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periodicals.narr.de Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 6,7 ISSN 0171 - 5410 Mit Beiträgen von: Daniel Becker Ingo Berensmeyer Eva Sicherl Alexander Tokar Band 43 · Heft 2 | 2018 Band 43 · Heft 2 | 2018 AAA_2018_2.indd 1-3 19.12.2018 16: 43: 15 Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH+Co. KG Dischingerweg 5 \ 72070 Tübingen \ Germany Tel. +49 (07071) 97 97-0 \ Fax +49 (07071) 97 97-11 \ info@narr.de \ www.narr.de \ periodicals.narr.de Notice to Contributors All articles for submission should be sent to the editor, Bernhard Kettemann, as a WORD document as mail attachment: bernhard.kettemann@uni-graz.at Manuscripts should conform to the AAA style sheet or follow either MHRA or MLA style. (Copies of the MLA Style Sheet may be obtained from the Treasurer of the Modern Language Association of America, 62 Fifth Ave, New York, N. Y., 10011; copies of the MHRA Style Book from W.S. Maney & Son Ltd., Hudson Rd., Leeds LS9 7DL, England.) Documentation can be embodied either in footnotes or in an appended bibliography, with name and date reference enclosed in brackets in the text. Footnotes should be numbered consecutively and listed on a separate sheet of paper. The footnotes will appear on the bottom of the page where they are mentioned. They should be limited to a minimum. Languages of publication are German and English. Authors are requested to provide an English abstract of their contribution of about 15 lines on a separate sheet of paper. In the normal procedure first proofs will be sent to the authors and should be returned to the editor within one week. Authors receive one free copy of the issue containing their contribution. It is our policy to publish accepted contributions without delay. Gründer, Eigentümer, Herausgeber und für den Inhalt verantwortlich / founder, owner, editor and responsibility for content: Bernhard Kettemann, Institut für Anglistik, Universität Graz, Heinrichstraße 36, A-8010 Graz. Web: http: / / periodicals.narr.de/ index.php/ aaa, Tel.: +43 / 316 / 380-2488, 2474, Fax: +43 / 316 / 380-9765 Herausgeber / editor Bernhard Kettemann Redaktion / editorial assistants Georg Marko Eva Triebl Mitherausgeber / editorial board Alwin Fill Walter Grünzweig Walter Hölbling Allan James Andreas Mahler Christian Mair Annemarie Peltzer-Karpf Werner Wolf Alexander Tokar Stress Variation in English Language in Performance (LIP), Vol. 50 2017, 251 Seiten €[D] 78,00 ISBN 978-3-8233-8180-8 eISBN 978-3-8233-9180-7 This monograph is concerned with the question of why some English words have more than one stress pattern. E.g., 'overt vs. o'vert, ′ pulsate vs. pul'sate, etc. It is argued that cases such as these are due to the fact that the morphological structure of one and the same English word can sometimes be analyzed in more than one way. Thus, 'overt is the stress pattern of the suffixation analysis over + -t, whereas o'vert is due to the prefixation analysis o- + -vert (cf. covert). Similarly, pulsate is simultaneously pulse + -ate (i.e., a suffixed derivative) and a back-derivative from pul'satance. “Tokar’s approach in the use of both dictionary (OED) and corpus data (YouTube) holds promise of a scholarly breakthrough on the vital linguistic prosodic topic of English stress assignment of doublets and of stress assignment in general.” (Irmengard Rauch, Professor of Germanic Linguistics at the University of California, Berkeley) SPRACHWISSENSCHAFT \ ANGLISTIK Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH+Co. KG \ Dischingerweg 5 \ 72070 Tübingen \ Germany Tel. +49 (07071) 9797-0 \ Fax +49 (07071) 97 97-11 \ info@narr.de \ www.narr.de 6,7 AAA_2018_2.indd 4-6 19.12.2018 16: 43: 16 Daniel Becker Fourteen Lines of Memory: The Sonnet as Memory Genre in Iggy McGovern‟s Poetry .................................................................................................................... 101 Ingo Berensmeyer The Forger‟s Shakespeare Library: Authorship, Book History, and ............................................................................................1 25 Eva Sicherl English Influence on Word-Formational Production in Slovene: The Case of Lexical Blending....................................................................................................1 41 Alexander Tokar Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English ........................................... 159 Der gesamte Inhalt der AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Band 1, 1976 - Band 40, 2015 ist nach AutorInnen alphabetisch geordnet abrufbar unter http: / / wwwgewi.uni-graz.at/ staff/ kettemann This journal is abstracted in: ESSE (Norwich), MLA Bibliography (New York, NY), C doc du CNRS (Paris), CCL (Frankfurt), NCELL (Göttingen), JSJ (Philadelphia, PA), ERIC Clearinghouse on Lang and Ling (Washington, DC), LLBA (San Diego), ABELL (London). Anfragen, Kommentare, Kritik, Mitteilungen und Manuskripte werden an den Herausgeber erbeten (Adresse siehe Umschlaginnenseite). Erscheint halbjährlich. Bezugspreis jährlich € 94 ,- (Vorzugspreis für private Leser € 7 4 ,-) zuzügl. Postgebühren. Einzelheft € 5 6 ,-. Die Bezugsdauer verlängert sich jeweils um ein Jahr, wenn bis zum 15. November keine Abbestellung vorliegt. © 201 9 · Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KG Dischingerweg 5, 72070 Tübingen E-mail: info@narr.de Internet: www.narr.de Die in der Zeitschrift veröffentlichten Beiträge sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Alle Rechte, insbesondere das der Übersetzung in fremde Sprachen, sind vorbehalten: Kein Teil dieser Zeitschrift darf ohne schriftliche Genehmigung des Verlages in irgendeiner Form - durch Fotokopie, Mikrofilm oder andere Verfahren - reproduziert oder in eine von Maschinen, insbesondere von Datenverarbeitungsanlagen, verwendbare Sprache übertragen werden. CPI books GmbH, Leck ISSN 0171-5410 Der gesamte Inhalt der AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Band 1, 1976 - Band 40, 2015 ist nach AutorInnen alphabetisch geordnet abrufbar unter http: / / wwwgewi.uni-graz.at/ staff/ kettemann This journal is abstracted in: ESSE (Norwich), MLA Bibliography (New York, NY), C doc du CNRS (Paris), CCL (Frankfurt), NCELL (Göttingen), JSJ (Philadelphia, PA), ERIC Clearinghouse on Lang and Ling (Washington, DC), LLBA (San Diego), ABELL (London). Anfragen, Kommentare, Kritik, Mitteilungen und Manuskripte werden an den Herausgeber erbeten (Adresse siehe Umschlaginnenseite). Erscheint halbjährlich. Bezugspreis jährlich € 94 ,- (Vorzugspreis für private Leser € 7 4 ,-) zuzügl. Postgebühren. Einzelheft € 5 6 ,-. Die Bezugsdauer verlängert sich jeweils um ein Jahr, wenn bis zum 15. November keine Abbestellung vorliegt. © 201 9 · Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KG Dischingerweg 5, 72070 Tübingen E-mail: info@narr.de Internet: www.narr.de Die in der Zeitschrift veröffentlichten Beiträge sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Alle Rechte, insbesondere das der Übersetzung in fremde Sprachen, sind vorbehalten: Kein Teil dieser Zeitschrift darf ohne schriftliche Genehmigung des Verlages in irgendeiner Form - durch Fotokopie, Mikrofilm oder andere Verfahren - reproduziert oder in eine von Maschinen, insbesondere von Datenverarbeitungsanlagen, verwendbare Sprache übertragen werden. CPI books GmbH, Leck ISSN 0171-5410 ’ Ireland‟s economic boom in the Celtic Tiger era coincided with a memory boom in Irish literary productions of the time. In this regard, recent analyses on memory in the field of Irish literary studies have mainly focused on different memory genres in contemporary Irish literature. Yet, in this memory and genre debate, Irish poetry has been largely neglected. This is particularly the case with the “celebrity of verse form” in contemporary Irish poetry: the sonnet. Thus, despite being utilized by many new Irish poets as a poetic vehicle to express various perspectives on the past, so far, there is no study on the specific potential of the Irish sonnet as a memory genre. This paper introduces one use of the sonnet as memory genre by exemplarily analyzing three poems by prize-winning poet Iggy McGovern. It shall be argued that McGovern uses the sonnet as a memory genre to present involuntary memories. This presentation of involuntary memories, it will further be claimed, becomes an instrument for critically commenting on recent developments in Celtic Tiger society. Even though the canonical texts of what is today labeled „memory studies‟ can be located throughout the twentieth century (from Maurice Halbwachs, to Aby Warburg, Pierre Nora, and Jan Assmann), the field of Irish Studies has only recently opened its academic gates to the notions of (cultural) memory. More to the point, only in the last ten to fifteen years, Irish Studies scholars have begun to slowly adapt memory theories to gain new perspectives on Ireland‟s past and present. While on some occasions the constructivist nature of Irish history writing has already been pointed out in a few studies around the turn of the century - in particular - 102 Daniel Becker in the realm of a revisionist turn in Irish historiography 1 - the „proper‟ introduction of specific memory concepts was spearheaded by studies such as Ian McBride‟s in 2001, Eberhart Bort‟s in 2004, or Mark McCarthy‟s ’ in 2005. These studies managed to lay the foundation for what, from today‟s perspective, became a persisting memory boom in Irish Studies. More recently, Oona Frawley‟s four-volume conceptualization of a specific “Irish Cultural Memory” (xvi) in (2011-2014) and Emile Pine‟s success with (2011) show the firm establishment of memory concepts in the cultural analysis of Ireland. In this context, it is not surprising to see that the same enthusiasm for memory studies has also „infected‟ one of the largest areas in the field: the analysis of Irish literature. Regarding the study of memory, Irish literary studies recently have mainly followed an international memory trend in analyzing so called memory genres: literary genres, in other words, that, with their specific set of genre features, serve as “conventionalized „formulas‟ for encoding versions of the past” (Erll 2011: 292; trans. D.B.) 2 . Since the publication of Hendrik van Gorp‟s and Ursula Mussarra- Schroeder‟s in 2000, the close interdependence of genre and memory is well-established in the field of literary memory studies. As a “guide to literary composition” (Van Gorp/ Mussara-Schroeder 2000: i) genre also functions as a guide to memory composition, making memory, by its very nature, as Astrid Erll claims, an inherently form of accessing the past (cf. Erll 2004: 4): the form of how one perceives the past is always inextricably bound to the form of the text (i.e. the genre) in which it is mediated. Thus, each memory genre becomes a literary scaffold that provides a particular formula for talking about the past. Yet, by looking at existing research on particular memory genres in Irish literature so far, one can see an imbalance in the attention given to individual genres in the memory and genre debate: analyses of genre and memory in Irish literature have mostly focused either on traditional narrative memory genres and their prose narration of the past (cf. Lynch 2009; Friberg et al. 2007) or on drama and memory as a performative act (cf. Wulff 2009; Collins/ Caulfield 2014). Poetry, on the other hand, as the most formalized, self-referential and structurally dense of the three major genres of literature (cf. Müller-Zettelmann 2000) has only been given a 1 Cf. Brian Walker (1996). ’ ; Patrick O‟Mahony/ Gerard Delanty (1998). (1998); David Lloyd (1999) . 2 In German: “Zweitens dienen bestimmte Gattungen, wie Autobiographie, Biographie oder Epos, als konventionalisierte „Formulare‟ zur Kodierung von Vergangenheitsversionen (‚Gedächtnisgattungen‟)“. 103 Fourteen Lines of Memory marginal position in the genre and memory debate; particularly regarding what Selina Guinness calls “the new Irish poets” (2004: 14), such as David Wheatley, Leanne O‟Sullivan or Mary O‟Donoghue 3 . This essay is a first attempt to counter this lack of research on recent Irish poetry and its diverse memory formulas. Given the spatial restrictions of the present format, the paper will only look at one of the more fashionable subgenres in Ireland‟s poetic scene today: the sonnet. Furthermore, the paper will contribute to a more thorough understanding of the “the new Irish poets” by exclusively focusing on the work of contemporary Irish poet Iggy McGovern who, in all of his vastly popular collections so far, (2005), (2010), (2013) and (2017), uses the sonnet form extensively. It shall be argued that in McGovern‟s use of the sonnet, among other functions, the fourteen lines serve as a formula for encoding involuntary memories. Thus, McGovern uses the sonnet genre to display memories that have been spontaneously and unwillingly triggered in a specific scenario in the present. On this basis, it shall be furthermore argued that this potential of the sonnet to present spontaneous memories in relation to the present context in which they have been triggered becomes an important tool for McGovern to critically comment upon various aspects of Ireland‟s Celtic Tiger society, including its secularization, its blatant consumerism, its business ethics and its changing relationship to the past. The paper proceeds in two steps: after a brief comment on the sonnet in contemporary Irish poetry, the first part defines the concept of involuntary memory and elaborates on the sonnet‟s general genre potential to carefully depict this specific form of accessing the past. In the second part, these theoretical considerations shall be put into practice with the help of three examples from McGovern‟s poetic output. As pointed out above, the analysis will particularly focus on how McGovern utilizes the sonnet as a means for reflecting upon Ireland‟s changing society at the beginning of the twenty-first century. 3 Thus, while some fruitful approaches to poetry and memory exist for pre-Celtic Tiger poets such as Seamus Heaney, Paul Muldoon, or John Montague (e.g. Klein 2007), the "new Irish poets", who published their first collections in the radically changed environment of Celtic Tiger Ireland, have mostly been left out of the genre and memory picture. As such, for example, newer publications on poetry like the from 2012, Nigel Alderman‟s and C.D. Blanton‟s 2009 essay collection or Pat Boran‟s of the same year do not include the insights of memory studies and genre theory in their otherwise extensive discussions on contemporary Irish poetry. 104 Daniel Becker Despite the sheer pluralism of poetic subgenres existing in contemporary Irish poetry today, the sonnet seems to retain a firm hold on its seat in the canon of Irish poetic forms. Starting with prominent examples in W.B. Yeats‟ , the sonnet form soon became a popular poetic form in twentieth century Irish poetry, as exemplified in its extensive use by Patrick Kavanagh and Seamus Heaney or the overwhelming number of 224 sonnets in Brendan Kennelly‟s classic collection (cf. Gillis 2012: 567). More importantly, in recent years, in particular in the wake of the Celtic Tiger at the turn of the century, another wave of enthusiastic Irish sonneteers, such as Tom French, Caitrina O‟Reilly or David Wheatley contributed greatly to the advent of another, and so far unprecedented, boom in sonnet writing. According to Alan Gillis, “by the 2010s, it might be easier to count the Irish poets who do not write them [i.e. sonnets] with regularity” (2012: 567). He argues that, by now, Ireland‟s poetic landscape is “saturated with sonnets” and demonstrates that the sonnet has become the “celebrity of verse form” (ibid.). One reason for the sonnet‟s most recent success as a “celebrity of verse form” might be attributed to its frequent use in exploring the past in various ways. Coinciding with a more general memory boom in Irish culture during the Celtic Tiger era (cf. Pine 2011; Whelan 2004), a whole array of sonnets written since then serve as poetic platforms for expressing all sorts of memories. Thus, recent Irish sonnets deal broadly with the past in various forms, ranging from discussions of family history in “Grandfather” by Harry Clifton or “The Omen” by John McAuliffe, to national history in “The Scar” by Tom French, and Dublin‟s urban history in David Wheatley‟s sonnet cycle “Sonnets for James Clarence Mangan”. The sonnet, one might consequently argue, is successively becoming a memory genre in its own right in Irish literature that, despite its strict rules of composition, appears capable of offering a whole array of memory formulas in a rapidly changing Irish culture. One of the numerous memory formulas associated with the contemporary Irish sonnet can be perfectly exemplified in Iggy McGovern‟s poetry. Several of his sonnets, as argued above, showcase the sonnet‟s ability to depict involuntary memories. In order to properly conceptualize this formula, one first needs to clarify what is meant by involuntary memory. For that matter, first some general aspects of memory as an active process 105 Fourteen Lines of Memory shall be discussed, before, in this framework, more specific features of the process of involuntary memory will be analyzed. Regarding memory , one argument re-appears regularly in current definitions: it is the conviction that memory is not an authentic retrieval of what „actually‟ happened in the past, but rather a genuinely reconstructive and interpretive act influenced by personal, political and/ or cultural factors in the present. Andreas Huyssen, for example, states that [h]uman memory may well be an anthropological given, but closely tied as it is to the ways a culture constructs and lives its temporality the forms memory will take are invariably contingent and subject to change. (1995: 2) Memory is inherently founded upon an insurmountable gap between what „actually‟ happened in the past and how the present perspective interprets the past. In that regard, Michael Crang states that “the past is not an immutable or independent object. Rather it is endlessly revised from our present position” (qtd. in Collins/ Caulfield 2014: 5). As such, memory can exclusively provide of the past and the present context, in which an act of memory takes place, serves as the catalyst and center of attributing meaning and form to a reconstruction. Regarding the importance of the present context, Paul A. Cohen even speaks about the “mysterious power” that the present possesses over memory as a reconstructive process, since, depending on the perspective, a remembered version of the past can bend or even break historical facts to be considered as acceptable in the present (cf. Cohen 2014: xiii). This context-sensitivity of memory becomes even more apparent when discussing the specific case of memory. In contrast to planned acts of memory, as, for instance, portrayed in the institutionalized form of public commemoration, the term „involuntary memory‟ refers to a spontaneous recollection of a past situation that has been coincidentally (i.e. non-intentionally) triggered by one or more situational cues. Like with other forms of memory, here as well, the question of how (and what of) the past is spontaneously recollected depends on the present context in which this recollection has been triggered. In that sense, Gerald Echterhoff, for instance, stresses the importance of the of memory for any involuntary recollection of the past. As such, Echterhoff points out, next to internal cognitive information - referring to the fragmentary memory traces of former sensory experiences that have been stored in one‟s cognitive memory system over time - the process of involuntary memory is predominantly defined by external conditions (cf. Echterhoff 2004: 67), most prominently emphasized by the pivotal role play in spontaneously making sense of the past. A cue can be defined as any material object, place, image or language item encountered in the present that an individual has already similarly encountered in a past 106 Daniel Becker situation and that is now „loaded‟ with a certain mnemonic association. Thus, for example, an old toy someone rediscovers by chance in the present can serve as a cue to spontaneously trigger memories of a childhood episode in which this (or a similar) toy played a role in one way or another. A cue, therefore, is a common structural denominator in two temporally distinct situations that directly juxtaposes the past to the present. In this context, Echterhoff argues, a memory cue does not merely function as a neutral stimulus in the present to set off a ready-made memory reaction but becomes an important part in how existing memory traces, triggered by the cue, are interpreted and (re)arranged into a coherent memory episode (cf. Echterhoff 2004: 67). From this perspective, the cue can be defined as a central part for attributing meaning to the past in involuntary memories. Yet, cues are only one element of the involuntary memory picture. Which version of a past situation is triggered by a cue does not only depend on the cue itself but also on how concrete cues interact with other situational factors in the present. In other words: the cue does not appear in isolation, but constantly partakes in a conglomerate of other external conditions that are also relevant for the process of involuntary memory. Without going into details here, these additional aspects may range from prevailing social memory discourses (e.g. what can and cannot be remembered in the speaker‟s society? ) to the communicative situation (e.g. who speaks to whom about the past and what is their relationship? ), to an individual‟s emotional state in the moment of recollection (e.g. the same event might be spontaneously reconstructed differently in different personal moods). With this additional differentiation in mind, involuntary memory, despite of its spontaneous nature, must be understood as an active, complex process of signification that is defined by the constant interaction between (1) general situational aspects, (2) concrete cues and (3) internal cognitive memory traces. After these brief remarks on the phenomenon of involuntary memory, what genre-specific potential can the sonnet offer to depict this process, in which various factors constantly interact? To start with, the question can be answered by briefly looking at the sonnet‟s historical roots. By the time Francesco Petrarca wrote his famous in the fourteenth century, and the sonnet was on its way to gain an international reputation (cf. Kemp 2002: 12), the fourteen-line form and its distinctive features had already been well-established in the canon of Italian/ Sicilian poetry. Thus, since legal deputy Giacomo da Lentini had first introduced the form at the Sicilian court of Hohenstaufen Emperor Frederick II. in the first half of the thirteenth century, the sonnet quickly became a popular mode of poetic expression in the following decades and was adapted 107 Fourteen Lines of Memory by three generations of poets prior to Petrarca. As such, after da Lentini had produced his sonnets exclusively dealing with love - a theme that would accompany the sonnet throughout its successful history - sonneteers like Guittonne d‟Arezzo, the „master of sonnets‟, or Rustico di Filippo broadened the sonnet‟s topical spectrum to also include political and moral issues of the latter half of the century. Finally, representatives of the , such as Dante Alighieri, more explicitly paved the way for Petrarca‟s romantic wooing of Laura. Without going into details on the exact developmental steps the sonnet took in its early stages 4 , it is most important for the paper at hand to remark that the sonnet in its early development, next to being influenced by the courtship tradition of Sicilian troubadours and their use of the stanza (cf. Borgstedt 2009: 124), was connected to a broader rhetorical and scholastic tradition of the thirteen century (cf. Schulze 1979: 333). Thus, some critics point out, the sonnet‟s genesis as a new poetic genre must be understood in the specific cultural and intellectual climate of the time, when rhetorical prowess, scholastic and mathematical exactness and, more generally, what Scott Brewster labels the “art of persuasion” were held in high esteem (2009: 43). In that sense, not only does Wilhelm Pötters describe the sonnet as the poetic equivalent to geometry - an interest most prevalent at Frederick‟s court (cf. Pötters 1998) - but also do critics like Michael Spiller claim that “[t]he sonnet is shaped at its beginning as a instrument, so to speak: for pleading, arguing, [and] asserting” (1992: 17; original emphasis). As already becomes apparent, for example, in da Lentini‟s sonnet „debate‟ with the Abadate da Tivoli on the contemporary love discourse and the objective nature of love more generally (cf. Borgstedt 2009: 153-154), the sonnet enters contemporary court society as a literary vehicle for elegant persuasion and argumentative purposes, used to decide who can more precisely capture and describe a complex concept. Already at its beginnings, therefore, as in da Lentini‟s case, the sonnet is “a space marked out by lexical connectives indicating and joining the stages of an argument. It is a theatre for intense small arguments, or persuasions, involving a progression of ideas” (Spiller 1992: 18). By combining a precise mathematical formal structure with the will of persuasively “coming to the point” (Spiller 1992: 11), the sonnet represents a rhetorical template for analyzing and epistemologically permeating an argument and/ or a complex subject matter (e.g. love, virtues, art and the process of writing; the latter mostly found in sonnets of early Romanticism), since the fourteen-line form, not unlike an analysis of a geometrical 4 A comprehensive discussion of the sonnet‟s early development can be found in Thomas Borgstedt‟s , as well as in Ulrich Mölk‟s “Die sizilianische Lyrik” (see full references in bibliography). 