties to Bruffee.  According to Trimbur, Bruffee advocates the negotiation of consensus through conversation and  collaborative learning as a way for students to partake in a community of knowledgeable peers/acclimatize to normal discourse.  Trimbur highlights the critique of the left-wing: that this view of collaborative conversation replaces the authority of the individual with the authority of the discourse community—a normative community that decides who can speak, what constitutes meaningful speech/writing, and who can be privy to certain kinds of knowledge.   As a result, Trimbur calls for a recasting of the way we see consensus: “We will need…to look at collaborative learning not merely as a process of consensus-making but more important as a process of identifying differences and locating these differences in relation to each other” (741).  

Now here’s the swing to Lunsford and Ede.  In their essay they focus not on the critique of another scholar’s work, but rather they revisit an essay of their own (“Audience Addressed/Audience Invoked: The Role of Audience in Composition Theory and Pedagogy), not to create an old-bad, new-good binary but to “embrace multiple understandings” (814).  Their essay explores the ways their previous perspectives and assumptions stood in relationship to their arguments.  For example:   

·      The influence of romantic, western notions of individual agency in the definition of success

·      Their own personal schooling experiences and the impact of their struggles in the way they framed audience and student experience in AA/AI

·      The way their understanding of writing led to certain assumptions about meaning, knowledge, and interactions within discourse communities (“such an understanding of writing assumes a negotiation of meaning among if not literal equals then among those with equal access to the resources of language” [816])

  Lunsford and Ede advocate for a critical approach that takes into account “the locatedness and situatedness of all texts,” AKA, the politics of location.  Things in relation to other things.  These two are noted proponents of collaboration—I would go so far as to say they are champions of collaboration—but in their essay, they highlight as problematic a view of communication that “casts misunderstanding, miscommunication, disagreement, resistance, and dissent as failure and, as such, that which is to be avoided or ‘cured’” (818).  This is not the Borg view, the consensus-at-all-cost-comform-comform-comform view. I would frame it as a working example of Trimbur’s view of dissent: consensus should be approached as a way to generate difference, to identify institutionally authorized systems that dictate the very idea of differences.

Consensus (in the Trimbur universe) is a kind of utopian ideal were one identifies the relations of power structures.  Trimbur uses the example of a literature classroom, and how instead of coming to a “consensus” about the right way to read a text, students should be encouraged to explore the categories of literature vs. the categories of non-literature.  How did these categories form?  Who made them?  How have they (students) been taught to read and categorize and define and talk about literature?

In my view, both the Lunsford and Ede essay and the Trimbur piece tie into a theme we’ve been exploring in class: the dangers of having one theoretical alliance; one definitive model for writing; one explanation for the thought-speech-writing relationship; or even one “basic” definition for all these theories we’ve been looking into.  To go to this ONE model / definition / articulation, we ignore the idea of relationships: how things define themselves in relation to other things.  

Delpit - Resisting the System

Lisa Delpit’s article discusses a topic that I have been reading a lot about recently in my linguistics course and in writing center research.  Particularly since CCC released the resolution that all students should have a right to their own language, many education and composition scholars have discussed how we can enact this resolution in the university.  I very much agree with Delpit’s argument that students can learn dominant discourses no matter what discourse they used when growing up.  I also agree that these students should learn how to master these discourses so that they have fewer obstacles to face in their education and in the work world.  However, I feel that Delpit has ignored a larger issue: what can we do to change the university to make it more accommodating to students with different dialects?

If we only follow Delpit’s suggestion of teaching minority students to master the dominant discourse, I feel that nothing will change.  The dominant discourse will continue to be the mark of excellence, and those who prefer to use a different discourse will continue to be seen as less prepared for scholarly and professional work.  I feel that we should take steps to make room for more discourses in academic and professional communication.  Instead of simply stating that students’ native dialects have value, we should make it true by allowing these dialects to have more prominence.

Nancy Effinger in her dissertation “The Writing Center as Bodega: Making a Third Space in Academia for Global Englishes and Alternative Discourses” (2011, University of Texas San Antonio) suggests that writing centers are in an ideal position to encourage Global Englishes.  She, like Delpit, recognizes that writing consultants may be called on to help students master a dominant discourse so that the students can succeed in their coursework.  However, because the consultants are not directly part of the system (they are not grading students based on their mastery of the language), they are in a better position to subvert the dominant discourse by communicating with students in their native dialect and finding other outlets for them to use their dialects.  Writing centers can also educate professors about the value of native dialects and encourage the professors to allow more room for these dialects in their courses.

Composition instructors can also play a role encouraging multiple discourses.  I believe we should definitely help students master the dominant discourse, but perhaps we could encourage and even teach different discourses.  We can also try to influence administration to celebrate multiple discourses and not use evaluations (such as certain standardized tests) that discriminate against people who have a different vocabulary.

Brandt & Clinton

In their essay, Brandt and Clinton focus on a social-practice perspective, specifically looking at the process of literacy. According to these two theorists, literacy is a social process rather than an individualistic and isolated one. In fact, they go so far as to describe social interaction as an active participant in the literacy process, rather than just a characteristic of the process. Brandt and Clinton borrow Latour’s idea of the actor network when they describe social interaction as a part of literacy. My understanding of Latour is nowhere near what Steven Hammer’s is, so I am not even going to pretend to know what I am talking about. However, I do know that taking this step to describe social interaction’s part in the literacy process does demonstrate how vital to social aspect is to Brandt and Clinton’s views.

This pair is not the first to suggest that a part of the composition process is social in nature. Karen Burke Lefevre in her book, Invention as a Social Act, discusses the invention process (the development of ideas at the initial stage of, among other applicable disciplines, composition) as a socially filled process. Lefevre helps break down the stereotypical depiction of the Romantic author, who was supposedly isolated and solely responsible for all ideas they came up with. In reality, everyone is influenced by forces outside of themselves during the invention process, whether or not the writer is conscious of these influences depends on the writer and his or her specific circumstances. For examples, a group of people may purposefully have a brainstorming session to help create ideas, making the social interaction known to the writer. Or, a writer maybe sitting in a public place, and overhear conversations that will stimulate ideas in the writer’s head, the writer may not realize that the previous interaction was what initially caused the idea, making it unconscious social interaction.

This notion of social interaction as an essential piece to multiple stages of the writing process is an important one to note and remember. Certainly, if nothing else, this shows us that each step of the composition process is, at least minimally, affected by social awareness and interaction. However these authors take it a step further, narrow in on one step of the process (Yes, in the grand scheme of things, I see literacy as a step in the composition process. Even if only tangentially related), and point out how this step is social. This emphasizes how important the social is and helps us use this knowledge to our advantage when we are practicing these processes ourselves.