One understands why Kristeva could spend so much of her career unraveling Bahktin. He is anything but a purely transparent writer. Also, I feel a bit lost in that my familiarity with Dostoyevsky is fairly nonexistent; a shame for a former English literature major, I suppose. Nevertheless, there are several aspects to the ways Bahktin is unraveling the concepts of dialogicality and intertextuality here that are worth further unpacking.
I was most fascinated in this article by Bahktin’s use of the term “metalinguistics” to encapsulate what all of us sociolinguists would consider our every day work: the work of parole, of “languaging,” of words embedded in their contexts. The more I study sociolinguistics, the less I am certain that Saussure’s distinction between lange and parole is a useful one, for what is language without its situation? Even Labov’s original classification of language use in the attention to speech model seems to come unraveled when we think about the ways in which people may use different styles quite consciously; the “vernacular” does not always arise from the least attentive speech (c.f. current work by N. Schilling). All linguistics, I think, is truly “metalinguistics”—how language arises and contrasts with other parts of language is much of its meaning. I am reminded of Gordon’s discussions of frames and repetition; for the denotative meanings of, “I’d like to order Chinese food” or “superior” can’t unravel their meaning as they appear in the texts that Gordon examines.
As a longtime writer of fiction myself, I also found the discussion of dialogicality with regard to the author’s voice and the character’s to be an interesting one. One of the most difficult things one learns as a fiction writer is how to bury one’s voice within the voice of one’s characters—how to make them talk about the things you want them to talk about and do the things you want them to do without tipping your hand to the reader that this is what you are doing. In this sense, all fiction is laminated with the author’s voice, but in good fiction, the author’s voice is a hidden presence—the hand guiding invisible marionette strings from above the stage. In this sense I both agreed and disagreed with Bakhtin; although the author’s voice is certainly present, the extent to which it is engaged with and actively contrasting with that of the characters in the text I believe is less readily apparent than Bahktin seems to think.
Also interesting in this article was the discussion of the ways in which a narrator casts speech toward an absent interlocutor. The creation of this sort of anticipatory text is quite relevant to my own research, as I believe that part of internet discourse is concerned with what Bell refers to as referee design: speech directed with a third, absent party in mind. This is what seems to be happening in the passage Bahktin cites from Poor Folk, in what he refers to as the “sideways glance” of the text. This idea of a text which glances sideways, which frames itself outside the domain simply of interlocutors to also encompass probable reactions of a third party is, I think critical to understanding how people communicate on the internet—in a way, anything posted on a message board, even when posted in direct response to another’s text, is incorporating this “sideways glance” at the third parties who are also privy to that text by means of the message board on which it is situated.
No comments:
Post a Comment