108 Daniel Becker pattern, can portray the logic behind a complex phenomenon by dissecting the relationship between its individual components. Formally speaking, the sonnet features at least two elements for fulfilling this task at hand: not only does the limit of fourteen lines (ten to eleven syllables each) demand a precise manner of expression, logic and argumentation, but also does the division of its structure into two parts (octave + sestet), three parts (e.g. octave + tercet/ tercet) or four parts (e.g. quatrain/ quatrain + quatrain/ couplet) and its reliance on a / turning point, make it possible to divide the content discussed into its individual components. As such, referring to August Wilhelm Schlegel‟s argument that the sonnet expresses the universal principles of connection and separation (cf. Borgstedt 2012: 42), this poetic form has the potential to dynamically attribute single formal units (e.g. octave to sestet; quatrains to tercets etc.) to different content elements, while, at the same time, keeping their respective relationship and connection in focus in the overall fourteen-line structure. This formal arrangement, as Spiller furthermore points out, is in fact so important for the sonnet, that the sonnet‟s content also needs to show a similar logic of relational components to be successfully portrayed: “it seems clear that both proportion [e.g. six/ eight] and extension [fourteen lines] affect the kind of discursive life that can be lived [in the sonnet]” (1992: 4). This is the point where involuntary memory as a complex interaction of present situational factors and respective memory versions of the past comes in. It is the simultaneity of individual components and complex structures that makes the sonnet capable of depicting involuntary memory as a relational process of present influences, cues and specific versions of a past episode. It becomes a fitting lyrical vehicle for acting as a memory genre since it can examine various situational factors as relational parts of an overall memory process. More concretely, Michael Spiller‟s description of the sonnet‟s relational structure - “six is to eight as conclusion is to proposition, or as development and summing up is to statement” (1992: 5) - fits Iggy McGovern‟s use of the sonnet where present and past function as stimulus and result of a memory process. The sonnet can illuminate the different elements playing a role in involuntary memory in individual formal units, while, simultaneously, portraying their interaction in the overall fourteen-line-structure. The sonnet, therefore, becomes the poetic place to elucidate which aspects trigger and relate to what form of memory, and how, more generally, past and present interact in the creation of involuntary memories. 109 Fourteen Lines of Memory ’ “Joggers” You come upon them suddenly cornering the Rugby Pitch, a phalanx of old warriors who murmur economic chat while turning as a single swarm on syncopated, pounding feet; an early morning phantom mist rising from their banded breath recalls the cattle at Dowra Fair that drove us in a pub doorway; emerging slowly when they‟d passed to marvel at our brush with death, my uncle stared hard after them then checked his pocket watch. (McGovern : 12) The sonnet‟s potential as a vehicle for involuntary memories, as described above, can be traced in various of Iggy McGovern‟s sonnets. “Joggers”, for example, negotiates the interaction between the different factors involved in the involuntary memory process in a classic octave/ sestet structure. More specifically, in this formal setting, the initial octave reflects the present situation (ll. 1-6) in which a memory of the past is spontaneously triggered by a cue (ll. 7-8), while the ensuing sestet describes the speaker‟s personal memory resulting from this situation (ll. 9-14). Like in all instances of involuntary memory, the present-day situation displayed in “Joggers”, as described in the first eight lines, is paramount to the way in which the past is remembered in the second half of the poem. The poem starts with the speaker‟s encounter with a group of joggers “cornering the Rugby Pitch” (l. 2): You come upon them suddenly cornering the Rugby Pitch, a phalanx of old warriors who murmur economic chat while turning as a single swarm on syncopated, pounding feet; (ll. 1-6) As they quickly approach the speaker (“you come upon them suddenly”), he/ she identifies the joggers as representatives of a Celtic Tiger economic elite, who “murmur economic chat” and who, even in the way of doing their physical exercises, are described as stereotypical members of a calculating, rational and efficient business culture in early twenty-first cen- 110 Daniel Becker tury Ireland. They move with the precision of a military formation (“a phalanx of old warriors”) that is “turning as a single swarm/ on syncopated, pounding feet”. It is this image of a tightly-knit collective, in association with the speaker‟s notion of personal threat (they are perceived as “warriors” after all), that becomes the structural „blueprint‟ for the following memory episode. More specifically, as the speaker stands face to face with members of Ireland‟s new, hard-edged , as the general discursive framework of this situation, the “early morning phantom mist/ rising from their banded breath” functions as the concrete visual cue to trigger the memory of a past situation in which the speaker was equally confronted with a threatening collective. In that sense, the speaker‟s sensory and emotional perception of the present scene shapes how the past is remembered in the sestet 5 . The “phantom mist” blurs the lines between present and past - as it, formally speaking, blurs the lines between octave and sestet in the enjambment in lines eight and nine - and the speaker instantly recalls the cattle at Dowra Fair that drove us in a pub doorway; emerging slowly when they‟d passed to marvel at our brush with death, my uncle stared hard after them then checked his pocket watch. (ll. 9-14) The present situation resembles the speaker‟s childhood experience of nearly being killed by wild “cattle at Dowra Fair” (l.9) that left the speaker and his uncle behind speechless. Furthermore, the speaker also remembers the immediate aftermath of the threatening encounter: as they emerge from the doorway, the uncle “stared hard after them/ then checked his pocket watch”; a gesture suggesting the uncle‟s attempt to regain control and stability after this sudden and unexpected confrontation. Without going to further details here, as pointed out above, in McGovern‟s sonnets this depiction of involuntary memory as an interaction between different elements is used to critically reflect on various developments in Celtic Tiger Ireland. In this regard, in poems such as “Joggers”, one feature of the involuntary memory process becomes particularly important: involuntary memory is based on a structural similarity 5 The dynamic relationship between the various factors in the process of memory is additionally reflected on the sonnet‟s formal level, as can, for example, be seen in the sonnet‟s rhythmical composition: the steady and regular rhythm used to support the joggers‟ perfectly coordinated movements in the octave (cf. l.6) is continued in the sestet to describe the movement of the cattle. As much as the present situation serves as the blueprint for the past, the rhythm of the octave „dictates‟ the rhythm in the sestet. 111 Fourteen Lines of Memory between a situation in the past and the present, as spontaneously connected by a cue. In McGovern‟s case, as shall be argued, this spontaneous juxtaposition of two temporally distinct situations, which lies at the core of involuntary memory, is used as an instrument for comparing Celtic Tiger Ireland to a more traditional Ireland. Thus, when looking more closely at the two situations in “Joggers”, the interaction between the octave and the sestet is not merely the spontaneous juxtaposition of two similar personal experiences in past and present. Rather, each situation also contains semantic markers emblematic for the Irish cultural context in which the respective personal experiences are set: while the speaker‟s personal memory of the past is marked by the semiotics of a rural (“cattle at Dowra Fair”), and communal/ familial Ireland (“pub”; “my uncle”), his/ her present-day situation hints at the fast-paced Ireland (“joggers”; “suddenly”) that is dominated by the discourse of economic efficiency (see “economic chat” and the joggers‟ efficient movements). As will be shown below, the scene from rural Ireland stands as a poetic mirror against which the flaws of present Celtic Tiger Ireland are uncovered. In this context, therefore, it is not merely the present that influences the past, but also the past that now reflects on the present. More to the point, the flaws that are uncovered in a comparative manner concern the ethical realm of Celtic Tiger culture. In that sense, the speaker‟s comparison of the Celtic Tiger business men with animals gone wild, next to constituting an unflattering comparison in its own right, resembles the discursive tropes often used by cultural critics criticizing Ireland‟s corroding sense of community and the boom in „business ethics‟ during the Celtic Tiger years. The argument goes as follows: as Ireland swiftly transformed to become a “nation of entrepreneurs” (Kerrigan 2012: 3), Ireland‟s social and cultural values took a turn to the worse. Thus, as Emily O‟Reilly famously states, with Irish society being enthralled by its sudden economic success, it turned into a moral “vulgar fest” that was manifested in “the obscene parading of obscene wealth, the debasement of our civic life […], the fracturing of our community life” (qtd. in Fahey/ Russell/ Whelan 2007: 2). Similarly, in their study (2005), Kieran Keohane and Carmen Kuhling trace a substantial change in Irish cultural values during the Celtic Tiger years, from familial care and communal bonds to the discourse of competitive individualism. In their opinion, this individualist shift quickly achieved a dominant status in Irish society that made it “morally binding, for to doubt, or not to participate, or to underperform, is to let the side down” (145). With this new focus on competitiveness and individual profit in mind, Ireland, other critics argue, was dominated by the “restricted vocabulary of the business studies” (Ging/ Cronin/ Kirby 2009: 4; see “economic chat”). This economic fixation became most apparent in the context of a new social elite of property developers, managers and bankers that prospered in Ireland‟s booming 112 Daniel Becker economic sector: as Fintan O‟Toole claims, the business sector of that time resembled a wild west setting where an „anything is possible‟ mindset and a Darwinian struggle for survival went hand in hand (cf. O‟Toole 2010: 138). In “Joggers”, the comparison of the business men with cattle poetically underlines the ruthlessness of this new business ethos in Celtic Tiger Ireland. More specifically, set on the racing tracks around the “Rugby Pitch”, the poem metaphorically comments on the new social and economic elite that is now (quite literally) „running‟ Ireland. The instinctual behavior of actual cattle without a care for its surroundings, as presented in the past scene, is still maintained and displayed by this elite in the present. Like cattle, the juxtaposition suggests, these businessmen narrowly follow their instincts (for profit and efficiency) without minding any damage that might ensue. In this context, the comparison to cattle adds a strongly Darwinian touch to the description of Celtic Tiger Ireland. The business men‟s symbolic threat (“warriors”) in the octave is enhanced by a component of actual physical threat in the sestet, as the speaker adds the immediate personal “brush with death” to the description. The image of the cattle, therefore, is used here as a familiar cultural script to grasp and understand the new business ethos more closely. The Celtic Tiger is a battleground, where any obstacle in the way (like the speaker in both situations) is prone to be „run over‟ by representatives of a new Irish culture that leaves the speaker alienated and dislocated, since he/ she can neither return to the past (since it is gone for good), nor participate in the present climate: caught in their “restricted vocabulary” (cf. “economic chat”), these joggers do not leave any room for dissenters. Confronted with this closed collective, the observing speaker is positioned in the role of „the other‟ that is now driven out of the way. Instead, the speaker, instantly faced with this new element in Irish culture (the joggers appear “suddenly”), can only “marvel” at his/ her “brush” with representatives of an utterly changed contemporary Ireland. “Arrival” In “Arrival”, from McGovern‟s second volume , the classic octave/ sestet structure is replaced by a tripartite composition of two quintets framing a quartet. O happy accident to have discovered The Grand Hotel, the kind of place where gents will don a jacket and tie for Dinner, and waiters dance around on tippy-toes with trays of hall-marked silver and good delft. Authentic re-creation of „The Big House‟ where your grandfather was head gardener, 113 Fourteen Lines of Memory his child - your mother - buffing each stair-rod till she could see in it the very face you meet these days at every turn-about: here, playing Patience on a sunny terrace; there, linked as far as this low seaside-fence, now threatening a round of Crazy Golf if it keeps good, before the week is out. (McGovern , 41) In this structural framework, the first five lines describe the general setting of the present situation. In lines six to nine, the speaker spontaneously reflects on the family history of a nameless you-persona. Finally, the last five lines return to the present and continue the description of the present setting as commenced at the beginning of the poem. Like in “Joggers”, the present setting in “Arrival” plays an important role for how the past is remembered at the center of the poem. To begin with, “Arrival” is the first sonnet in a five-sonnet cycle called “The Five-Day Break”, in which each sonnet provides a brief day-to-day glimpse into the holiday experiences of an anonymous „you‟-tourist. The first sonnet, as the title suggests, describes the tourist‟s arrival at “The Grand Hotel” (l. 2) at the beginning of his/ her holidays. In this context, the poem‟s communicative situation is particularly noteworthy: it is not the tourist that describes his/ her own impressions of the present locale, but a covert speaker that provides these impressions (as well as the memory episode, see below) for the tourist. Given the touristic backdrop of the sonnet sequence, the speaker in “Arrival”, one might argue, resembles the voice of the hotel‟s brochure that promotes all the advantages of staying at this place to a new customer personified by the you-addressee. In this regard, the speaker describes the hotel as an exciting spectacle that dazzles the you-tourist with its sheer elegance and luxury: O happy accident to have discovered the Grand Hotel, the kind of place where gents will don a jacket and tie for Dinner, and waiters dance around on tippy-toes with trays of hall-marked silver and good delft. (ll. 1-5) With waiters dancing around, men wearing suit and tie, and “trays of hall-marked silver” being presented, this hotel is shown as a splendid appearance in every single visual detail. This focus on the grandeur of the hotel subsequently also informs the memory episode triggered in the following four lines. Thus, the speaker‟s glimpse at the past in lines seven to nine - activated by another advertising cue that proclaims that this hotel is an “[a]uthentic re-creation of „The Big House‟” (l. 6) - adopts the motif of visual grandeur and underlines the hotel‟s present appearance from a 114 Daniel Becker historical perspective: in connection to the visual appearance of the present place, the memory episode accordingly only contains information related to the visual appearance of the original Big House. In that sense, the grandfather and mother of the you-character are only remembered for their work contributions - the grandfather personally surveilling the house‟s surroundings, and the mother caring for the perfect cleanliness within - to make the original place as beautiful as it is in its reconstructed state today: Authentic re-creation of „The Big House‟ where your grandfather was head gardener, his child - your mother - buffing each stair-rod till she could see in it the very face. (ll. 6-9) The positive perception of the hotel in the present, in other words, also influences the positive perspective on the original Big House in the past. Finally, in an enjambment between line nine and ten, the speaker instantly returns to the present to allow the tourist a glimpse at the free-time activities this place has to offer, such as “Patience on a sunny terrace” (l. 11) or “a round of Crazy Golf” (l. 13). Given this close interaction between a situation in the present and a memory episode spontaneously triggered in this situation, how does the poem‟s display of an involuntary memory process factor into a critical perspective on Celtic Tiger Ireland? For starters, the juxtaposition of a past and a present situation, inherent to the spontaneous recollection of memory, is the main aspect to be taken into consideration. Thus, while the present Ireland is defined in touristic terms (see below), the reference to “„The Big House‟” evokes the broader cultural dimension of Ireland under British and Anglo-Irish rule as a point of comparison. Yet, in contrast to “Joggers”, in “Arrival” the critical reflection on the present via the past is not so much established in what is said about the past, than in what is about Ireland‟s history. The term „Big House‟ originally refers to the grand and majestic houses occupied by members of the Anglo-Irish Ascendency, particularly during the eighteenth and nineteenth century. The houses‟ pompousness, as an architectural signifier of its inhabitants‟ political dominance, would stand in stark contrast to the horrendous living conditions a large proportion of Irish Catholics had to endure under their Anglo-Irish landlords. This contrast repeatedly fueled political and physical confrontations, such as in the context of the Irish Famine and the Land Wars in the midto late-nineteenth century. Therefore, when due to the political activism of Daniel O‟ Connell and the establishment of the Land League and the Gaelic League, disenfranchised Catholics finally found a united voice in the nationalist narrative of Ireland‟s long-lasting suppression, the Big House quickly became a shared symbol for Anglo-Irish treachery and the stre- 115 Fourteen Lines of Memory nuous life under British rule. In the following decades this negative symbolic association became an integral part of Ireland‟s cultural memory and in an equally symbolic gesture by Irish nationalist revolutionaries, many houses were destroyed during the period of Ireland‟s struggle for independence. Yet, in “Arrival”, none of these darker aspects of the Big House are remembered by the speaker. The present Big House is merely depicted as a hotel for tourists who, like the poem‟s character, desire luxury (“silver and good delft”) and entertainment (“Patience”, “Crazy Golf”), but not an accurate portrayal of the place‟s historical heritage. The specific version of the past in lines seven to nine, like in “Joggers”, reflects upon the present situation in which this memory episode has been triggered. The highly-limited perspective on the original Big House, which only depicts its outward appearance reveals the present‟s shallow relationship with its historical antecedent: the Grand Hotel is a mere copy of the original House, yet without the political symbolism attached. In this regard, the poem‟s depiction of the Grand Hotel, and its past, resembles a more general critical discourse on Celtic Tiger Ireland‟s heritage industry. During the Celtic Tiger boom Ireland gained an international reputation of economic and cultural success. Consequently, the heightened global attention on the small nation led to a flourishing tourist sector and, in turn, an increasing commercialization of Irish history for touristic purposes. As critics of Ireland‟s heritage industry remark, this commemorative shift coincided with a problematic process of re-writing certain aspects of the nation‟s past. Thus, Seamus Deane, for example, argues that during the Celtic Tiger years the past became “a kind of supermarket for tourists” (1998: 239) in which, to stay within the metaphor, only the „good parts‟ of the past are offered to the customers, while any components that do not meet the consumer‟s taste, are kept off the shelves. In that sense, as Marc McCarthy furthermore points out, this new “form of popular history” (2005: 3) applies a strongly selective, economic filter on the past through which only those elements of history become visible that increase the present market value of Ireland‟s tourist sector. Taking this narrow economic interest of heritage industry as a starting point, Peadar Kirby, Luke Gibbons and Michael Cronin expand the discussion by explicitly drawing attention to the profound lack of an ethical dimension in this form of public memory: it provides an access to the past that simply disregards the traumatic sub-structure of Irish history. This uncritical perspective, according to the authors, ultimately results in sanitized versions of Ireland‟s national past that simply “massage[] conflict out of representations” (2002: 7) and transform an often controversial Irish past into a commodity to be easily consumed by tourists in the present. In “Arrival”, the Big House tradition is similarly depicted as a sanitized commodity, since, here as well, the perspective offered by the 116 Daniel Becker speaker in lines six to nine, “massages conflict out of representations”. The speaker reverses the symbolic order described above and transforms the Big House into a positively connoted asset for the present: now, the hotel does not only offer a classy design, but is also advertised as a place containing a rich and “authentic” cultural heritage. The speaker utilizes only a strictly limited fragment of the Big House past and recontextualizes it in a touristic setting. As such, he/ she counters the old (nationalist) narrative in Irish cultural memory. Accordingly, when the mother stares into the polished stair-rod, she does not see her own reflection, but only the everyday faces of a depoliticized present setting: till she could see in it the very face you meet these days at every turn-about: here, playing Patience on the sunny terrace; there, linked as far as this low seaside-fence, now threatening a round of Crazy Golf, if it keeps good, before the week is out. (ll. 9-14) Any conflict that might linger in recalling this symbolically-loaded episode of Irish history is sanitized and translated into present threats of a surprisingly unthreatening nature: the present offers a safe, apolitical terrain in which the only threat is “a round of Crazy Golf” and the possibility that the weather might change (“if it keeps good”). “Sunday at the DIY Store” We let ourselves be jostled through the porch of the New Jerusalem, to dab in the font of Superglue, the kind that bonds thumb to forefinger making us priests forever. Inside, as I turn right for Tools while you go on to Bath Accessories, I think of how my mother kept her place by the Third Station, my father his in the gloom of the Lady Chapel. Because I fear their certainties I join you in time to choose the splash-back with the mock chrome trim and share the sign of peace. (McGovern , 6) In “Sunday at the DIY Store” McGovern addresses Ireland‟s exhilarated consumerism and secularization during the Celtic Tiger years. Like in “Arrival”, involuntary memory is structurally depicted in a three-part 117 Fourteen Lines of Memory composition of (1) the general setting in the present, (2) cue and memory reaction and (3) the speaker‟s reaction to the involuntary memory. The poem starts with the speaker and his wife going on a shopping tour in a DIY store on a Sunday, one of the most crowded shopping days in Celtic Tiger Ireland. Right from the start, the speaker describes this shopping activity as a form of national ritual with a quasi-religious dimension: We let ourselves be jostled through the porch of the New Jerusalem […]. (ll. 1-2) As soon as the speaker and his partner enter the store, they seem to lose their individuality and become part of a mass movement of worshippers streaming into a new realm of consumerist salvation, as they “let” themselves “be jostled through/ the porch” (ll. 1-2). The first line here already serves as a memory cue: the mass entrance of people into the DIY store reminds the speaker of mass pilgrimages to the „old‟ Jerusalem. Yet, in present-day Ireland, this „old‟ Jerusalem, where the mass was motivated by a search for spirituality, is replaced by the “New Jerusalem”, where people are motivated instead by consumerist desire. As such, the consumer, as a devoted disciple of the materialist cause, is transformed into a priest-like figure: to dab in the font of Superglue, The kind that bonds thumb to forefinger Making us priests forever. (ll. 3-5) The Catholic iconography of church-goers dabbing their fingers into the font of holy water - as the poem‟s first reference to a more traditional Catholic Ireland - is altered in this setting to become the figurative notion of consumers who come to the “the font of Superglue”. Yet, this font is not a source of blessing but of bondage: like the “Superglue”, consumerism is able to “bond[]” its disciples “forever”. In this setting, a memory episode from the speaker‟s own family history is triggered. The situational cue is the following: [i]nside, as I turn right for Tools while you go on to Bath Accessories, (ll. 6-7) Once inside the store, the speaker and his partner immediately separate to search for items appropriate for their (commodified) sense of gender: masculinity is established in practical, manual labour, as depicted in “Tools”, while femininity is related to beauty and cleanliness in form of “Bath Accessories”. This gendered spatial separation becomes the concrete cue for a memory episode in lines eight to ten. Once again, the present situation shows an impact on what is remembered of the past: the 118 Daniel Becker speaker‟s present impression of the DIY store as a quasi-religious site in the first five lines, in connection to the cue of a gender division in lines six to seven, triggers the memory episode of his parents attending the Sunday service: I think how my mother kept her place By the Third Station, my father his In the gloom of the Lady Chapel. (ll. 8-10) The church routine of his parents, like the speaker‟s present Sundayshopping-routine, was based on a gendered spatial separation: they are seated separately, as husband and wife, in different parts of the church (i.e. “Third Station” vs. “Lady Chapel”). With its reference to a Sunday mass, the sonnet once again introduces a more specifically Irish cultural component. As such, the spontaneous juxtaposition of present and past in the first ten lines of the poem evokes an instant comparison between a modern consumerist Ireland and a conservative, Catholic Ireland. Like in the other two sonnets discussed above, in “Sunday at the DIY Store” the past becomes a mirror against which the present Celtic Tiger society is examined more closely. More specifically, the juxtaposition of religion and consumerism underlines the phenomenon of the “property cult” that developed during the Celtic Tiger years (O‟Toole 2010: 3). Starting in the mid-1990s, consumerism pushed religion from its throne as one of the most important features of Irish lifestyle (cf. Inglis 2005: 73). As several scandals involving Catholic priests and a more liberal sexual policy successively weakened the Church‟s position, the economic possibility for seemingly unlimited consumption took religion‟s place in mainstream society. By the early 2000s, as Kieran Keohane and Karmen Kuhling point out, the notion of consumerism has become an all-pervasive force in Irish society that is defended with religious zeal: “our totem, the Celtic Tiger, is a sign of our new strength and confidence. It is taboo to criticize the Celtic Tiger, to doubt its existence is a contemporary form of heresy” (2005: 143). In the same vein, Gene Kerrigan, commenting on the new “theology of neoliberalism”, points out that, like the “priests” in the DIY store, “the country then was full of true believers” in the consumerist cause (2012: 45). It is this notion of consumerism taking the place of religion that is reflected in the poem‟s involuntary memory process. In looking at the two situations in detail, the poem suggests that the two versions of Irish society are not too far apart, as the behavior of its people is strikingly similar to each other. Hence, both situations entail a conventionalized Sunday routine of a collective gathering at a certain place and an act of gendering associated with this habit respectively. Yet, in comparing the similarities between an „old‟ and a „new‟ Ireland, the sonnet also hints at their major difference. Ireland might still seem to follow the same social habi- 119 Fourteen Lines of Memory tus, but the variable of what controls and motivates this habitus has changed completely: consumerism takes up the role formerly fulfilled by religion as it provides meaning and order to Celtic Tiger Ireland (as indicated in the different aisles ordered according to different, gendered commodities), as much as Catholicism would offer order to Ireland in the past (as indicated in the seating order in the church). In that sense, the “gloom” of religion over Irish people (here in form of the “Lady Chapel”) is replaced by the “font of Superglue”. The hierarchy between priest and congregation is dissolved: now, everyone can become a priest, „glued‟ to the deity of consumerism for eternity. In this context, the speaker, by means of comparison, exposes presentday Ireland as a shallow simulacrum of a meaningful relationship between self and world. In that sense, when the speaker returns to the present, after being suddenly confronted with his own family history, he “fear[s] their [his parents‟] certainties” (l. 11) and, in his disheveled emotional state, instantly searches for the company and security of his partner: I join you in time to choose the splash-back with the mock chrome trim and share the sign of peace. (ll. 12-14) The memory episode introduces an ominous moment into the speaker‟s present. His parents‟ situation is uncanny to the speaker as it is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It is familiar as they share a similar, gendered routine, but it is also unfamiliar as their motivation (religion vs. consumerism) is entirely different. The two situations are therefore only similar on a surface level and the parents‟ past threatens to scratch the very surface of the speaker‟s own Sunday routine. In comparison to “their certainties”, based on faith, his own certainty is merely a simulacrum of certainty or, put differently, it is merely “the of peace” (l.14; emphasis added), rather than peace itself. As indicated in the “ chrome trim” (l. 13; emphasis added), the present situation is a mere copy and mimesis of a former religious faith. In this context, Michael Böss and Eamon Mahler claim that Ireland suffered from the “erosion of a collective soul” in recent years (2003: 12). The present is a terrain of surfaces that is spiritually empty: it binds its participants to their consumerist desires, while covering the lack of a more meaningful foundation underneath. Only a glimpse at the past, as a form of „digging‟ below the present surfaces, can uncover this spiritual gap that exposes Irish consumerism as a “mock” religion. 120 Daniel Becker As this essay has shown, Iggy McGovern uses the sonnet as a memory genre to depict involuntary memories. As exemplified with the help of three sonnets from McGovern‟s work, in this poetic memory genre, spontaneously triggered personal memories are reflected in connection to their respective present context of remembrance. These sonnets are defined by showing involuntary memory as an interaction between different situational factors, cues, and existing memory traces. On a formal level, this interaction is expressed in the connection of different formal units in an overall fourteen-line-structure, as well as in the sonnet‟s potential to display correlations between these individual components. Furthermore, McGovern uses this display of involuntary memories as a poetic vehicle for critically commenting upon various social aspects of Celtic Tiger Ireland, ranging from a new business elite, to Ireland‟s recent heritage industry and consumerism. In the spontaneous juxtaposition of different Celtic Tiger situations to memories of similar situations in a more traditional Ireland, McGovern manages to uncover deficits and weaknesses in the Celtic Tiger‟s superficial culture. This essay only provides one example of a poetic sub-genre and its memory potential but there are many other forms which Irish poems use to relate past and present experiences (e.g. the villanelle or the free-verse narrative poem, two forms often found in contemporary Irish poetry). Furthermore, the present analysis of the sonnet as a memory genre is far from exhausted. As pointed out above, this essay is merely beginning to examine the sonnet‟s memory potential, with many paths still left to be explored. Further research, for example, might include addressing the following two questions: (1) how is the sonnet as a memory genre to depict involuntary memories related to other memory formulas of the sonnet in McGovern‟s work, or the work of other new Irish poets (e.g. compared to sonnets that dedicate the entire 14-line space to the past, without any references to the present)? (2) How can the recent revival of the sonnet in Irish poetry in general, and especially the use of the sonnet as a memory genre, be interpreted in the larger context of Ireland‟s immense cultural transformation over the last two decades? Why does this poetic form become so popular at the moment of Ireland transitioning through radical developments regarding its relationship to history or its cultural and political identity? As Hendrik van Gorp and Ursula Musarra- Schroeder point out, the appearance and popularity of literary genres depend on the “cultural problem” that needs to be discussed in a society at a given time in its historical development (2000: ii). Which problem does the sonnet deal with? These (and other) questions remain to be discussed in future research on an innovative new generation of contempo- 121 Fourteen Lines of Memory rary Irish poets that, so far, has mostly flown under the radar of academic attention 6 . Alderman, Nigel/ C.D. Blanton (Eds.) (2009). . Chichester: Blackwell. Boran, Pat (Ed.) (2009). . Dublin: Dedalus Press. Borgstedt, Thomas (2009). . Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag. Borgstedt, Thomas (2012). “Die Zahl im Sonett als Voraussetzung seiner Transmedialität“. . Ed. Erika Greber and Evi Zemanek. Dozwil: Edition Signathur. 41-59. Bort, Eberhart (2004). . Dublin: Irish Academic Press. Böss, Michael/ Eamon Mahler (2003). “Introduction”. . Ed. Michael Böss and Eamon Mahler. Dublin: Veritas. 9-30. Brady, Ciaran (Ed.) (1998). . Dublin: Irish Academic Press. Brearton, Fran/ Alan Gillis (Eds.) (2012). . Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brewster, Scott (2009). . Abingdon: Routledge. Clifton, Harry (2007). “Grandfather”. . Winston-Salem: Wake Forest University Press. 95. Cohen, Paul A. (2014). . New York: Columbia University Press. Collins, Christopher/ Mary P. Caulfield (2014). “Introduction: The Rest is History”. Christopher Collins/ Mary P. Caulfield (Eds.). . Houndsmills: Palgrave. 1-18. Deane, Seamus (1998). “Wherever Green is Read”. Ciaran Brady (Ed.). . Dublin: Irish Academic Press. 234-245. Echterhoff, Gerald (2004). “Das Außen des Erinnerns: Was vermittelt individuelles und kollektives Gedächtnis”. Astrid Erll/ Ansgar Nünning (Eds.).. Ed. Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning. Berlin: de Gruyter. 61-82. Erll, Astrid (2004). “Einleitung: Medien des kulturellen Gedächtnisses - ein (erinnerungs-)kulturwissenschaftlicher Kompaktbegriff”. Astrid Erll/ Ansgar Nünning (Eds.) . Berlin: de Gruyter. 3-24. Erll, Astrid (2011). “Literaturwissenschaft”. Christian Gudehus/ Ariane Eichenberg/ Harald Welzer (Eds.). . Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler. 288-298. 6 Iggy McGovern is also one of the poets to be analysed in Daniel Becker‟s PhDthesis on representations of national history in Irish poetry since the Celtic Tiger, which he recently submitted. 122 Daniel Becker Fahey, Tony/ Helen Russell/ Christopher T. Whelan (2007). “Quality of Life after the Boom”. Tony Fahey/ Helen Russell/ Christopher T. Whelan (Eds.). . Heidelberg: Springer. 1-10. Frawley, Oona (Ed.) (2011-2014). , Vol. 1- 4. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. French, Tom (2001). “The Scar”. . Loughcrew: Gallery Press. 61. Friberg, Hedda/ Irene Gilsenan Nordin/ Lene Yding Pedersen (Eds.). . Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Gillis, Alan (2012). “The Modern Irish Sonnet”. Fran Brearton/ Alan Gillis (Eds.). . Oxford: Oxford University Press. 567-587. Ging, Debbie/ Michael Cronin/ Peadar Kirby (2009). “Transforming Ireland: Challenges”. Debbie Ging/ Michael Cronin/ Peadar Kirby (Eds.). . Manchester: Manchester University Press. 1-17. Guinness, Selina (2004) (Ed.). . Highgreen: Bloodaxe Books. Huyssen, Andreas (1995). . New York: Routledge. Inglis, Tom (2005). “Religion, Identity, State and Society”. Joe Cleary/ Claire Connolly (Eds.). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 59-77. Kemp, Friedhelm (2002). . Vol. 1. Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag. Keohane, Kieran/ Carmen Kuhling (2005). . Dublin: The Liffey Press. Kerrigan, Gene (2012). ’ London: Transworld Ireland. Kirby, Peadar/ Luke Gibbons/ Michael Cronin (2002). “Introduction”. Peadar Kirby/ Luke Gibbons/ Michael Cronin (Eds.). . London: Plato Press. 1-20. Klein, Bernhard (2007). . Manchester: Manchester University Press. Lloyd, David (1999). . Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Lynch, Claire (2009). . Bern: Peter Lang. McAuliffe, John (2007). “The Omen”. . Loughcrew: Gallery Press. 44. McBride, Ian (Ed.) (2001). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McCarthy, Mark (Ed.) (2005). ’ . Aldershot: Ashgate. McGovern, Iggy (2005). . Dublin: Dedalus Press. McGovern, Iggy (2010). . Dublin: Dedalus Press. McGovern, Iggy (2013). . Dublin: Quaternia Press. McGovern, Iggy (2017). . Dublin: Dedalus Press. Mölk, Ulrich (1981). “Die sizilianische Lyrik“. Henning Krauß (Ed.). . Vol 7: Europäisches Hochmittelalter. Wiesbaden: Phaidon. 49-60. 123 Fourteen Lines of Memory Müller-Zettelmann, Eva (2000). . Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. O‟ Mahony, Patrick/ Gerard Delanty (1998). . Houndsmills: MacMillan. O‟Toole, Fintan (2010). . New York: Public Affairs. Pine, Emile (2011). . Houndsmills: Palgrave. Pötters, Wilhelm (1998). . Ravenna: Longo. Schulze, Joachim (1979). “Die sizilianische Wende der Lyrik“. 11. 318- 342. Spiller, Michael R.G (1992). . London: Routledge. Van Gorp, Hendrik/ Ursula Musarra-Schroeder (2000). “Introduction: Literary Genres and Cultural Memory”. Hendrik Van Gorp/ Ursula Musarra-Schroeder (Eds.). . Amsterdam: Rodopi. i-ix. Walker, Brian (1996). ’ . Belfast: Institute of Irish Studies. Wheatley, David (2000). “Sonnets for James Clarance Mangan”. . Loughcrew: Gallery Press. 12-25. Whelan, Kevin (2004). “The Revisionist Debate in Ireland”. 2 31.1. 179-205. Wulff, Helena (2009). . Oxford: Berghahn Books. The Forger’s Shakespeare Library This essay explores the literary strategies used in a contemporary novel that engages with key questions in Shakespeare studies, book history and authorship research - something not usually considered a promising topic for a novel. The essay is in two parts: first, it addresses current ways of thinking about the relationship between Shakespeare and the history of the book, including questions of Shakespearean authorship and ownership; then it uses by Arthur Phillips (2011) as a case study of how a contemporary novel explores these questions creatively. Connecting this case study with current research in early modern bibliography, textual studies and authorship studies should lead to an improved sense not only of the kind of writer that Shakespeare was, but also of the ways in which the possible-world scenarios of fiction can illuminate the limits of our understanding. How can Shakespeare studies contribute to contemporary fiction, and what - if anything - can a novel contribute to Shakespeare studies? “Virtual monkeys write Shakespeare”: in 2011, the BBC used this headline to report on a project whose goal was to test whether millions of networked computer programmes generating random sequences of text would ultimately arrive at Shakespeare‟s works (“Virtual” 2011). Such experiments are based on the famous theorem that typing monkeys, given enough time, will almost certainly produce any conceivable text in the world. It is no surprise that, in the English-speaking world, this popular theorem is regularly connected with Shakespeare. Even in many non- Anglophone countries, Shakespeare has become a cultural presence to an - 126 Ingo Berensmeyer extent that no other writer and no body of texts apart from the Bible or the Quran have achieved. Shakespeare‟s lasting presence, moreover, is not confined to “capital-C „high-brow‟” culture (Reinfandt 2009: 199) but also extends to lower-case popular culture: entertainment, tourism, and advertising. Next to theatre, cinema, schools or universities, Shakespeare can be encountered in numerous popular media products such as the and Youtube mashups, not to mention merchandising items or collectibles like the Shakespeare rubber duck or beer mat (see Lanier 2002). Shakespeare has survived the ages not merely as a museum item but, to use Jan Kott‟s classic phrase, as “our contemporary” (Kott 1974): a reservoir of cultural meanings that are constantly being reinterpreted for new generations and applied to new situations. Arthur Phillips‟s (2011) is a contemporary example of using Shakespeare in order to make a literary point about modern authorship and the history of books - fields that are closely connected to Shakespeare in literary studies today. It is also an example of a recent trend in printed literature that uses the formal qualities and functional features of the material book and its history (layout, typography and the affordances of the codex) for non-traditional narrative and stylistic effects and purposes. It confronts the authority of Shakespeare with the budding prospects of an emerging modern author, reflecting on questions of originality, imitation and attribution; it pits the (cultural and economic) value of authenticity against the dangers of deceit through forgery and the literary fake; and it creates an elaborate literary game for its readers, whom it leaves the less deceived at the end. (Spoiler alert: readers unfamiliar with should first read the novel before potentially ruining the experience by reading this essay.) But first things first. Studies of authorship in the early modern period, especially when they discuss Shakespeare, can always count on a certain amount of attention. In the Internet age, the so-called „Shakespeare authorship question‟ has been filling more blogs and books than ever before. Most of these are concerned with conspiracy theories that merely want to replace Shakespeare‟s name with a different one who is taken to be the „real‟ Shakespeare. It appears to be fruitless to remind the selfproclaimed „anti-Stratfordians‟ that their romantic concept of authorship does not fit the writing practices of early modern poets and dramatists, or that Shakespearean authorship questions are already interesting enough without having to postulate a conspiracy and thus create an even greater enigma involving the Earl of Oxford, Christopher Marlowe, Francis Bacon or anyone else. As is well known, Shakespeare‟s authorship was not questioned until his fame took on glorious proportions in the late eighteenth century, when his prestige attracted sceptics eager to have their moment in the spotlight by means of retrospective character assassination or by discovering hidden ciphers in the texts, or both (Shapiro 2010: 1). The genuinely interesting questions are not about replacing one name with 127 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Library another, but about how to understand early modern dramatic authorship as a set of material practices and socio-cultural ascriptions within textual culture, between the stage and the page. Consider the following two scenarios: 1) In Suffolk, in 1823, Sir Henry Bunbury finds an old book in the manor house of Great Barton that he has recently inherited. The book, described as “a small quarto, barbarously cropped, and very ill-bound,” (Bunbury, qtd. in Lesser 2015: 1) contains twelve plays by Shakespeare, including a previously unknown version of : a version with a much shorter text and several important variants. Its name for Polonius is “Corambis” and it includes new stage directions such as “Enter the ghost in his night gowne” in the closet scene. This discovery causes a sensation in Shakespeare studies, and the First Quarto of has remained an enigma ever since. - Sir Henry Bunbury? Doesn‟t that sound like a character invented by Oscar Wilde? But indeed, in this case truth is stranger than fiction; these are the facts behind the actual discovery of the first quarto of 2) In 2009, Random House - “the largest general-interest trade book publisher in the world” (“Random” 2016), jointly owned by Bertelsmann and Pearson - announces a publishing sensation: a newly discovered play by Shakespeare, “the first certain addition to Shakespeare‟s canon since the seventeenth century” (Phillips 2011a: vii). This play was found in the 1950s and had been held in a private collection; its quarto print dates from 1597, making it the first to bear Shakespeare‟s name on the title page. The preface to this publication speculates that the play‟s topic may have been too “politically dangerous” (ibid.) for it to be included in the First Folio of 1623. This forgotten play is Shakespeare‟s take on the legendary British king. Now it is not unlikely that a major publishing house would pay a substantial sum for a previously unknown Shakespeare play that passes all the tests of authentication, stylistic and forensic. Here is a brief sample of the play, from Arthur‟s soliloquy at the beginning of act 5, scene 3: Our backs are pressed to th‟raging Humber‟s waves; There is no way but forward, as in life. Our feet are pulled into this water-turf, So eager is some fate to see us earthed. What chronicle will soon be writ of us In this so yielding and unyielding ooze? Is this the promised end to such a realm As I had built upon my father‟s wars? If Arthur‟s story ends in quaggy field, How will it play and how best fill a stage? (Phillips 2011a: 359; 5.3.1-10) 128 Ingo Berensmeyer Seasoned Shakespeareans might wonder why they have never heard of this putative publishing sensation. This is because the scenario is fictional: it is part of the novel by Arthur Phillips, first published by Random House in 2011. It will lead us to the topic of „Shakespeare and the book‟, a vast but still fairly young area of research. For all we know, Shakespeare wrote for theatrical performance first and foremost, not with an audience of readers in mind - or did he? For a long time, the dominant consensus was that Shakespeare was not interested in seeing his plays printed. As late as the year 2000, the authors of a standard handbook article on the topic claimed that Shakespeare “never showed the least bit of interest in being a dramatic author while he lived” (Berger and Lander 2000: 409). A few years ago, Lukas Erne, Patrick Cheney and others seriously challenged this established doxa by claiming that Shakespeare was also (if not predominantly) a dramatist, and that Shakespeareans still had a lot to learn from studying the earliest printed texts of Shakespeare's plays and their place in the early modern book trade. The old, rather artificial distinction between drama as performance and drama as literature, between stage and page, was revived, and camp formation followed suit, with both sides accusing the other of wilful ignorance or worse. Only recently, and most notably in the work of Tiffany Stern, print and performance have come together again in mutually informing and illuminating ways (see Erne 2003 and 2013, Cheney 2008, Stern 2009). Shakespeare and the book, then, may seem somewhat of a marginal matter or even a misleading route, away from the plays as they were originally performed and as they are still being performed on stages all over the world, away from the „real‟- the dramatic - Shakespeare. But just a casual look at the holdings of any Shakespeare-related library will reveal how Shakespeare‟s works, for at least three hundred years, have not only been put on stage but also edited, studied, translated, written about in all possible kinds of ways - indeed, as if a horde of typing monkeys had set about to fill a Borgesian library of Babel with their commentaries. Few scholars nowadays would dispute the claim that Shakespeare is as much a part of book history as he is of theatre history. It is now no longer controversial to acknowledge Shakespeare‟s place in the early modern book trade. As far as we know, his narrative poem was a bestseller of the late sixteenth century. In contrast to the sonnets of 1609 that are now much better known, was reprinted several times during Shakespeare‟s lifetime. From the late 1590s onwards, many plays published in quarto format carried his name on the title page - even many plays that today are excluded from the Shakespeare canon; Shakespeare‟s name had become an attractive brand in the book market. And then, in 1623, the First Folio preserved many plays by Shakespeare that would otherwise not have survived; while this publication may have had a more prosaic purpose, namely to assert own- 129 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Library ership of the plays for the King‟s Men (see Marino 2011), it certainly documents the respect that Shakespeare enjoyed, seven years after his death, and contributed to his lasting fame (on the early popularity of Shakespeare in print, see Rhodes 2013). But fame has its discontents: while we can infer many details about the creation and publication of Shakespeare‟s works, our desire to know this author more personally or intimately will always be frustrated, and the gaps in the documentary record are always filled by imagination. We know too little about his inner life, his working habits, and other interesting details like his religion or sexuality. Speculation enters where facts are unavailable or thin. Even without the numerous modern conspiracy theories about Shakespeare‟s authorship, his life is enigmatic enough. The desire to know more about Shakespearean authorship is an important and entirely legitimate motivating force in Shakespeare studies as well as a stimulus for artistic production, for films and novels that try to fill the gaps in the record. Both scholarship and the arts respond to the desire to come closer to the „real‟, the „authentic‟ Shakespeare (see Greenblatt 1997, Orgel 2002). Where does the desire to possess the „authentic‟ Shakespeare come from, and what does it mean to „own‟ Shakespeare? Shakespearean authorship questions have returned to the foreground of attention with the rise of the New Textualism in literary studies: a renewed attention to textual dynamics and the material processes of writing and publishing in manuscript and print media. A conceptual transfer from legal studies, the phrase “new textualism” was used by Gallagher and Greenblatt (2000: 8) but has more recently evolved towards a shift to “textual bibliography and textual biography” (see Lesser 2015: 25-71). In Shakespeare studies, this return of philology coincides with an interesting cultural dynamic: on the one hand, acknowledgement of Shakespeare as a transcultural presence and an author who now belongs to the world at large, and on the other hand, a narrowing focus on national tradition, with Shakespeare a predominantly British or English cultural figure or figurehead. This question of belonging and ownership became acute during the Brexit campaign of 2016, when both the Leave and Remain camps tried to use Shakespeare to buttress their arguments. It was already noticeable in 2012, in the opening ceremony of the London Olympics: when Sir Kenneth Branagh recited Caliban‟s lines “[t]he isle is full of noises, / Sounds and sweet airs [...]” (Shakespeare, 3.2.135-136), these lines referred to the “isle” of Britain, eliding their colonial resonance altogether and transforming Shakespeare into a soundbite shorn of its historical roots, depoliticized and made „safe‟ for watching by hundreds of millions of people worldwide (Dickson 2015: xiv-xii; Bryant 2016). In this instance, the link between Britain and Shakespeare was simultaneously evoked and set adrift. Although this is common practice in cultural appropriations and adaptations of Shakespeare, it is also highly problematic both from a philological and a political perspective. 130 Ingo Berensmeyer Research on such processes of cultural appropriation should meaningfully supplement inquiries into problems of Shakespearean textuality. Where is the author in all this? While authors had never fully disappeared from view in earlier critical paradigms such as the New Criticism, Deconstruction, and the New Historicism, they functioned rather as a “principle of thrift” in those movements “that sought foundationally to decenter that figure” of the author (Lesser 2015: 12). As Lesser explains (12), “it is ultimately the author who allows New Historicism to locate its texts in time, and these texts are rarely allowed to escape „their‟ time.” Recent studies, by contrast, have “shifted the relevant historical context away from the moment of authorial composition and toward other events in the life of the work.” For example, they have focused on processes of authorial or theatrical revision, acknowledging or debating the various textual sources of a play such as or that exist in various forms (see e.g. Vickers 2016; Bourus 2014). They have looked at the history of a work‟s publication, or to traces of readerly engagement with a text in the form of annotation, compiling, or cutting and pasting into new textual forms. Earlier generations of critics sought to locate textual stability in Shakespeare‟s “foul papers” - a term introduced by the New Bibliographers W. W. Greg and Fredson Bowers in the 1940s and 1950s to designate an author‟s original drafts or the last complete draft before the fair copy (Greg 1942, Bowers 1955). These autographs have of course never been found, but they remain a tantalising possibility; only a few signatures on legal documents show the material traces of what a 2016 exhibition in London had the cheek to refer to as “a life in writing” (National Archives 2016). This desire for the autograph is caricatured to great effect in the film comedy (1998) where we see a young Shakespeare trying again and again to write something down, then crumpling the pages and throwing them away in anger, until we realise that he has merely been practising his (notoriously unstable) signature (Madden 1998). In contrast to this fascination with a narrow focus on Shakespeare‟s own hand, recent textual scholarship by Gary Taylor, Paul Werstine, and others emphasises the multiple agencies involved in producing dramatic texts and further removes the life of the work from the life of the author (see e.g. Taylor and Lavagnino 2013, Werstine 2013, Taylor and Egan 2017). The scholarly view of Shakespearean authorship has changed considerably in the last forty years or so: from the solitary genius who - in Ben Jonson‟s phrase - “never blotted out line” (qtd. in Chambers 1930: 2.210) to a writer who did revise his own work and was not above collaborating 131 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Library with other writers in producing plays. Gary Taylor was among the first to detect traces of authorial revision in the early printed texts of Shakespeare‟s plays (Taylor 2004). Concerning collaborative authorship, it is now commonly accepted that parts of for example, are by Thomas Middleton, and other hands are involved in and possibly many more (Vickers 2004, Holland 2014, Purkis 2016). In fact, to acknowledge co-authorship is merely to take into account what was common practice in early modern drama. As a writer, Shakespeare had many parts to play, including single authorship, coauthorship, and lyric authorship. Ironically, what is possibly the only extant literary manuscript in Shakespeare‟s own hand (though not unanimously accepted as such) is evidence of authorial collaboration: a manuscript of Anthony Munday‟s and Henry Chettle‟s play (c. 1592c. 1604) contains revisions and additions by different hands, one among them being “Hand D,” which has been identified as possibly Shakespeare‟s (Cooper 2006: 154; see Purkis 2016 for indepth discussion). The topic of Shakespearean authorship has thus returned to the foreground of current research. This coincides with a more general trend: the revival and renewal of authorship studies. Recent approaches have moved away from a focus on the singular author as origin and sovereign owner of the work, the “Author-God” that Barthes and Foucault decentred in the 1960s, to a more differentiated view of authorship in multiple forms and various institutional contexts, social, legal, political, economic, literary. Authorship is thus not singular but plural, a compact collective term for a number of different and distinct functions. In 2002, Harold Love introduced the useful term “authemes” for these functions, in analogy to phonemes as the smallest meaningful units in language. These “authemes” refer to “a set of linked activities […] which are sometimes performed by a single person but will often be performed collaboratively or by several persons in succession” (Love 2002: 39). Love‟s model allows us to think of authorship as an activity or performance, but also as a result of ascriptions without having to postulate a singular active focus of textual origin. For example, Love refers to if a significant contribution from a previous writer is integrated into a new work; to if the author is a maker, an „artifex‟ who writes alone or in collaboration with others; to if the author is responsible for the work but has not himself written it (think of the King James Bible or celebrity autobiographies); and to if a work is revised by an executive author or someone else, such as an editor or censor (Love 2002: 40-49). This model no longer takes the author to be the central controlling instance over the text, but breaks down authorship into a set of practices that are located on a scale between the autocratic solitary genius and the anonymous hive mind: editing, correcting, revising, printing, etc. Love‟s 132 Ingo Berensmeyer approach (which was developed for the field of authorship attribution) moves away from exaggerated claims such as the “death of the author” (Barthes) to turn instead towards the connection between empirical authorship, on the one hand, and culturally and historically variable sets of concepts or models of authorship, on the other hand (for a useful discussion of authorship theories, see Lamarque 2009, 84-131). In a somewhat simplified manner, one could distinguish between four such cultural historical variables of authorship concepts, arranged along a scale from the extreme poles of strong autonomy to strong heteronomy (Berensmeyer, Buelens and Demoor 2012): | _____________________ | __________________ | ____________________ | strong autonomy weak autonomy weak heteronomy strong heteronomy In this model, strong autonomy designates the position of the author as an independent creator and ruler over the work and its meaning, an original genius who creates out of her own essential self. Weak autonomy still defines the author as the creator of a work, but in a less assertive fashion that acknowledges extraneous influences or material constraints. Weak heteronomy refers to the author as a producer of text who has a certain degree of freedom but is no longer thought to be independent; this is a writer who follows rules and conventions and whose principal goal is not self-expression but communication of what is already known or considered as culturally valuable. Finally, strong heteronomy denotes the author as a compiler or recorder, or an author who receives inspiration not from his inner self but, for example, through divine intervention (Berensmeyer, Buelens and Demoor 2012: 14). Rather than emphasize concrete practices of making and distributing texts, this model focuses on culturally inflected ideas and ascriptions: what authors are be or do by readers, publishers, scholars and writers. How much authority are they supposed to have over the text? How independent or dependent from social, legal or formal constraints are they thought to be? Naturally, this can vary to a great extent in different places and at different times. This leads us back to the question how Shakespearean authorship was and still is imagined in scholarship, but also by a larger public. What kind of author did Shakespeare think he was? What kind of an author did his contemporaries and subsequent generations imagine him to be? These questions are closely linked to a subfield in Shakespeare studies that explores how Shakespeare the man and Shakespeare the writer have been imagined and staged in contexts far removed from the original „time of the author‟: in novels, films and other media forms that shape our ideas of Shakespearean authorship by filling the gaps in the evidence with the aid of imagination. One could point, for instance, to popular biography, 133 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Lib such as Stephen Greenblatt‟s (2004), which fabricates an inspired life story as an inventive page-turner. Like the much-discussed historical portraits of Shakespeare, such narratives are “fictions that work with the idea of the real, arranging a series of motifs [...] into a synthetic image” (Pointon 2006: 217). The public yearns for authenticity, but also for fantasy, when faced with the elusive image of Shakespeare. While this desire used to be connected to narratives of national identity in the nineteenth and to some extent still in the twentieth and twenty-first century (understanding Shakespeare as a national English or British poet, and in the US as a significant cultural link between the new world and a racially defined „Anglo-Saxon‟ mother country), I would argue that this has changed in recent years from a national narrative towards the discourse of cultural heritage that is globally shared, highly marketable, and that can be recognized and consumed by a worldwide audience. and a New ‘Problem Play’ What can literary fiction contribute to the questions raised by the history of the book and Shakespearean authorship? How can it address problems of textual ownership, descent and belonging, as well as the economic conditions of authorship and publication in today‟s world? The novel by Arthur Phillips, published in 2011, is probably the best example of a contemporary literary text that tackles these questions head-on. The closest model or inspiration for Phillips‟s novel is Vladimir Nabokov‟s postmodernist classic (1962), in which the story is told through an editor‟s comments on a narrative poem by a fictional poet. Like also contains a complete text within the novel, in this case a play in blank verse, but this time not by a fictional writer but - ostensibly - by Shakespeare (Phillips acknowledges this influence in Reilly 2013: 6). This play, is a fullfledged five-act tragedy about King Arthur. It takes up about of a quarter of the book. Although it cannot quite compete with Shakespeare at his best, there is arguably quite a lot in Shakespeare, especially before 1600, that sounds somewhat like this, so it is a credible pastiche (see the sample quoted above). But it does not merely imitate a Shakespeare play, it imitates the of a Shakespeare play in its physical form: it comes with stage directions added in square brackets and explanatory notes to the text, like an Arden, Oxford or Cambridge edition, and a lengthy introduction, in this case an excessive 256 pages in 48 chapters, signed by “Arthur Phillips.” Some notes to the text are by this Arthur Phillips, others by one (fictional) Professor Roland Verre; while Arthur uses his notes to affirm 134 Ingo Berensmeyer his belief that the play is a forgery, Professor Verre‟s notes uphold the play‟s authenticity. 1 In the introduction, Arthur Phillips introduces himself as a novelist whose father was a convicted forger, who had been to prison for a long time and who, towards the end of his life, reveals what he claims to be the actual discovery of a previously unknown Shakespeare play. Arthur‟s father wishes for Arthur and his twin sister Dana to publish this text as authentic Shakespeare. It gradually becomes clear that Arthur, who had always seen his father as a failed artist and as a failure in general, is now almost ready to believe him. Arthur‟s father has a credible story: he claims that he discovered this Shakespeare quarto in an English country house in the late 1950s and that he had kept it in a bank safe in order to give his children a better future. The play, too, is credible even though it will not be considered a masterpiece: it is quite possible that Shakespeare might have written a play based on the Arthurian chapters in Holinshed‟s a source that he had also used for numerous other plays, most notably the histories. This single surviving copy then, like the famous first quarto of that was only discovered in 1823, had been bound together with other playtexts and then forgotten on the shelves of a private library. The book contains a facsimile of the title page of this quarto, dated 1597, “as it hath beene diuers times plaide by the right / Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine His Seruants,” and also the information that the photo copyright of this facsimile belongs to “2011 Arthur Phillips” (Phillips 2011a: xi). Arthur‟s publishing company, Random House, agrees to publish the new Shakespeare play if the quarto passes all the available scientific tests: paper, ink, individual letter forms are examined for their authenticity, and everything points to a genuine sixteenth-century print. Numerous genuine Shakespeare experts, including the linguist David Crystal and Columbia professor James Shapiro, confirm the play‟s stylistic authenticity as a Shakespeare play from the late 1590s. But then the novel‟s turning point comes when, in a moment that replays philological procedures in textual studies, Arthur discovers among the papers of his deceased father a note card that hints at an earlier draft of the play (Phillips 2011a: 202). This is incontrovertible evidence that the play a forgery by Arthur‟s father, after all. But now Random House are no longer willing to withdraw the book. The novel contains another facsimile: a letter by the Senior Vice President of Random House responding to Arthur‟s wish to destroy the forged play, or rather what this letter calls “the original edition of the play” (253). The letter also threatens Arthur with litigation if 1 Although Roland Verre is no Oxfordian, his name has an uncanny resemblance to Edward de Vere; it might also be a pun on Latin verus („true‟) or a number of other Latin words beginning with „ver‟ such as vereor („to worry‟, „to fear‟, „to worship‟) or verres („boar‟). 135 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Library he does not comply with his contract, which stipulates that he has to write an introduction - and this introduction is now the text that the reader has just read. The father‟s ultimate success in producing the perfect forgery is the son‟s final disappointment. In terms of genre, does this make the novel into a tragedy? Not quite, according to its narrator, who argues that it is “not quite a tragedy” and “not quite a comedy” but rather a “ ” (255, emphasis original). Yet obviously the novel‟s title not only refers to the (edition of) the play included in the book, the tragedy of King Arthur, but also to the „tragedy‟ of the fictional Arthur Phillips, whose illusions about his father - and arguably also about the ethical standards of the publishing industry - are tragically shattered in the course of the novel, and who is forced to confirm his father‟s forgery against his own will. Arthur as author is no king in this story, as the elision of the word „king‟ from the book‟s title may suggest; instead, he is bound to the terms of his contract with his publishing company, whose very name Random House - though as real as the real author‟s - might be read as an ironic comment on the arbitrariness of fate, tragic or otherwise, in the world of contemporary publishing. The novel‟s metafictional juxtaposition of elements of reality and fiction, truth and falsehood, authenticity and deception also draws on the long history of literary forgery and its modern and postmodern heritage (see, e.g., Dutton 1983, Stewart 1994, Lynch 2019). Its take on the problems of authorship and authenticity is informed by the history of Shakespeare scholarship, including the notorious forgeries of John Payne Collier (1789-1883) in the mid-nineteenth century, who was wont to insert forged manuscript corrections into genuine copies of early printed texts (see Freeman and Freeman 2004). Phillips‟s experimental approach to writing a play that Shakespeare might have written raises important questions about literary originality, authority and property in contemporary culture. It also sheds light on the economics of commercial publishing, turning book history into a pragmatic sounding board for speculative fiction: What happen if a new play by Shakespeare were to be discovered today, even if its provenance proved to be dubious? In the novel, the publishing giant Random House (which also happens to be the real Arthur Phillips‟s real publisher) insists on Shakespeare‟s authorship of the play. But the actual „executive author‟ of this play is Arthur senior, the master forger, and Shakespeare‟s collaborative role in this is that of „precursory authorship‟ in the terminology established by Harold Love. If we apply the scale model of authorial positions to this novel, one can see several author functions competing in this text: the strong heteronomy of Arthur Phillips junior, who is forced by his publisher to put together the text, write an introduction and a summary of the play. We also find the author as a weakly heteronomous producer of a text conforming to rules and conventions: Arthur senior, the forger, clings closely 136 Ingo Berensmeyer to the precursor Shakespeare as a model author in order to write an ideal, a perfect „new‟ play by Shakespeare. Shakespeare is declared to be the creator of the work which is made materially present in the text (weak autonomy and declarative authorship). And finally, the position of strong autonomy, of authorship as sovereign ownership of the work, resides in this case with the publishing house and its legal division. They decide, based on the advice of external experts, that the play is a genuine, authentic Shakespeare play - it is Shakespeare and not what this novel calls “Fakespeare” (Phillips 2011a: 168). Authenticity, then, is shown to be the product of an institution, based on economic and legal deliberations and, of course, on the enormous prestige of Shakespeare‟s name: “anyone walking into a publishing house bearing a newly discovered Shakespeare play would be whisked to the top floor” (227) simply because there is so much money to be made from this. Moreover, the novel picks up on a topic that is at the heart of Shakespeare‟s plays: the theme of mistaken or concealed identities that is almost omnipresent in the established canon of plays from the via to The Winter’s Tale. The novel also contributes to debates about Shakespeare's super-canonical status and value. It cites Harold Bloom‟s claim that “we are all the Bard‟s invention” (60) and that we all live our lives and experience our feelings based on the model of Shakespeare‟s works. In contrast to his sister Dana, who admires Bloom‟s book , Arthur is more sceptical, also because, as a writer, he feels oppressed by the weight of Shakespeare as the single greatest writer of all time, whose gravity distorts the force field of literature. He proposes a different, a more democratic view of Shakespeare as “one of many writers [...] admired” by his contemporaries “but not out of all sane proportion” (225): we have allowed this man to be inflated, to our disadvantage and his [...]. But this is a trick of perspective, a rolling boulder of PR, a general cowardliness in us, a desire for heroes and simple answers. [...] Merely by surviving time‟s withering breath, by being studied and taught, he has shaped the world's tastes. We are trained to appreciate him and his distinct qualities, and we ignore the others. Only he does what he does [...] and that‟s fine. But then we call him the best because we have been shocked and rewarded and bullied into believing that that one fingerprint is the standard of all truth and beauty. (226-27) Ironically, it is the lawyers hired by Random House who have the last word on this standard, „shocking and bullying‟ Arthur into fulfilling the terms of his contract, even though he knows that is his father‟s forgery - its beauty, in a romantic, indeed Keatsian way, transfigured into truth. On yet another level of irony, the real novelist Arthur Phillips has found a way to frame what must have been a labour of love - 137 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Library the imitation of a serious, full-fledged Shakespearean tragedy - as a text worthy of consideration by contemporary readers. In combination, these two levels of irony serve to reconnect the - by now somewhat tired - mode of postmodernist experiment in a Nabokovian vein back to the material book as a physical object and to the economic realities of authorship and publishing. Like a Shakespeare portrait, the novel is a fiction that “work[s] with the idea of the real, arranging a series of motifs [...] into a synthetic image” (Pointon 2006: 217). In a way that is now sometimes referred to as „artistic research,‟ 2 Phillips contributes to an exploration of Shakespearean authorship. And beyond the technical feat of producing an imitation of a Shakespeare play, or rather an edition of a „Shakespeare‟ play, amounts to more than just a postmodernist glass-bead game. It uses the cultural capital of Shakespeare to draw the reader‟s attention to the institutions and processes of constructing, mediating and claiming literary authorship and textual authority in the twenty-first century. In making readers more aware of problems of textual authentication, Phillips‟s novel also does a service to Shakespeare studies, or several services in fact: first, it turns away from a hyperbolic, ultimately spurious pseudo-religious reverence for Shakespeare as the „greatest author of all times,‟ and secondly, it defeats the elitist „anti-Stratfordian‟ argument that only an aristocratic genius could have had the necessary educational and professional background to produce Shakespeare‟s plays - a good writer is all it takes. As Phillips remarks in another interview: The more I got into writing the play, the more irritating [sic] the anti- Stratfordians made me. I started to feel, after a while, that I actually did write a Shakespeare play, and so I sort of know what it takes to do one. It doesn't require nobility. It requires imagination and empathy and research skills, and it requires discipline and hard work and a dictionary and things that are well within the realm of the possible for the guy who is credited with having written these plays. (Phillips 2011b) is part of a more general trend in contemporary literary fiction to make use of book history and the format of the material book in order to create new kinds of reading experience by manipulating the physical space of the page and the codex format, such as J.J. Abrams‟s and Doug Dorst‟s (2013), Jonathan Safran Foer‟s (2010, or Mark Z. Danielewski‟s (2006). These multimodal works also explore the possibilities of the material book to probe (possibly unique) epistemological affordances of literature, as imaginative writing, and the format of the book as an artefact and a me- 2 See, for instance, the Society of Artistic Research, founded in 2010, and the . 138 Ingo Berensmeyer dium (on multimodality and the contemporary novel, see e.g. Gibbons 2012; Hallet 2014). is, so far, unique among these in engaging with Shakespeare studies and the early modern book. In this article, I have tried to approach Shakespearean authorship from two different angles: recent developments in textual studies that reassess the material conditions of writing and publishing in Shakespeare‟s time, and a novel that reflects on the cultural and economic capital of Shakespeare in the publishing world today by engaging in a provocative thought experiment. Shakespeare‟s fame is both boon and bane for Shakespeare studies: his immense status, now as part of global cultural heritage, intensifies the desire to ascribe authority over the work to a single person rather than to accept the historical reality of authorial collaboration and the textual dispersal of authority in manuscript and print. In showing how a publisher might suppress evidence of forgery in order to present a new Shakespeare play to the world, creates a wrily Shakespearean narrative of mistaken identities and intergenerational dynamics that questions and decentres the impulse towards a monolithic and singular „Shakespeare‟ and that uses the possibilities of the printed book to question our assumptions of authorship and authority. In this case, then, the imaginative filling of gaps in a novel and the scholarly work of getting closer to the forever unattainable authentic Shakespeare turn out to work together towards a common critical goal. Meanwhile, the virtual monkeys are still typing. Barthes, Roland (2008). “The Death of the Author.” Trans. Stephen Heath. David Lodge/ Nigel Wood (Eds.). Harlow: Pearson. 313- 316. Berensmeyer Ingo/ Gert Buelens/ Marysa Demoor (2012). “Authorship as Cultural Performance: New Perspectives in Authorship Studies.” 60.1. 5-29. Berger, Thomas L./ Jesse M. Lander (2000). “Shakespeare in Print, 1593-1640.” David Scott Kastan (Ed.). Oxford: Blackwell. 395- 413. Bloom, Harold (1998). . New York: Riverhead. Bourus, Terri (2014). Young Shakespeare’s Young Hamlet: Print, Piracy, and Pe New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bowers, Fredson (1955). Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Library. Bryant, Chris (2016). “This Sceptic Isle would most Displease Pro-European Shakespeare.” April 21, 2016. https: / / www.theguardian.com/ 139 The Forger’s Shakespeare Library The Forger’s Shakespeare Library commentisfree/ 2016/ apr/ 21/ how-love-eu-count-william-shakespeare-remainbrexit. Accessed 16 Oct. 2016. Bunbury, Henry (1838). London: Edward Moxon. Chambers, E.K. (1930). 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Cheney, Patrick (2008). Shakespeare’s Literary Authorship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cooper, Tarnya (2006). New Haven: Yale University Press. Dickson, Andrew (2015). Worlds Elsewhere: Journeys Around Shakespeare’s Globe. London: Bodley Head. Dutton, Denis (Ed.) (1983). The Forger’s Art. Forgery and the Philosophy of Art. Berkeley/ Los Angeles: University of California Press. Erne, Lukas (2003). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Erne, Lukas (2013). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Freeman, Arthur/ Janet Ing Freeman (2004). 2 vols. New Haven: Yale University Press. Gallagher, Catherine/ Stephen Greenblatt (2000). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gibbons, Alison (2012). New York: Routledge. Greenblatt, Stephen (1977). “The Touch of the Real.” 59. 14-29. Greg, W.W. (1942). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hallet, Wolfgang (2014). “The Rise of the Multimodal Novel: Generic Change and its Narratological Implications.” Marie-Laure Ryan/ Jan-Noel Thon (Eds.). Lincoln: Nebraska University Press. 151-172. Holland, Peter (Ed.) (2014). Shakespeare’s Collaborative Work. Shakespeare Survey 67. Kott, Jan (1974). . New York: Norton. Lamarque, Peter (2009). Oxford: Blackwell. 84-131. Lanier, Douglas (2002). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lesser, Zachary (2015). Hamlet Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Love, Harold (2002). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lynch, Jack (2019, forthcoming). “Plagiarism and Forgery.” Ingo Berensmeyer/ Gert Buelens/ Marysa Demoor (Eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Madden, John (Dir.) (1998). Universal Pictures. Marino, James J. (2011). Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. National Archives/ King‟s College London (2016). . Exhibition (3 February-29 May 2016), London. Orgel, Stephen (2002). New York/ London: Routledge. 140 Ingo Berensmeyer Phillips, Arthur (2011). New York: Random House. Phillips, Arthur (2011). “All Lies. Talks with Arthur Phillips.” 258.9. 33. Pointon, Marcia (2018). “National Identity and the Afterlife of Shakespeare's Portraits.” Tarnya Cooper (Ed.). 217-225. Purkis, James (2016). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. “Random House.” (2016). Wikipedia. en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/ Random_ House. Accessed 3 July 2016. Reilly, Charlie (2013). “An Interview with Arthur Phillips.” 54.1. 1-22. Reinfandt, Christoph (2009). “The Author as Nobody? Some Reflections on Modern Authorship on the Occasion of .” Matthias Bauer/ Angelika Zirker (Eds.). Trier, Germany: WVT. 199-209. Rhodes, Neil (2013). “Shakespeare‟s Popularity and the Origins of the Canon.” Andy Kesson/ Emma Smith (Eds.). Farnham/ Burlington, VT: Ashgate. 101-122. Shakespeare, William (2011). Eds. Virginia Mason Vaughan/ Alden T. Vaughan. Arden Shakespeare Third Series. London: Bloomsbury. Shapiro, Jame (2010). London: Faber and Faber. Stern, Tiffany (2009). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stewart, Susan (1994). 2 nd ed. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Taylor, Gary (1987). “Revising Shakespeare.” Rpt. in Russ McDonald (Ed.) (2004). . Oxford: Blackwell. 280-295. Taylor, Gary/ John Lavagnino (Eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Taylor, Gary/ Gabriel Egan (Eds.) (2017). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vickers, Brian (2004). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vickers, Brian (2016) . . Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. “Virtual monkeys write Shakespeare.” (2011). BBC News, 26 Sept. 2011. www.bbc.com/ news/ technology-15060310. Accessed 9 Apr. 2018. Werstine, Paul (2013). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. The article discusses the emergence of lexical blends in modern Slovene, and compares this to the situation in modern English. The general characteristics of blends in Slovene are outlined and a classification of blends is proposed. Blends are a recent word-formational phenomenon in Slovene as the language system has traditionally preferred other word-formational processes, particularly affixation. The influence of the English language on the formation of such coinages in Slovene is discussed and the types of texts in which blends tend to appear most frequently are presented, i.e. marketing texts, children‟s literature, blogs and forums. A distinction is made between blends imported into Slovene and Slovene-made blends, with the latter type being based on the already established word-formational process of juxtaposition. While noun blends prevail, the word-formational properties of the Slovene language system make possible further formation of corresponding verbal, adjectival, and adverbial blends by means of suffixation. This article seeks to shed light on the wordformational process of lexical blending in modern Slovene, which was practically non-existent some decades ago, but has become increasingly productive during the recent years. The reason for the emergence of this type of coinage so far unfamiliar in the language system is sought in the increasing influence of the English language on modern Slovene. While lexical blends in Slovene appear sporadically and seem to remain limited to particular types of text, it is nevertheless somewhat surprising that a word-formational - 142 Eva Sicherl process so alien to the basic inflectional/ morphological nature of the Slovene language should gain in popularity to such an extent. The following sections provide an overview of the more recent observations on lexical blending in English and in some other languages; these are compared with the rare treatments of blends by Slovene authors. The place of blending within the Slovene morphological system is discussed under 3 below, and a distinction is made between blends imported from English and blends made in Slovene from either foreign or native language material. Finally, the text types in which blends appear in Slovene and their possible institutionalization are discussed. British and American linguists trace the first blends back to Renaissance texts (e.g. < + in Shakespeare) 1 , yet this kind of formation remained relatively rare until the second half of the 19 th century (see Bryant 1974: 163). It has found a new lease on life with Lewis Carroll and his , and (1871), in which the author himself explained his newly coined blends (e.g. < + ) and named them “portmanteau words”. However, the Anglo-American word-formational literature now prefers the term (see Bauer, Adams, Plag). The 20 th century saw an enormous increase of blends in English, resulting in numerous linguistic discussions dealing with them (see, for example, the list of articles on blending in Algeo back in 1977: 47). Most authors agree that the wordformational process of blending is gaining ground, while blends themselves mostly remain nonce words which rarely become institutionalized and part of the general vocabulary. Thus, Bryant (1974: 163) concludes that blends often appear in media language and in the names of companies and their products. The new millennium saw a powerful new impulse in the productivity of English blending. However, new blends still mostly remain nonce words; consequently, they are not identified by the corpora and this only allows an approximate evaluation of the productivity of the process (Bauer 2014, pers. communication, ESSE conference Košice, Slovakia). Thus, for example, Adams (2001: 141) maintains that “blending inevitably remains a marginal process, its products ephemeral and restricted in use”, while Bauer (1983: 236-237) already stated back in the 1980s that “it is a very productive source of words in modern English, in both literary and scientific contexts”. 1 Pyles (1971: 298) quotes an even earlier instance from the late 14 th -century Middle English romance (see also Algeo 1977: 47): < „warrior‟ + „noble‟. 143 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene While several typologies of blends have been proposed (e.g. Algeo 1977, Bauer 1983 and 2002, Plag 2003, Lehrer 2007, to name just a few), and different definitions of the phenomenon put forward (cf. Renner et al. 2012: 2-3 on what the authors name “terminological and definitional dissonance”), each focussing on a somewhat different perspective of the blending process 2 , the definition and typology as proposed by Bauer (2002: 1636-1637) will be used to discuss blends in English and shed some light on the emerging blends in today‟s Slovene. Bauer (2002: 1636) defines blending as “the formation of a word from a sequence of two bases with reduction of one or both at the boundary between them”; however, the author admits that the category of blends is “not well-defined, and blending tends to shade off into compounding, neo-classical compounding, affixation, clipping and, […], acronyming” (Bauer 1983: 236). Thus, Bauer later advocates adopting a more prototypical approach with fuzzy boundaries (Bauer 2012: 11-22) to be able to account for the diversity in blending, and to (at least temporarily) overcome the problem of blends being “poorly defined” (Bauer 2012: 11). Bauer (1983: 234; also 2002: 1636-1637) distinguishes the following types of blends in English: a) the blend consists of the first part of the first base and the whole of the second base (e.g. < + ) b) the blend consists of the whole first base and the final part of the second base (e.g. < + ) c) the blend consists of the first part of the first base and the final part of the second base (e.g. < + ) d) the central part of the blend is shared by the two bases, there is overlap between them (e.g. < + ) Bauer (1983: 234-5) points out that the resulting blended lexeme usually allows some kind of (morphological) analysis, with at least one of the elements transparently recoverable in most cases. However, the choice of the splinters to be combined may remain somewhat random, and the formation itself restricted by unclear rules, of which only the phonological/ prosodic and orthographic constraints seem to have been subjected to in-depth analysis (see also Bauer 1983: 235, Kubozono 1991, Plag 2003: 123-126, also Piñeros 2004). 2 In general, Bauer‟s criteria (1983, 2002, 2006, 2012) are formal, Plag (2003, but see also Dressler 2000) has a more semantic perspective, Arcodia and Montermini (2012) use primarily morphophonological criteria in their treatment of blends. 144 Eva Sicherl More transparent are those blends in which the two words used as bases are not clipped at all, and there is overlap either in pronunciation, in orthography, or both; Bauer (1983: 235-236) cites Adams‟ example of < + . Related to these are the so-called graphic blends, which all contain overlapping, frequently with embedded abbreviations or acronyms (e.g. < + , cf. also Konieczna 2012: 62-64). Bauer further mentions lexemes which have probably been coined as blends, but may not be recognized as such by other language users (cf. Bauer 1983: 236 and Bauer 2002: 1637); the splinters used may be also analysed as neo-classical compound elements (e.g. < + ) or eventually become re-evaluated as affixoids (e.g. the element from , now used as suffixoid in , , etc.). Semantically, blends have often been defined as lexemes denoting entities “that share properties of the referents of both elements” (see, for example, Plag 2003: 122), thus a is both breakfast and lunch, and is both smoke and fog. Some authors (e.g. Kubozono 1991, Plag 2003) treat only such cases with “merged semantics” as proper blends, while others (e.g. Algeo 1977, Adams 2001, Bauer 2002) also include shortened compounds or syntagmatic combinations, such as < + . It can safely be assumed that under the influence of English as a global language, the wordformational process of blending would have begun to appear in some other languages, including Slovene, in which such nonsystemic coinage is viewed as language peculiarity and the use of such formations is marked. Such influence has been observed for modern Polish (see, for example, Koniezcna 2012). Lexical blends in Slovene typically appear in conversational language and can thus be found in all media communication as well as in language creation; blends in written texts are often seen as a result of writers' and/ or translators' creativity and testify to the playfulness of language style. Blends in Slovene tend to be frequent in the language of the youth and in excessive urban sociolects; both of these usages deviate from standard Slovene and other cultivated sociolects. The blends that will serve to illustrate the process of blending in modern Slovene for the purpose of this article have been sporadically collected by the author from the mass media (mainly journalistic texts), advertising written material and colloquial texts (e.g. blogs, Internet forums, and the like). A large majority of these blends remain nonce formations, and, though eyecatching, will probably never be institutionalized and/ or lexicalized. 145 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene Extraction of blends from corpora is therefore practically impossible, it appears that the only exception to this is the affixoidal formations of the type. Thus, the Nova beseda corpus yields coinages such as [someone obsessed with art], čokoholik [someone obsessed with chocolate], [someone excessively house proud], [someone obsessed with music], [someone obsessed with concerts], [control freak], [someone obsessed with shopping], [someone obsessed with dance], [someone obsessed with politics], [someone obsessed with comics], and several of these could be treated as compounds rather than blends. Slovene linguists have dealt with blends only perfunctorily. Toporišič (1992: 212) merely mentions the phenomenon of overlapping as a phonological process of sound overlap at the contact of two morphemes. However, a somewhat more detailed description of Slovene lexemes formed with some overlap and simultaneously with truncation and fusion of one or both bases can be found in Logar (2006), Stramljič Breznik (2008), and Voršič (2013). The process of blending in Slovene thus involves two already established word-formational processes, i.e. truncation and juxtaposition, with the optional addition of overlap, as exemplified by the following already lexicalized instances: a) kočerja < [lunch] + čerja [dinner] for „late lunch/ early dinner‟ b) ričota < rič [barley stew] + ž [risotto] for „mix of barley stew with rice‟ 3 Such instances comply with Kelly‟s simple and colourful definition of blends as words “formed by snipping components from existing words and stitching the components together either through simple concatenation or through concatenation coupled with overlap of shared phonological segments” (Kelly 1998: 579). In the formation of blends in Slovene, two basic presuppositions should be met to justify the coinage:  the blend should be semantically transparent and stylistically effective,  the level of reduction of individual bases should be adapted to the pronunciation/ articulation and is thus subjected to the of the creator. The Slovene blends discussed below are therefore all lexemes formed from a sequence of two bases with some reduction of one or both at the boundary between them, and, possibly, a phonological and/ or 3 Source: http: / / www.fran.si/ (accessed November 2017 - March 2018) 146 Eva Sicherl morphological overlap. Semantically, both shortened and merged syntagmatic combinations as well as shortened and merged paradigmatic combinations have been treated as blends. 4 The reason for this is that from the synchronic point of view it is often impossible to pinpoint the two underlying bases, particularly the first base of the combination used in the formation of the new coinage; due to the randomness of the reduction, the base of the blend can sometimes be either a noun or an adjective, so consequently, the formation can stem from different morphophonological structures, as in: < [evil ] + [Slovenia] < [malice ] + [Slovenia] < [evil ] + [Slovenia] < čin [crime ] + [Slovenia] < činska [criminal ] + [Slovenia] < [scientific ] + [festival] < [science ] + [festival] This feature is clearly a sign of non-systemic formation; however, Slovene language users nevertheless seem to have no difficulty in deciphering the meaning of such coinages. Illustrative examples of blends below therefore include instances in which the first element modifies the second element, as in: < [science] + [festival] „festival of science‟ < [vegetables] + [exchange] „exchange of vegetables‟ nežnovanje < nežn [gentle] + [caring] „caring gently‟ Further examples include instances in which both base words are somehow semantically related; the two underlying words usually belong to the same syntactic category. The creator associates the two bases on the grounds of some mutual shared characteristic (cf. also examples from Colombian Spanish in Piñeros 2004), which can be: a) a common morpheme < [cool] + [good] „really good‟ 4 No distinction will therefore be made between associative blends or portmanteaus and syntagmatic blends or telescopes (cf. Algeo 1977 and Piñeros 2004). 147 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene b) a common or similar phoneme ričota < č [barley stew] + ž [risotto] „mix of barley stew with rice‟ c) a common or similar meaning < [beast] + [wild boar] „Gruffalo‟ As indicated above, many blends are subject to dual interpretation and, consequently, cannot be explicitly classified by their syntactic structure (see also Konieczna 2012: 66-68 and her discussion of Polish blends and their underlying endocentric or exocentric structures). The formation of blends in modern Slovene comes close to juxtaposition. However, even within juxtaposition, blends in Slovene have been regarded rather as an exception than as a regular type of word-formation. Thus, Toporišič (2006: 184-185) discusses juxtaposition as a process which may also include a loss of certain grammatical properties, but with the prosodic/ syllabic structure of the underlying base(s) remaining intact (2006: 370), and cites examples such as: [one-and-twenty] „twenty-one‟, [not-willingly] „unintentionaly‟, [beforenoon] „morning‟, [each-to-himself] „apart‟. Vidovič Muha (1988: 32; 2011: 112) examines juxtaposition as an extra-systemic process of word-formation, which is unpredictable because it is difficult to determine which part of the (underlying) base is transformed into the affixal part and which into the base part of the juxtaposition. Following the morphophonological rules of the language, the processes of overlapping and truncation can also be observed within juxtaposition. Where there is doubling of sounds or overlap at the contact of two words and there is also doubling of morphemes, overlap at the contact leads to truncation or omission of a part of the word or words. In Slovene, therefore, juxtaposition can be regarded as a starting point which may consequentially bring about overlap and truncation. Whether blending as a process is to be regarded as a sub-category of juxtaposition or as a word-formational process in its own right is an issue that needs to be solved by Slovene grammarians. A typological classification of Slovene blends can nevertheless be proposed, based on the classification put forward by Bauer for English blends (see 2.1 above): a) The blend consists of the first part of the first base and the whole of the second base [vegetables] [exchange] [sweet] + [brandy] 148 Eva Sicherl [documentary] + [portrait] smučanorija < smuča [skiing] + [craze] b) The blend consists of the whole first base and the final part of the second base videodžej < [video] džej [D.J.] [aqua] [aerobics] [Inland Revenue] [hairsplitting] c) The blend consists of the first part of the first base and the final part of the second base kočerja < [lunch] čerja [dinner] [mechanics] [electronics] [science] [festival] d) The central part of the blend is shared by the two bases, and there is overlap between them mulčad 5 č [brats] č [kids] [literature] [radio] [whisky] [kilometre] [beer] [steering wheel] [sex] [texting] [scientific] [festival] šolimpijada < š [school] [olympics] [glamorous] [camping] nežnovanje < nežn [gentle] [caring] [virtual] [friend] [pilates] [rhetoric] [swindler] [politician G. Virant] [press] [prostitute] 6 5 Examples mulčad and taken from Stramljič Breznik (2010: 171, 175). 149 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene mafijanković < [mafia] nković [mayor Z. Janković] Closely related to type d) are graphic blends, which can also be found in Slovene, such as the title of a series of lectures on science intended for the lay public: ZnaČAJ znanosti [character of science] Embedded within the title is the word ČAJ [tea], suggesting that at the lecture tea is served to the listeners. Further, Slovene forms blends with elements that could be termed affixoids, such as: megastično < [mega-] + stično [fantastic] Vičstock < Vič [area of Ljubljana called Vič] + [-stock as in Woodstock] „festival organized by the Vič Highschool‟ It appears that blends in Slovene most frequently belong to type d), which is also the most frequent type of blend in English (cf. Bauer 1983: 235-236). However, further research is needed to corroborate this assumption (see also 5 below). Many blends that appear in Slovene texts have been borrowed into Slovene from English as anglicisms. Slovene native speakers are mostly unaware of their actual origin and, consequently, of the way these lexemes have been formed; they have been adapted to the Slovene language system and are used in Slovene as any other borrowed lexeme. Examples of this type of blends are: Eng. Eng. Eng. Eng. 6 Stramljič Breznik (2008: 153) uses the term or for coinages made of two constituents that originate in different languages, e.g. English (press) and Slovene (prostitutka). 7 The status of such lexemes as blends is somewhat dubious as in this type of formation the first parts of the two bases are joined to form a new coinage. 150 Eva Sicherl Eng. Eng. Eng. Eng. Among the blends borrowed from English, there are some where the two bases are also recognizable in Slovene, like for example: < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. < Eng. Blends that have been created in Slovene remain nonce words as a rule; these are often coinages that have been made on purpose to attain a certain stylistic effect, usually in literary texts, or to influence the reader, usually in advertising texts. Blends typically appear as ingredients of topical conversational language, which makes possible and sometimes even demands immediate coinage of various designations. Whether such formations eventually become commonly used depends on their frequency and communcational functions. The blends listed and explained below have mainly been collected from journalistic texts, advertising written material and texts appearing on blogs, Internet forums, etc. Characteristically, blends appear where “words are required to draw attention to themselves” (see also Adams 151 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene 2001: 140), so their pragmatic function within a given context should also be taken into consideration. Quite often they appear as witticisms that the speaker creates with the intention of striking the listener with a clever semantic association between two or more lexical meanings packed together in one word. So it should not come as a surprise that many blends with a jocular flavour to them turn up in texts as instruments of sarcasm and humour. One of the typical blends coined in Slovene is the following adjectival blend taken from the advertising campaign of the Skoda car company: [cool] + [good] „special, exceptional, good‟ The adjective is now associated with Slovene Skoda car dealers, and found in collocations such as [good offer of vehicles], [good loans], [good stocks]. Another adjectival blend has been coined by copywriters working for the Slovene Telecom: dža st < džabe [cheap]+ [the best] The two slang expression were combined to address the target audience, i.e. young users of mobile phones; the adjective has been used in the name of one of the mobile phone packages and indicates that the package is both cheap (using the slang word džabe [free], originating in Serbian/ Turkish) and the best (using the English superlative form). The following coinages have been taken from a don‟t-drink-and-drive campaign: [whisky] + [kilometre] [beer] + [steering wheel] Similarly, the Mercator chain store issued an advertisement flier for school supplies: š impijada < šol(sk)a [school] + [olympics] A hair salon in Ljubljana advertises itself as providing nežn < nežno [gentle] + [care] „extremely gentle care of hair‟. 152 Eva Sicherl Not infrequently, blends are used in names of companies: Lektorična < lektorica [proofreader] + gospodična [miss] The name of the company Lektorična is explained as “Lektorična is a miss who takes care of proper language. She proofreads, translates and teaches”. Gratel < gradbeništvo [civil engineering] + [telecommunication] [Kamnik] + [bus] „bus service operating in the Kamnik area‟ A civil initiative for an exchange of surplus seeds, seedlings and crops from home gardens has chosen the following name: [vegetable] + [exchange] „Crops2swap‟ The annual festival of scientific lectures, experimental workshops and adventures taking place in Ljubljana has been named: [science] + [festival] A series of lectures on science intended for the lay public where tea is served to the listeners has been named: ZnaČAJ (znanosti) < značaj [character]+ čaj [tea] Similarly, a dog hotel is advertised as: [wuff-wuff] + [hotel] 8 Ljubljana Modern Gallery invites to an event in its cafeteria called: [art] [dicussions] 8 Source: https: / / pikaboo.si/ (accessed March 2018) 153 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene Finally, the Botrstvo project sponsoring poor children has sold biscuits called Nasmeškotek for Easter, with the proceeds going to charity: Nasmeškotek < nasmeh [smile] + piškotek [biscuit] Blends are occasionally found in literature, testifying to the creativity of either the author or the translator. Thus, from a children‟s book by Julia Donaldson has been translated into Slovene by Milan Dekleva using the coinage , imitating the original word structure: [beast] + [wild boar] (English original: ) The same translator coined a number of blends in his translation of Roald Dahl‟s ; somewhat surprisingly, the blends are used in the translation even when the orginal uses ordinary compounds or phrases: [sugar] + [brandy] (English original uses ) [roller-skates] + [wheels] (English original uses ) In these, the coiners link two or more words by establishing a clever semantic association between them. It is particularly political texts that may abound in such creations; these tend to be used with a negative connotation, and serve to express the authors‟ views rather than observing the conventions of political correctness. Extragrammatical morphology plays an important part in this kind of creation and also generates language games, puns, and other playful and expressive word creations (see, for example, Dressler 2000, Zwicky and Pullum 1987). Below is an instance of an original and witty semantic association created by the writer : [Inland Revenue] [hairsplitting] „exceedingly hairsplitting like the Inland Revenue in their interpretation of tax legisla tion‟ 154 Eva Sicherl Politicians are often referred to by blended nicknames: Mafijanković < [mafia] + nković [Janković] „the mayor of Ljubljana Janković, suggesting he has mafia connections‟ 9 [swindler, cheat] + [Virant] „politician Virant, who caused the Slovene government fall in 2013, suggesting his allegedly dishonest political practices‟ 10 [Catholic] + [taliban] „a Catholic with extremist views‟ 11 In English, most blends formed are nouns; verbs and adjectives are less frequently coined (cf. Adams 2001: 140, also Renner et al. 2012). In Slovene, the nominal category seems to prevail as well, but given the wordformational properties of the Slovene language system, further formation of corresponding verbs, adjectives, and adverbs by means of suffixation is feasible, as in: previrant „dishonest politician‟ 12 > previrantka „dishonest female politician‟ > previrantstvo „dishonest acting in politics‟ > previrantski „dishonest in politics‟ 13 previrantsko „dishonestly‟ 14 Thus, our corpus of examples, albeit very limited, has also yielded the following adjectives: 9 Source: http: / / www.pozareport.si/ ? Id=46&View=tema&temaID=16342&show= 10 (accessed March 2018) 10 Source: http: / / www.emka.si/ previrant-zakrinkani-birokratski-morilec-slovenije-alizakaj-je-slovenija-bankrotirala/ PR/ 1526738 (accessed March 2018) 11 Source: https: / / med.over.net/ forum5/ viewtopic.php? t=11029683 (accessed March 2018) 12 Source: http: / / www.delo.si/ novice/ politika/ miro-cerar-bo-sodeloval-z-nekompro mitiranimi-politiki.html (accessed April 2018) 13 Source: http: / / www.rtvslo.si/ zivalskiotok/ prispevek/ 292896 (accessed April 2018) 14 Source: http: / / www.rtvslo.si/ modload.php? &c_mod=blog&op=func&func=print &c_menu=75274 (accessed April 2018) 155 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene megastičen < [mega-] stičen [fantastic] 15 šokastičen < šok [shocking] + stičen [bombastic] 16 [vodka] + [drunk] 17 „drunk with vodka‟ The only verb found in the corpus is: [twitter] + [vanish] 18 „vanish from twitter‟ Not uncommon are verbal nouns of the type: nežnovanje < nežn [gentle] + [care] „gentle caring (of hair)‟ [sex] + [texting] „texting of sexually explicit messages‟ Quite often, it is possible to detect an underlying adverb + adjective pattern in a blend, as in: < [exceptionally] + [good] „really good‟ < [as is typical of Inland Revenue] + [hair splitting] It needs to be pointed out, however, that due to the limitations of the corpus on which the present article is based, any estimation of the categorial distribution of blends in Slovene is merely tentative. The process of blending can be seen as an indicator of current language change. Word-formationally, blends testify to the expressive and semantic qualities of the Slovene language and put these qualities to the test. As far 15 Source: http: / / www.paradaplesa.si/ ? Id=video&View=novica&noviceID=1122#. WlXgdDRDC70 (accessed November 2017). The adjective megastičen has been recorded by Rekar (2013) in her dictionary of nonstandard and offensive words, which may be suggestive of its more frequent use in mostly informal texts. 16 Source: http: / / novice.najdi.si/ predogled/ novica/ e6e64b56a46204ebf0362ce0445a 9291/ Domovina/ Slovenija/ %C5%A0OKANTNO-Izbranka-Domovine-portala-Nove- Slovenije-je-Romana-Tomc (accessed November 2017) 17 Source: http: / / razvezanijezik.org/ (accessed March 2018) 18 Source: http: / / razvezanijezik.org/ (accessed March 2018) 156 Eva Sicherl as borrowing from other languages is concerned, in our case from English, blends in Slovene introduce new types of formation, which add overlap and truncation to the already established process of juxtaposition. With a more frequent and continuous use of blends, these parallel morphonological processes can bring about some degree of standardization in formation; standardization of use and formation can eventually give such coinages some systemic predictability in Slovene as well. On account of their currently insufficient word-formational and semantic systemic predictability, blends presently cannot be tracked and tagged by corpora as a specific type of coinage. Like all new language phenomena, blends are also characterized by markedness of use in style and genre. Therefore blends are not yet part of standard Slovene, but are typically found in less refined sociolects as well as in jargon and slang speech due to their stylistic effect and value particularly in conversational Slovene, while in writing they frequently appear in advertising texts. Due to the great heterogeneity of underlying bases Slovene blends presently cannot be typologically classified in entirety; it would seem reasonable to treat them as a kind of word-formational continuum (see also Bauer 2012: 11-22). Bauer seems to suggest a prototypical approach in the treatment of blends since lexical blending can presently (even in English) be most adequately described if it is seen as a prototypical fuzzy category. Since, according to Bauer (2012: 21), “blends are still a descriptive problem”, it is probably best to adopt the broadest definition possible and then treat individual characteristics of blends as more or less typical features and not as obligatory features in our research and analysis of lexical blends. Presently, we can conclude that in Slovene blending the two most productive patterns in word-formational terms appear to be the one in which the blend consists of the first part of the first base and the whole of the second base (e.g. < / [documentary]+ [drama]), and the one in which the central part of the blend is shared by the two bases (e.g. < [whisky] + [kilometre], < [scientific] + [festival]). This can be explained by the general preference of the Slovene language system for subordinate phrases consisting of an adjective and a nominal headword (e.g. , ); consequently, such formations can be expected to be fairly frequent. In this article, certain types of (con)texts have been identified in which blends tend to appear with a somewhat higher frequency than elsewhere: marketing texts, children‟s literature, blogs and forums. Naturally, there remains the question of the representativeness of the corpus itself. The tentative conclusions presented here can only be valid for this very limited collection of blends. The study, however, has opened up a number of issues for possible future research. First of all, the 157 English-Influence-on Word-Formational Production in Slovene collection of lexical blends in Slovene would need to be enlarged by other texts and possibly other genres for researchers to gain more conclusive evidence and a more reliable picture with regard to the general tendencies of lexical blending in Slovene. Further, some blends may gradually develop more than one sense and undergo semantic extension; these will typically appear in jargon or slang use and will also be mainly found in various internet forums, blogs, etc. However, this aspect of lexical blending needs to be subjected to further research in the future and no conclusions about it can be drawn from the present material. Adams, Valerie (2001). . Harlow, Essex: Pearson Education Limited. Algeo, John (1977). . 52. 47- 64. Arcodia, Giorgio F./ Fabio Montermini (2012). “Are reduced compounds compounds? Morphological and prosodic properties of reduced compounds in Russian and Mandarin Chinese.” Vincent Renner/ François Maniez/ Pierre Arnaud (Eds.). . Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. 93-114. Bauer, Laurie (1983). . Cambridge: CUP. Bauer, Laurie (2002). . Rodney Huddleston/ Geoffrey K. Pullum (Eds.). . Cambridge: CUP. 1621-1722. Bauer, Laurie (2006). “Compounds and minor word-formation types”. Bas Aarts/ April McMahon (Eds.). . Malden, MA: Blackwell. 483-506. Bauer, Laurie (2012). “Blends: Core and periphery”. Vincent Renner/ François Maniez/ Pierre Arnaud (Eds.). . Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. 11-22. Bryant, Margaret M. (1974). “Blends are increasing”. 49. 163- 184. Corpus Nova beseda. http: / / bos.zrc-sazu.si/ s_beseda3.html (accessed November 2017). Dahl, Roald (2009). Čarli in tovarna čokolade. Milan Dekleva (Trans.). Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga. Donaldson, Julia (2014). . Milan Dekleva (Trans.). Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga. Dressler, Wolfgang U. (2000). “Extragrammatical vs. marginal morphology”. Ursula Doleschal/ Anna M. Thornton (Eds.). E . München: Lincom. 1-10. Kelly, Michael (1998). “To “brunch” or to “brench”: Some aspects of blend structure”. 36/ 3. 579-590. Konieczna, Eva (2012). “Lexical blending in Polish: A result of the internationalization of Slavic languages”. Vincent Renner/ François Maniez/ Pierre Arnaud (Eds.). . Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. 51-73. 158 Eva Sicherl Kubozono, Haruo (1990). “Phonological constraints on blending in English as a case for phonology-morphology interface”. Geert E. Booij/ Jaap van Marle (Eds.). 1990. Dordrecht, Boston, London: Kluwer. 1- 20. Lehrer, Adrienne (2007). “Blendalicious”. Judith Munat (Ed.). . Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins. 115-133. Logar, Nataša (2006). “Stilno zaznamovane nove tvorjenke - tipologija”. Ada Vidovič Muha (Ed.). Slavistična revija, posebna številka. Slovensko jezikoslovje danes. 87-101. Piñeros, Carlos-Eduardo (2004). “The creation of portmateaus in the extragrammatical morphology of Spanish”. 16/ 2. 203-240. Plag, Ingo (2003). . Cambridge: CUP. Razvezani jezik, Prosti slovar žive slovenščine. http: / / razvezanijezik.org/ (accessed March 2018). Rekar, Aleksandra (2013). Slovarček popačenk in zmerljivk. Kamnik: Amebis d.o.o. Renner, Vincent/ François Maniez/ Pierre Arnaud (2012). “Introduction: A bird'seye view of lexical blending”. Vincent Renner/ François Maniez/ Pierre Arnaud (Eds.). . Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. 1-9. Renner, Vincent/ François Maniez/ Pierre J. L. Arnaud (Eds.). (2012). . Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Slovene dictionaries Fran; Slovarji Inštituta za slovenski jezik Frana Ramovša ZRC SAZU. http: / / www.fran.si/ (accessed November 2017 - March 2018). Stramljič Breznik, Irena (2008). “Prevzete leksemske prvine in njihova besedotvorna zmožnost v slovenščini”. Slavistična revija 56/ 2. 149-160. Stramljič Breznik, Irena (2010). “Tvorjenke slovenskega jezika med slovarjem in besedilom”. 71. Maribor: Mednarodna založba Oddelka za slovanske jezike in književnosti FF UM. Toporišič, Jože (1992). . Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba. Toporišič, Jože (2006). “Besedjeslovne razprave”. 13. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC SAZU. Vidovič Muha, Ada (1988). skladenjsko besedotvorje ob primerih zloženk . Ljubljana: Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete and Partizanska knjiga. Vidovič Muha, Ada (2011). . Ljubljana: Znanstvena založba Filozofske fakultete. Voršič, Ines (2013). Sistemska in nesistemska leksikalna tvorba v novejšem besedju (unpubl. PhD thesis). FF UL, Maribor. Zwicky, Arnold/ Geoffrey Pullum (1987). “Plain morphology and expressive morphology”. Aske, Jon/ Natasha Beery/ Laura Michealis/ Hana Filip (Eds.).. Berkeley: Berkeley Linguistic Society. 330-340. This article 1 deals with variably stressed English words such as , which receive secondary stress on either the first or the second syllable: ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ . It is argued that cases such as this have morphological rather than phonological causes. That is, the stress pattern ˌ ˈ is due to the initially stressed disyllable ˈ , whereas ˌ ˈ is due to the penultimately stressed trisyllables ˈ , ˈ , ˈ . Another important factor is emphasis, which is the reason initial secondary stress often occurs in pairs of words such as - , which are formally different from each other only with regard to their initial monosyllabic strings -/ -. This article is concerned with polysyllabic English words that receive either initial or pen-initial secondary stress. For example, is either / əˌkadəˈmɪʃn/ or / ˌakədəˈmɪʃn/ ; is both / pɑːˌtɪsɨˈpeɪʃn/ and / ˌpɑːtɨsɨˈpeɪʃn/ ; vacillates between / ˌtəʊtalɨˈtɛːrɪən/ and / tə(ʊ)ˌtalɨˈtɛːrɪən/ ; etc. (Upton/ Kretzschmar 2017: 7, 972, 1392). Whereas primary stress variation - e.g., / ˈadʌlt/ vs. / əˈdʌlt/ , / əˈplɪkəbl/ vs. / ˈaplɨkəbl/ , / ˈpaprɨkə/ vs. / pəˈpriːkə/ , etc. (Upton/ Kretzschmar 2017: 18, 65, 966) - has been systematically analyzed by Tokar (2017) (and less systematically by, e.g., Mair 2006: 159-162 and Zumstein 2006), secondary stress variation has, to the best of my knowledge, thus far escaped a thorough investigation; that is, the existence of variably stressed words such as , , and is only acknowledged 1 I thank anonymous reviewers and Prof. Bernhard Kettemann, the editor of the journal, for commenting upon an earlier version of this article. All remaining deficiencies are my own. - 160 Alexander Tokar by authors such as, e.g., Gimson (1970: 233), Kiparsky (1979: 423), Hayes (1980: 298), Fudge (1984: 151), Halle and Vergnaud (1987: 243, 245-246), Wenszky (2004: 12), and Trevian (2015: 457-458), but these authors do not raise the question of why only particular secondarystressed English words have come to be associated with more than one secondary stress pattern. For example, is, just like , also interchangeably pronounced / anˌtɪsɨˈpeɪʃn/ and / ˌantɪsɨˈpeɪʃn/ (Upton/ Kretzschmar 2017: 57), but has only pen-initial secondary stress: / ɨˌmansɨˈpeɪʃn/ (Upton/ Kretzschmar 2017: 417). Likewise, as reported by Halle and Vergnaud (1987: 245), Kenyon and Knott‟s (1953[1944]: 223, 416) gives both initial and pen-initial secondary stress only for, e.g., , but not for the formally and semantically related word . Commenting upon this fact, Halle and Vergnaud (1987: 245) observe that “the absence of a second alternative for , , is more likely to be an oversight than a systematic gap to be accounted for in a phonological description of the language.” That is, because the so-called rule of Stress Enhancement (Halle/ Vergnaud 1987: 242-243, 250) in principle leaves a choice between placing secondary stress on either the first or the second syllable, there are no reasons that would preclude words such as , , and from being pronounced with either initial or pen-initial secondary stress. At the same time, however, “for words like the alternative with secondary stress on the first syllable seems to be excluded for everyone we have consulted” (Halle/ Vergnaud 1987: 250). The theoretically possible secondary stress pattern ˌ is thus either nonexistent or at least strongly dispreferred by contemporary English speakers. A related question is thus why, in the case of variably stressed English words, one secondary stress pattern becomes the preferred stress pattern. On the one hand, in the view of Kenyon and Knott (1953[1944]: xxv), “in actual speech, such alternative accentuations as ˌ ˈ or ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ or ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ or ˌ ˈ are very common and do not represent more and less desirable pronunciations.” On the other hand, there are words such as , which is both ˌ ˈ and ˌ ˈ according to Gimson (1970: 233), but Upton and Kretzschmar‟s (2017) (henceforth RDPCE), which claims to be “the most up-to-date record of the pronunciation of British and American English,” gives only the stress pattern ˌ ˈ . Similarly, in the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English (henceforth LDOCE), is said to be only / tjuːˌbɜːkjəˈləʊsɪs/ in British English and only / tuːˌbɜːrkjəˈloʊsɪs/ in American English. Why do Present-day English speakers prefer the stress pattern ˌ ˈ to ˌ ˈ ? In the following, we will attempt to answer these questions using both dictionary transcriptions, such as the aforementioned / əˌkadəˈmɪʃn/ vs. 161 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English / ˌakədəˈmɪʃn/ , and YouTube videos in which words with secondary stress doublets in dictionary transcriptions were found to have been pronounced by native English speakers. In particular, pronouncing dictionaries, such as RDPCE, give us a general idea of which English words are likely to receive both initial and pen-initial secondary stress; additionally, with the help of dictionary transcriptions, we can relatively easily analyze the general distribution of secondary-stressed syllables in English words, that is, for example, whether words with initial secondary stress are more numerous in contemporary English than words with pen-initial secondary stress. What dictionary transcriptions cannot do, however, is tell us 1) which of the stress patterns is more frequently used by contemporary English speakers than an alternative stress pattern given in a dictionary, and 2) whether discourse context influences secondary stress assignment, that is, whether a particular secondary stress pattern is likely to be chosen in a particular environment. To answer these questions, we obviously need corpus data, i.e., recordings of native English speakers pronouncing particular variably stressed words in different environments. Just like Tokar (2017: Section 3.3), the present article uses YouTube, which is the largest freely available online database of spoken English (as well as of many other languages). Excerpts from YouTube videos illustrating particular claims (e.g., that American English prefers the stress pattern ˌ ˈ ) can be downloaded from https: / / tinyurl.com/ y9xxz9vw (28.05.2018). In Oxford Dictionaries, henceforth OD (http: / / www.oxforddictionaries. com/ , which as of 31.12.2015 consisted of 201,079 entries; “Oxford Dictionaries focuses on current language and practical usage”), there are 24,187 solidly spelled entries that contain 30,428 secondary-stressed transcriptions, that is, transcriptions in which the secondary stress symbol (ˌ) occurs at least one time. In 29,220 (~96.03%) of the secondarystressed transcriptions, the secondary stress symbol occurs only one time, and in 25,151 (~82.66%) secondary-stressed transcriptions, the secondary stress symbol occurs immediately after the transcription opening symbol (/ ). Thus, it can be stated that “secondary-stressed English words almost always have only one secondary-stressed syllable, which is as a rule their first syllable” (Tokar 2017: 126). Note, however, that in RDPCE, there are 61,574 lines on which the abbreviations and , which stand for American English and British English, are followed by secondary-stressed transcriptions, which contain the symbol (ˌ). These transcriptions fall into 39,121 (~63.53%) American and only 22,453 (~36.47%) British English transcriptions. (Secondary stress is thus quite obviously more typical of the American variety.) Of 162 Alexander Tokar the 22,453 British English transcriptions, 19,035 (~84.78%) exhibit initial secondary stress, while in the case of the 39,121 American English transcriptions, the same is true of only 17,520 (~44.78%) transcriptions: χ 2 (1) = 9,459, < 0.000001. The reason for this (statistically highly significant) difference is that American English often employs post-tonic secondary stress, which is virtually nonexistent in British English: 21,495/ 39,121 (= ~54.94%) vs. 2,089/ 22,453 (= ~9.3%), χ 2 (1) = 12,575, < 0.000001. (This difference is thus also statistically highly significant.) For example, is stressed / ˈtɛrəˌtɔri/ in American English vs. / ˈtɛrɨt(ə)ri/ in British English (RDPCE: 1364). Given stress differences such as / ˈtɛrəˌtɔri/ vs. / ˈtɛrɨt(ə)ri/ , American English is often referred to as a more conservative variety with regard to stress than British English. That is, the English word etymologically goes back to the Latin word territōrium (Dictionary.com); cf. the Modern Italian word , which is pronounced / ter.ri.ˈtɔ: .rio/ (PONS), or the German word , which is pronounced / tɛriˈto: riʊm/ (Kleiner et al. 2015: 832). The post-tonic secondary stress of the American English / ˈtɛrəˌtɔri/ is thus simply the etymological stress of the Latin territōrium. Indeed, in Crystal‟s (2016) , there are 4,600 non-identical lines on which the secondary stress symbol (ˌ) occurs at least one time. On 3,567 (~77.54%) lines, the secondary stress symbol (ˌ) occurs after the primary stress symbol (ˈ), which means that just like contemporary American English speakers, Early Modern English speakers also often placed secondary stress upon a post-tonic syllable. For example, was, according to Crystal (2016: 556), not only / ˈterɪtrəɪ/ but also / ˈterɪˌtɒrəɪ/ , with the post-tonic syllable / ˌtɒ/ receiving secondary stress. Of the 25,151 secondary-stressed transcriptions (in OD) in which the secondary stress symbol occurs initially, 15,503 (~61.64%) are transcriptions such as / ˌaləˈbamə/ , / ˌfɪləˈdɛlfɪə/ , or / ˌmɒntrɪˈɔːl/ , in which the primary stress symbol is preceded by a string that contains two vowels (with the symbols that are used in OD to represent diphthongs and triphthongs counting as one vowel. Notice, however, that a sequence of two vowels such as, e.g., / ɪə/ can denote both a diphthong and a hiatus. For example, is only / ˈɡlɔːrɪəs/ according to the OD dictionary, but as, for instance, Jones [1917: xxx] points out, the syllabic structure of this word vacillates between the trisyllabic / ˈɡlɔː-rɪ-əs/ , which contains a hiatus, and the disyllabic / ˈɡlɔː-rɪəs/ , which resolves the hiatus via diphthongization. Given this fact, it is possible that some of the 15,503 transcriptions such as / ˌaləˈbamə/ , / ˌfɪləˈdɛlfɪə/ , or / ˌmɒntrɪˈɔːl/ actually belong to words in which the fourth rather than the third syllable counting from the beginning of the word receives primary stress). Because in English, “[n]o word can begin with two unstressed syllables” (Fournier 2007: 222) and (not only in English, but in general) “adjacent stressed syllables make speech sound jerky” (Kingdon 1949: 163 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English 149), initial secondary stress usually occurs in an English word in which primary stress is post-pen-initial (i.e., falls upon the third syllable counting from the beginning of the word). Words in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress are usually represented by 1) penultimately stressed tetrasyllables ( ), 2) antepenultimately stressed pentasyllables ( ), and 3) finally stressed trisyllables ( ). In 2,867 (~11.4%) phonetic transcriptions in OD in which secondary stress occurs initially, the primary stress symbol is preceded by a string that contains only one vowel. In 1,082 (~37.74%) transcriptions, the secondary stress symbol is, however, surrounded by brackets - e.g., / (ˌ)ʌnˈɔːdn̩(ə)rəli/ - which means that the word in question can be pronounced either with or without initial secondary stress, that is, ˌ ˈ vs. ˈ . Cases such as this are almost exclusively represented by words whose first syllables are semantically transparent prefixes (e.g., of , of , of , etc.), which receive stress even when this results in a rhythmically unfortunate sequence of two stressed syllables. Normally, the stress borne by a semantically transparent prefix is secondary, but “[w]hen there is contrast or when the idea expressed by the prefix is given special prominence, the prefix bears the primary stress and the base a secondary stress […]” (Poldauf 1984: 24). Thus, in addition to being stressed ˌ ˈ or ˈ , which follows from the phonetic transcription / (ˌ)mɪsˈkrɛdɪt/ (OD), the prefixed derivative can also be stressed ˈ ˌ , with the prefix receiving primary stress. Likewise, we argue that is not only ˌ ˈ or ˈ , which follows from the phonetic transcription / (ˌ)ʌnˈtruː/ (RDPCE: 1476), but also ˈ ˌ . Stress clashes that involve a preceding secondary-stressed syllable and a following primary-stressed one are also characteristic of right-prominent compounds such as, e.g., : / ˌbluːˈtʌŋ/ (OD). As indicated in the previous section, what poses an intellectual challenge is English words in which the first three or more syllables with which they begin do not take primary stress. In a word such as , either the first or the second syllable can receive secondary stress, which is reflected in the stress variation / ˌpɑːtɨsɨˈpeɪʃn/ vs. / pɑːˌtɪsɨˈpeɪʃn/ (i.e., both of these stress patterns respect the principles of not beginning a word with two unstressed syllables and avoiding stress clashes). However, as observed above, the word , which exhibits a similar structure (i.e., a pentasyllable in which primary stress is post-post-peninitial), is stressed only / ɨˌmansɨˈpeɪʃn/ . What follows below is thus a discussion of why words such as can receive either initial or pen-initial secondary stress. It is hoped that this discussion will further our understanding of the general principles governing the incidence of secondary stress in words such as and , in which the first three or more syllables do not take primary stress. 164 Alexander Tokar . Contemporary English has (no less than) 494 solidly spelled variably stressed words such as ; that is, according to LDOCE, OD, or RDPCE, 1) the primary stress of these words, which always occurs upon one and the same syllable, is not initial, pen-initial, or post-pen-initial, and 2) their secondary stress is interchangeably initial and pen-initial. (These words are all given in the appendix.) Note that the 494 variably stressed words such as do not include variably stressed words such as - / dʒɪˌɒmᵻtrʌɪˈzeɪʃn/ vs. / ˌdʒɒmᵻtrʌɪˈzeɪʃn/ (OD) - in which a change in the place of secondary stress correlates with a change in the syllabic structure. That is, because hiatus, which means that a codaless syllable precedes an onsetless one, is “dispreferred cross-linguistically” (Chitoran/ Hualde 2007: 61), is stressed not only / dʒɪˌɒ-/ , preserving the stress of ˈ / ˈ , but also / ˌdʒɒ-/ , with the hiatus / ɪˌɒ/ of / dʒɪˌɒ-/ being resolved via deleting the preceding vowel / ɪ/ . Cases such as / dʒɪˌɒ-/ vs. / ˌdʒɒ-/ of are not genuine instances of secondary stress variation, which is especially obvious in the case of - / ˌbjɛləʊˈrʌʃə/ vs. / bɪˌɛləʊˈrʌʃə/ (RDPCE: 174) - with the former pronunciation resolving the hiatus / ɪˌɛ/ of the latter via replacing the preceding vowel / ɪ/ through the phonetically similar glide / j/ . That is, because the primary stress of / ˌbjɛləʊˈrʌʃə/ is post-pen-initial, its secondary stress can only be initial. According to RDPCE, in the case of 306 variably stressed words such as , initial and pen-initial secondary stress are interchangeably used by British English speakers, whereas in the case of American English, the corresponding number is (only) 52. Observe, however, that this finding is mainly due to the fact that for prefixed derivatives such as - / ˌdɪsɪmɨˈlarɨti/ vs. / dɨ(s)ˌsɪmɨˈlarɨti/ in British English (RDPCE: 373) - the dictionary gives American English transcriptions such as / ˌdɪ(s)ˌsɪməˈlɛrədi/ , with both the first and the second syllable being marked as bearing secondary stress. Compare this to Kenyon and Knott (1953[1944]: 131), who give the American English pronunciations / dɪˌsɪməˈlærəti/ and / ˌdɪssɪməˈlærəti/ . Indeed, because in transcriptions such as / ˌdɪ(s)ˌsɪməˈlɛrədi/ , one secondary-stressed syllable occurs immediately after another secondary-stressed syllable, which is unfortunate from the point of view of rhythm, it is safe to assume that just like British English speakers, American English speakers also, at least on some occasions, pronounce words such as with either only initial or only pen-initial secondary stress. 165 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English As suggested in Section 2, contemporary English also has words in which a particular (usually, post-tonic) syllable either receives or does not receive secondary stress. Typically, stress patterns such as the above mentioned / ˈtɛrəˌtɔri/ are used in American English, whereas British English prefers stress patterns such as / ˈtɛrɨt(ə)ri/ . In some cases, however, the choice between pronunciations such as / ˈtɛrəˌtɔri/ and / ˈtɛrɨt(ə)ri/ is semantically conditioned. For example, is stressed / ˈnɒmɪnətɪv/ when it expresses the meaning “the nominative case,” but it is stressed / ˈnɒmɪˌneɪtɪv/ when the intended meaning is “[o]f or appointed by nomination as distinct from election” (OD; boldface mine). (The semantic link between and , which results in the pronunciation / ˈnɒmɪˌneɪtɪv/ , is thus obviously stronger in the latter than in the former case.) A slightly different case is / ˌɒnəmeɪsɪˈɒlədʒi/ in British English vs. / ˌɔnəˌmeɪziˈɑlədʒi/ in American English (RDPCE: 930), where the difference concerns the number of (pre-tonic) secondary-stressed syllables in the same word. The point here is that is “another name for ” (Dictionary.com; italics mine). Given this fact, we naturally obtain the stress pattern ˌ ˌ ˈ , which preserves the stresses of the formally and semantically related word ˌ ˈ , in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. (Note also that etymologically, is “from Greek „term‟ + - ” [OD]. The string -ˌ ˈ , in which secondary stress is initial because primary stress is post-pen-initial, does not occur in English as a separate word, but it does occur as a righthand part of the word , one of whose stress patterns is, according to OD, / anˌtɒnəˈmeɪzɪə/ .) At the same time, however, as pointed out in Section 2, in a secondary-stressed word of contemporary British English, there is as a rule only one secondary-stressed syllable, which is usually the wordinitial syllable. Thus we obtain the British English pronunciation ˌ ˈ , with only the first syllable in the word receiving secondary stress. Note that in the view of van der Hulst (2014: 32) - who does not distinguish between British and American English - the third syllable in a word such as should be regarded as a syllable bearing tertiary rather than secondary stress. This claim is especially obvious in the case of , which, just like , is stressed / ˌɒnəmatəˈpiːə/ in British English vs. / ˌɑnəˌmædəˈpiə/ in American English (RDPCE: 930). The back-derivative from - the word - is stressed / ˈɒnəmətəʊp/ (OD), with the first syllable of being promoted to the primary-stressed syllable and the third syllable being completely destressed, i.e., “a syllable of English is com- 166 Alexander Tokar pletely stressless if its vowel is schwa” (Hayes 1995: 12). The first syllable in thus bears a stronger stress than the third syllable. Finally, observe that in some English words in which the third syllable takes primary stress, secondary stress occurs not only initially but also pen-initially. For example, is stressed either / ˌkɒnɛkˈtɪvɨti/ or / kəˌnɛkˈtɪvɨti/ (RDPCE: 267), with the secondary stress of the latter being the preserved stress of the base verb . According to Pater (2000: 254), “a light syllable is never stressed when it is the final number of bisyllabic or trisyllabic pretonic string.” Thus, because “stress preservation on light syllables is blocked in the environment of a following primary stress” (Pater 2000: 237), e.g., cannot be stressed * ˌ ˈ , preserving the stress of / fəˈnɛtɪk/ (RDPCE: 1003), whereas can be stressed / əˌkuːˈstɪʃn/ (RDPCE: 11), preserving the stress of / əˈkuːstɪk/ (RDPCE: 11). What distinguishes these two - -derivatives is that in the base , stress occurs upon the light penult / ˈnɛ/ , whereas in the base , it occurs upon the heavy penult / ˈkuː/ . Note, however, that even when the base is stressed upon a heavy syllable, a derived form such as and does not always exhibit pen-initial secondary stress. For example, in contrast to , for which RDPCE (329) gives the American English transcriptions / ˌdɛfərˈmeɪʃ(ə)n/ vs. / ˌdiˌfɔrˈmeɪʃ(ə)n/ , with the nucleus of the second syllable being either a schwa or an unreduced vowel, is only / ˌɪnfəˈmeɪʃn/ in British English and only / ˌɪnfərˈmeɪʃ(ə)n/ in American English (RDPCE: 672), with the second syllable always containing a reduced vowel and thus not bearing any degree of stress. What this means is that the stress of the base , which falls upon the heavy ult / ˈfɔːm/ , is not preserved in the derivative . Given words such as , we can repeat Pater‟s (2000: 258) claim that in general, the constraint “IDENT-STRESS [i.e., stress preservation] must be subordinated to *CLASH-HEAD [i.e., stress clash avoidance].” Stress patterns such as the aforementioned / kəˌnɛkˈtɪvɨti/ , / əˌkuːˈstɪʃn/ , / ˌdiˌfɔrˈmeɪʃ(ə)n/ , etc. should thus be seen as idiosyncratic deviations from the principle of avoiding stress clashes. According to Fudge (1984: 31; author‟s italics), “[i]f there is a syllable two syllables back from main stress, it takes secondary stress. [...] If there is a syllable two syllables back from main stress, the third syllable back from main stress takes secondary stress.” For example, is stressed / ɨnˌsʌɪklə(ʊ)ˈpiːdɪə/ (RDPCE: 425) because the syllable / ˌsʌɪ/ , which contains a diphthong in the nucleus position, is strong or heavy, whereas is stressed / ˌfɑːməkəˈpiːə/ (RDPCE: 1000) because the syllable / mə/ , which ends in a short vowel, is weak or light. In a similar way, Bermúdez-Otero and McMahon (2006: 397) observe 167 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English that “in a pretonic sequence of light syllables, secondary stress is assigned by building trochees from left to right […]. In words with three pretonic light syllables, this results in a characteristic dactylic sequence […] (àbra)ca(dábra)” (It is fairly obvious that with these claims, especially Fudge (1984: 31) merely repeats the Latin Stress Rule, which, in the view of many authors (e.g., Hayes 1995: 181), is also responsible for the distribution of primary stress in English words of three and more syllables: Stress is penultimate when the penult is heavy and antepenultimate when the penult is light.) In stark contrast to these claims, e.g., Pater (2000: 241) observes that “[t]he standard analysis of English is that main stress is subject to a quantity-sensitivity parameter or rule, and that the parameter is turned off for secondary stress placement.” Indeed, in the case of, e.g., - / ˌfantazməˈɡɔːrɪə/ vs. / fanˌtazməˈɡɔːrɪə/ (RDPCE: 1000) - the change in the location of secondary stress does not correlate with any segmental differences (i.e., the pre-tonic strings / ˌfantazmə-/ and / fanˌtazmə-/ differ from each other only with regard to the location of the secondary stress symbol). Similarly, in the case of / vɪˌtɛlə(ʊ)ˈdʒɛnɪn/ vs. / ˌvɪt(ə)ləʊˈdʒɛnɪn/ (OD), both the stressed syllable / ˌtɛ/ of / vɪˌtɛlə(ʊ)-/ , which contains a full vowel, and the unstressed syllable / t(ə)/ of / ˌvɪt(ə)ləʊ-/ , which contains a qualitatively reduced vowel, count phonologically as light syllables. When is stressed / ˌhjuːmanɨˈtɛːrɪən/ (RDPCE: 626), the secondary-stressed syllable / ˌhjuː/ contains a long vowel and counts therefore as a heavy syllable. The unstressed syllable / hjʊ/ of the peninitially stressed alternative / hjʊˌmanɨˈtɛːrɪən/ (RDPCE: 626) ends, however, in a short vowel and counts therefore as a light syllable. At the same time, however, the light syllable / ma/ , which does not receive stress in the initially stressed pronunciation / ˌhjuːmanɨ-/ , is the stressed syllable of the pen-initially stressed alternative / hjʊˌmanɨ-/ , which is not in accordance with the Latin Stress Rule. A similar case is , which is interchangeably stressed / nɪˌɒntəˈlɒdʒɪk/ and / ˌniːɒntəˈlɒdʒɪk/ (OD), with the segmentally identical heavy syllable / ɒn/ occurring in both the peninitially stressed pronunciation / nɪˌɒntə-/ and the initially stressed alternative / ˌniːɒntə-/ . An interesting case is / ˌapətɛmnəˈfɪlɪə/ vs. / əˌpɒtᵻmnəˈfɪlɪə/ (OD). What distinguishes the variably stressed word from the (majority of the) variably stressed words discussed thus far is that in the former, the primary-stressed syllable is preceded by a string of four syllables. In the pre-tonic string / əˌpɒtᵻmnə-/ , the antepenultimate syllable receives stress even though the following penult / tᵻm/ , which ends in a consonant, is a heavy syllable. As for the pronunciation / ˌapətɛmnə-/ , where the preantepenultimate syllable receives stress, recall that in accordance with the Latin Stress Rule, stress can only be penultimate when the penult is heavy or antepenultimate when the penult is light. Of the 1,960 secondary-stressed transcriptions in OD in which the lefthand string that pre- 168 Alexander Tokar cedes the primary stress symbol contains four vowels (i.e., words such as ˈ ), 1,098 (~56.02%) are transcriptions such as / ˌapətɛmnəˈfɪlɪə/ , in which the secondary stress symbol occurs initially, violating the Latin Stress Rule. (It is fairly obvious that the stress variation / ˌapətɛmnəˈfɪlɪə/ vs. / əˌpɒtᵻmnəˈfɪlɪə/ has only morphological causes. The former stress pattern is in accordance with the segmentation of into the combining form -, which means “away” - i.e., the meaning of is “[a] disorder characterized by the desire for amputation of a healthy part of the body, especially a limb” (OD) - and the tetrasyllabic base -ˌ ˈ , in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. In accordance with the principles of not beginning a word with two unstressed syllables and avoiding stress clashes, is supposed to be stressed ˌ ˌ ˈ , with secondary stress being both initial and post-pen-initial, but, as explained in 3.2, a stress pattern such as ˌ ˌ ˈ (especially in British English) often corresponds to a stress pattern such as ˌ ˈ , with secondary stress being exclusively initial. The alternative pronunciation / əˌpɒtᵻmnəˈfɪlɪə/ is, by contrast, due to the influence of such pen-initially stressed -words as ˈ and ˈ .) Given these facts, we argue that the words ˌ ˈ and ˌ ˈ , discussed by Fudge (1984: 31), have different secondary stress patterns not because of the Latin Stress Rule but because of the influence of the similar words ˈ , ˈ vs. ˈ , ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ , etc. As for ˌ ˈ , a much more intuitive explanation for this secondary stress pattern is the morphological segmentation of into the simplex form and the complex (i.e., prefixed) form - . What supports this morphological analysis is the line break abra|ca¦dabra (OD), where “[a] bar(„|‟) indicates a preferred or primary division point, at which a word can be divided under almost any circumstances,” whereas “[a] broken bar indicates a secondary division point, at which a word is best divided only if absolutely necessary” (http: / / tinyurl.com/ h46ys8d, 27.03.2016). According to Hammond (2006: 413), “[m]orphology plays a role in that hyphens are preferentially placed at […] morpheme boundaries, e.g. […] is better hyphenated as - , rather than - .” Thus, because the preferred division of is abra-cadabra, we are justified in claiming that the secondary stress of / ˌabrəkəˈdabrə/ (RDPCE: 4) is simply the initial primary stress of the morphologically simple disyllabic component -. Consider, however, the verb , for which RDPCE (1123) gives the British English transcription / ˈrɛɡjᵿlərʌɪz/ and the American English transcription / ˈrɛɡjələˌraɪz/ , where the ult is said to bear secondary stress. For the derived noun , the dictionary (1123) gives the British English pronunciation / ˌrɛɡjᵿlərʌɪˈzeɪʃn/ and the American English pronunciations / ˌrɛɡjələˌraɪˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ vs. / ˌrɛɡjələrəˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ , with the 169 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English latter pronunciation resolving the stress clash / ˌraɪˈzeɪ/ via destressing the secondary-stressed syllable / ˌraɪ/ . What distinguishes the verb from the above mentioned noun , which also contains a post-tonic secondary-stressed syllable (in American English), is that the post-tonic secondary stress of / ˈrɛɡjələˌraɪz/ is not the etymological stress of a corresponding word in the source language Latin; that is, - -words in English are etymologically either suffixed derivatives, such as ( + - ), or modifications of penultimately stressed Latin -izāre-words, such as organizāre (Dictionary.com). Because neither the former nor the latter etymology can account for the post-tonic secondary stress in / ˈɔrɡəˌnaɪz/ (RDPCE: 936), / ˈrɛɡjələˌraɪz/ , etc., we argue that the ults / ˌnaɪz/ , / ˌraɪz/ , etc. receive secondary stress only because these syllables are heavy, i.e., the nucleus of these syllables is a diphthong. Consider now the noun , for which RDPCE (399) gives the American English transcriptions / daɪnəˌmaɪˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ vs. / daɪˌnæməˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ . Since an English word does not begin with two unstressed syllables and since the vowel of the second syllable in / daɪnəˌmaɪˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ is a schwa, we argue that the alternative stress pattern of is / ˌdaɪnəˌmaɪˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ , with both the first and the third syllable receiving secondary stress. What is interesting about the stress variation / ˌdaɪnəˌmaɪ-/ vs. / daɪˌnæmə-/ is that pen-initial secondary stress occurs in only when its third syllable is phonetically realized as / mə/ rather than / maɪ/ . A similar case is , for which RDPCE (832) gives the American English transcriptions / məˌtɛmsəˈkoʊsəs/ and / ˌmɛdəmˌsaɪˈkoʊsəs/ . For to be pronounced with peninitial secondary stress, its third syllable must end in a schwa rather than in the diphthong / aɪ/ , which leads to the initially stressed pronunciation / ˌmɛdəmˌsaɪˈkoʊsəs/ . A similar example involving British English is , which is interchangeably stressed / ˌiːkwɨlʌɪˈbreɪʃn/ and / iːˌkwɪlɨˈbreɪʃn/ (RDPCE: 440), with the nucleus of the third syllable being a diphthong vs. a qualitatively reduced vowel. To reiterate: In cases such as ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ , the choice between initial and pen-initial secondary stress does not have much, if anything, to do with the Latin Stress Rule. That is, the penultimate syllable of a pre-tonic string may receive stress even when it is not heavy (e.g., / hjʊˌmanᵻ-/ of ) and the antepenultimate syllable may receive stress even when the penult is not light (e.g., / ˌniːɒntə-/ of ). At the same time, however, when the third syllable of a pretonic string, such as -, is heavy, initial stress is from the point of view of rhythm better than pen-initial stress. Another highly controversial claim is that in Present-day English, “[s]econdary stress falls on alternate syllables to the left” (van der Hulst 170 Alexander Tokar 2010: 445); e.g., “ , where the secondary stresses fall on evennumbered syllables from the end, [vs.] , in which they fall on odd-numbered syllables from the end” (Hayes 1982: 244). Contemporary English is thus a language with what Hayes (2009: 277) calls “alternating secondary stress,” which means that “every other syllable [going from right to left] is stressed.” A related claim is that “[v]ariation in the accentual patterns of particular words occurs as the result of rhythmic and analogical pressures” (Cruttenden 2014: 252). The former means that “[i]n some words containing more than two syllables there appears to be a tendency to avoid a succession of weak syllables, especially if these have / ə/ or / ɪ/ ” (Gimson 1970: 232; Cruttenden 2014: 252). For example, the stress pattern / mɪˌfɪstəˈfiːlɪən/ (OD) might appear to be a more rhythmic alternative to / ˌmɛfɪstəˈfiːlɪən/ (OD), where the first syllable, bearing secondary stress, is followed by the unstressed sequence / fɪstə/ , which contains the qualitatively reduced vowels / ɪ/ and / ə/ . Unfortunately, support for alternating secondary stress comes mainly from diachronic rather than synchronic facts. For instance, if the English word retained the stress of the Latin vocābuˈlārium (Dictionary.com), the former would be stressed ˌ ˈ , with the second syllable receiving secondary stress in accordance with the alternating stress principle. The Latin stress pattern is still in part preserved in the American English pronunciation / vəˈkɑbjəˌlɛri/ (RDPCE: 1507), where the penult contains a full vowel and is marked as bearing secondary stress. In the British English pronunciation / və(ʊ)ˈkabjᵿləri/ (RDPCE: 1507), the nucleus of the penultimate syllable is, however, a schwa, which means that this syllable does not bear any degree of stress. In summary, instead of ˌ ˈ , contemporary English uses the stress pattern ˈ (ˌ) , with (what was supposed to be) secondary stress being promoted to primary stress and (what was supposed to be) primary stress being demoted to secondary stress in American English vs. completely destressed in British English. Similarly, the stress pattern ˈ can be regarded as the promoted secondary stress of ˌ ˈ , which is how this last name would be stressed if it retained the stress of the source language Armenian. At the same time, however, of the 6,126 secondary-stressed transcriptions in OD in which the pre-tonic string contains three vowels (i.e., words such as ˈ ), 4,464 (~72.87%) are transcriptions such as / ˌmɛfɪstəˈfiːlɪən/ , in which the secondary stress symbol occurs initially. The alternating stress principle does not, then, apply to the majority of (contemporary) English words such as , in which the fourth syllable takes primary stress (i.e., in accordance with this principle, a word such as is supposed to be stressed / mɪˌfɪstəˈfiːlɪən/ , with its second syllable receiving alternating secondary stress). 171 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English Note also that in addition to being primary-stressed as / -ˈfiːlɪən/ , also has the stress pattern / ˌmɛfɪstɒfɪˈliːən/ (OD), where the first syllable, bearing secondary stress, is separated from the primarystressed penult by a sequence of three unstressed syllables. RDPCE (826) gives, however, the American English transcription / ˌmɛfəˌstɑfəˈliən/ , where the two secondary-stressed syllables preserve the stresses of the base noun - / ˌmɛfəˈstɑfəliz/ - in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. As reported in the previous section, especially in British English stress patterns such as ˌ ˈ are the norm (~56%) rather than the exception: That is, when primary stress is post-post-post-pen-initial, secondary stress is very often exclusively initial, even though in accordance with the alternating stress principle, it is supposed to be both initial and post-pen-initial. Observe also that when is pronounced / ˌrɛɡjələrəˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ rather than / ˌrɛɡjələˌraɪˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/ , the unstressed sequence / ɡjələrə/ contains three schwas. Given sequences such as this, it is doubtful that “a succession of weak syllables, especially if these have / ə/ or / ɪ/ ” (Gimson 1970: 232; Cruttenden 2014: 252), is avoided by English speakers. Consider also the above mentioned ˌ ˌ ˈ , where the secondary stresses are said to fall on even-numbered syllables counting from the end of the word. The likeliest explanation for this stress pattern is, however, the influence of the formally (and, to some extent, also semantically) related words ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ , and ˌ ˈ , in which secondary stress is initial because primary stress is post-pen-initial. Similarly, the stress pattern ˌ ˌ ˈ , discussed by Hayes (1982: 244), is a usual case of stress preservation rather than of rhythmic alternations: The related word is stressed / ˌhaməˈmiːlɪs/ (RDPCE: 583), with the first syllable receiving secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. Indeed, when the first three (or more) syllables with which an English word begins do not take primary stress, the answer to the question of whether secondary stress will occur initially or pen-initially has as a rule nothing to do with rhythm but instead crucially depends upon the word‟s morphological structure. For example, because and are stressed / ˈtəʊtl/ and / tə(ʊ)ˈtalɨti/ (RDPCE: 1392), the formally and semantically related is stressed both / ˌtəʊtalɨˈtɛːrɪən/ and / tə(ʊ)ˌtalɨˈtɛːrɪən/ . (Because the third syllable of the pre-tonic string is light, the stress pattern / ˌtəʊtalɨ-/ is from the point of view of rhythm not better than / tə(ʊ)ˌtalɨ-/ .) Similarly, because the shortening of the base ˌ ˈ is the penultimately stressed trisyllable - / meˈfisto/ (Kleiner et al. 2015: 595) - the derivative is interchangeably stressed / ˌmɛfɪstəˈfiːlɪən/ and / mɪˌfɪstəˈfiːlɪən/ (i.e., these stress patterns also have only morphological causes). 172 Alexander Tokar Having established that syllable weight and rhythmic alternations do not play an important role in English secondary stress, we now proceed to a more systematic discussion of why some English words vacillate between initial and pen-initial secondary stress. Additionally, this section is concerned with the question of why one of these secondary stress patterns is (as a rule) more frequently used by contemporary English speakers. The preferred stress pattern is 1) the more frequently heard stress pattern in YouTube videos - e.g., of 94 native (predominantly American) English speakers who were found to have pronounced the word , 91 (~96.81%) used the initially stressed variant ˌ ˈ - and 2) prototypically, also the only or the first stress pattern given in at least one dictionary (e.g., LDOCE gives for only the initially stressed American English transcription / ˌækədəˈmɪʃən/ ). The latter is necessary because in contrast to obvious cases such as , e.g., the word was found to have been pronounced by only seven native English speakers, who all (100%) used the pen-initially stressed pronunciation ˌ ˈ . It is doubtful that this fact alone would fully justify the claim that the word under consideration prefers pen-initial secondary stress. Note, however, that also in OD, is / əˌsiːtə(ʊ)ˈbaktə/ vs. / ˌasɪtə(ʊ)ˈbaktə/ , with the former transcription being placed in the dictionary before the latter. This fact intensifies the impression of pen-initial secondary stress being the preferred stress pattern of . (What intensifies this impression is the fact that just like the -word , also the -word was exclusively stressed ˌ rather than ˌ -.) Consider, however, , which is / ˌhɛpətəʊˈmɛɡl ̩ i/ in British English and / ˌhɛpədoʊˈmɛɡəli/ vs. / həˌpædəˈmɛɡəli/ in American English (RDPCE: 601), but of nine American English speakers who were found to have pronounced in YouTube videos, everybody (100%) used the pen-initially stressed pronunciation ˌ ˈ (which is placed in RDPCE after ˌ ˈ ). In cases such as this, actual native speakers using a particular stress pattern (more frequently than an alternative stress pattern given in a dictionary) are trusted more than a lexicographer‟s intuition; that is, this article regards pen-initial secondary stress as the preferred secondary stress pattern of . In a number of cases, the addition of a semantically transparent prefix, which, as pointed out in Section 2, normally receives secondary stress, results in a rhythmically unfortunate sequence of two stressed syllables. For example, because the base form is stressed 173 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English / ˌtransfəˈmeɪʃn/ (RDPCE: 1399) - i.e., the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress - the derived form is supposed to be stressed ? ˌ ˌ ˈ , with one secondary-stressed syllable occurring immediately after another secondary-stressed syllable. The actual stress pattern of is, however, either / ˌriːtransfəˈmeɪʃn/ or / riˌtransfəˈmeɪʃn/ (OD), with either the first or the second syllable receiving secondary stress. In cases such as / ˌriːtransfəˈmeɪʃn/ vs. / riˌtransfəˈmeɪʃn/ , the preferred stress pattern is as a rule initial (i.e., prefix) stress. Indeed, the first syllable in is supposed to receive stress because it is a semantically transparent prefix, which modifies the base in an important way, whereas the second syllable is supposed to be stressed only because it is the first syllable of the tetrasyllabic word , in which primary stress occurs post-pen-initially. The former cause of stress is undeniably much more important than the latter. In particular, when emphasis must be laid upon the fact that the thing referred to is a retransformation, the word is likely to be stressed / ˌriːtransfəˈmeɪʃn/ or perhaps even / ˈriːtransfəˌmeɪʃn/ , with the prefix receiving a stronger stress than the base. Cf. , for which RDPCE (1112) gives the American English transcription / ˈˌriˌkəmbəˈneɪʃ(ə)n/ . The symbol (ˈˌ) means that the first syllable in bears either primary or secondary stress. Note, however, that apart from variably stressed prefixed formations such as , there are also variably stressed words such as - / ˌdʌɪklɔːrəʊˈ-/ vs. / dʌɪˌklɔːrəʊˈ-/ (OD) - in which modifies the base , in which, however, modifies the base . The answer to the question of whether is stressed ˌ or ˌ thus seems to depend upon whether the former or the latter modification counts for an English speaker as a more important contribution to the meaning of ; that is, in contrast to variably stressed words such as , there are no semantic reasons to prefer the stress pattern ˌ to ˌ -. Consider also and , both of which vacillate between initial and pen-initial secondary stress; e.g., / ˌdiːsɛləˈreɪʃn/ vs. / dɨˌsɛləˈreɪʃn/ (RDPCE: 323). It is not a coincidence that instances of secondary stress variation can often be found among pairs of words such as and , and , and , etc., which express opposite meanings. That is, on the one hand, e.g., is formally and semantically related to the peninitially stressed words , , , etc. In this way, we obtain the pronunciation / anˌtaɡəˈnɪstɪk/ (RDPCE: 55), with the second syllable receiving secondary stress. On the other hand, because 1) contrasts semantically with , and 2) what makes formally different from is its initial monosyllabic string -, there is also the initially stressed alternative pronunciation 174 Alexander Tokar / ˌantaɡəˈnɪstɪk/ (RDPCE: 55). (By contrast, there does not seem to exist a (strong) semantic connection between the words , , , and . Hence, as mentioned above, English speakers are reluctant to pronounce with initial secondary stress. Note also that in RDPCE, no other word apart from contains the righthand string - . The of thus does not have any emphatic potential and is therefore not stressed, i.e., the stress pattern ˌ ˈ does not exist in Present-day English.) Notice also that according to Becker (2012: 76), in Present-day German, there is a law that prohibits words in close context from receiving stress upon identical syllables (“ein Gesetz, wonach Wörter mit identischer Akzentsilbe in nahem Zusammenhang umakzentuiert werden.” Note that refers here not only to a location of the stressed syllable relative to a word boundary but also to segmental identity). Thus, a German speaker may not say ; it has to be , with the original secondary stress being promoted to primary stress. Since English and German are related languages and since also in the English language, the word is (especially in environments such as ) stressed / ˈɛvəluːʃ(ə)n/ (OD), with its original secondary stress - ˌ ˈ - being promoted to primary stress, we predict that in words such as and , initial stress will be especially characteristic of environments such as , in which these words occur in close proximity. That is, for instance, in contrast to the stress pattern ˈ ˈ , which is a better alternative to ˌ ˈ ˌ ˈ , where the primary stresses fall upon the segmentally identical syllables / ɡeɪ/ , the stress pattern ˈ ˈ , where the stresses fall upon the segmentally identical syllables / sɛ/ , is not a better alternative to ˌ ˈ ˌ ˈ , where the stresses fall upon the segmentally identical syllables / sɛ/ and / reɪ/ . What solves the problem of the identical syllables in receiving stress is then the initially stressed pronunciation ˈ ˈ , where the stressed syllables are the segmentally non-identical strings and -, which make these two - -words formally different from each other. (Note also that in addition to being stressed ˈ ˈ , this combination is also often stressed ˈ ˈ , with initial stress occurring only in the semantically more transparent word (i.e., the of is similar to the fully transparent prefix of formations such as ). The stress pattern ˈ ˈ is, however, also in accordance with the principle of not placing stress upon segmentally identical syllables.) 175 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English Because is both / ᵻˈθɛrᵻfʌɪ/ and / ˈɛθərᵻfʌɪ/ (OD), is both / ɪˌθɛrᵻfᵻˈkeɪʃn/ and / ˌɛθərᵻfᵻˈkeɪʃn/ (OD); because is both / hʌɪˈdrɒdʒəneɪt/ and / ˈhʌɪdrədʒəneɪt/ (OD), is both / hʌɪˌdrɒdʒəˈneɪʃ(ə)n/ and / ˌhʌɪdrədʒəˈneɪʃ(ə)n/ (OD); because is both / ˈprəʊɡrəməbl/ and / prə(ʊ)ˈɡraməbl/ (RDPCE: 1063), is both / ˌprəʊɡrəməˈbɪlɨti/ and / prə(ʊ)ˌɡraməˈbɪlɨti/ (RDPCE: 1063); because is both / ˈtrɪpn̩əsəʊm/ and / trɨˈpanəsəʊm/ (RDPCE: 1415), is both / ˌtrɪpn̩ə(ʊ)səˈmʌɪəsɪs/ and / trɨˌpanə(ʊ)səˈmʌɪəsɪs/ (RDPCE: 1415); etc. In cases such as these, the preferred secondary stress pattern of the derived form is as a rule the preferred primary stress pattern of the base form. For example, is more frequently stressed / hʌɪˌdrɒdʒəˈneɪʃ(ə)n/ because is more frequently stressed / hʌɪˈdrɒdʒəneɪt/ . Cf. , for which RDPCE (412) gives only the initially stressed transcription / ˌɒksɨdʒɨˈneɪʃn/ . For the related verb , the dictionary gives both / ˈɒksɨdʒɨneɪt/ and / ɒkˈsɪdʒəneɪt/ , but as reported by Tokar (2017: 8), Of 69 native English speakers who were found to have pronounced in YouTube videos, everybody (100%) used initial stress in this verb, i.e., / ˈɒk-/ , but of 14 native English speakers who were found to have pronounced the verb , 10 (~71.43%) used the antepenultimately-stressed version / haɪˈdrɒ-/ . In agreement with these findings, the OD gives for only the initially-stressed transcription / ˈɒksɪdʒəneɪt/ , whereas in the case of the transcription / haɪˈdrɒdʒəneɪt/ is placed before the transcription / ˈhʌɪdrədʒəneɪt/ . Thus, because is more frequently / hʌɪˈdrɒdʒəneɪt/ than / ˈhʌɪdrədʒəneɪt/ whereas is, by contrast, more frequently / ˈɒksɨdʒɨneɪt/ than / ɒkˈsɪdʒəneɪt/ , prefers the pen-initially stressed pronunciation / hʌɪˌdrɒdʒəˈneɪʃ(ə)n/ whereas the initially stressed / ˌɒksɨdʒɨˈneɪʃn/ is the preferred secondary stress pattern of . Apart from the initially stressed disyllable - / ˈfantaz(ə)m/ (OD) - there is also the penultimately stressed trisyllable - / fanˈtazmə/ (OD) - which means the same thing as . Additionally, there are the words and , which are stressed / fanˈtazm(ə)l/ and / fanˈtazmɪk/ (OD). That is why, -words such as and are interchangeably stressed ˌ and ˌ -. On the one hand, because there is the initially stressed disyllable - / ˈfəʊniːm/ (OD) - o ne way of stressing is 176 Alexander Tokar / ˌfəʊnᵻməˈtɒlədʒi/ (OD). At the same time, however, because there is the penultimately stressed trisyllable - / fə(ʊ)ˈniːmɪk/ (OD) - is also stressed / fəʊˌniːməˈtɒlədʒi/ (OD). On the one hand, because there are the words , which is stressed / pʌɪˈθaɡərəs/ (OD), and , one of whose stress patterns is / pʌɪˈθaɡ(ə)rɪk/ (OD), one stress pattern of is / pʌɪˌθaɡəˈrɪʃn/ (OD). At the same time, however, because in addition to being stressed / pʌɪˈθaɡ(ə)rɪk/ , is also stressed / ˌpʌɪθəˈɡɒrɪk/ (OD) - i.e., the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress - there is also the initially stressed alternative pronunciation / ˌpʌɪθaɡəˈrɪʃn/ (OD). On the one hand, because there are the words ˈ and ˌ ˈ , is stressed / ˌrɛsp(ᵻ)rəˈbɪlᵻti/ (OD), with the first syllable receiving secondary stress. At the same time, however, because there is the word , which is pronounced / rɪˈspʌɪə/ (OD), is also associated with the pen-initially stressed pronunciation / rᵻˌspʌɪərəˈbɪlᵻti/ (OD). Cases similar to these are particularly numerous among - -nouns, such as, e.g., ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ , which, according to Kenyon and Knott (1953[1944]: 75), represent two different lexemes: ˌ ˈ meaning “certifying” vs. ˌ ˈ meaning “certificating”; ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˌ ˈ (cf. ˈ and ˌ ˈ ); ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ (cf. ˈ and ˈ ); ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ (cf. ˈ and ˌ ˈ ); ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ (cf. ˈ and ˈ ); ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ (cf. ˈ and ); ˌ ˈ vs. ˌ ˈ (cf. ˈ and ˌ ˈ ); etc. Further similar examples can be found among morphologically complex words whose lefthand component is a combining form. The usual variability scenario involves a lefthand combining form such as, for instance, of , which on the one hand, is formally and semantically related to an initially stressed word, such as , while on the other hand, it is formally and semantically related to a penultimately stressed - -word, such as . In this way, we obtain stress patterns such as / ˌɔːɡənəʊˈmɛtl/ vs. / ɔːˌɡanəʊˈmɛtl/ (OD). A slightly different case is / ˌdʒiːəmᵻˈtrɪsᵻti/ vs. / dʒɪˌɒmᵻˈtrɪsᵻti/ (OD). From ˈ , derives pen-initial secondary stress, whereas the initially stressed alternative is due to ˌ ˈ , in which secondary stress is initial because primary stress is post-pen-initial. Similarly, the meaning of the combining form of, e.g., is described in OD as “[r]epresenting , , or ” (italics mine). From the finally stressed and the antepenultimately stressed , derives the stress pattern / ɪˈmjuːnəʊ/ (OD), whereas the initially stressed alternative / ˈɪmjʊnəʊ/ (OD) is due to 177 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English ˌ ˈ , in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. From ˈ , derives the stress pattern / njuːˌmɪzməˈtɒlədʒi/ (OD), whereas the initially stressed / ˌnjuːmɪzməˈtɒlədʒi/ (OD) is due to ˌ ˈ , in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. From the penultimately stressed - -word , the combining form of, e.g., derives the stress pattern / njuːˌmatə(ʊ)-/ (OD), whereas the alternative / ˌnjuːmətə(ʊ)-/ (OD) is due to the words ˌ ˈ and ˌ ˈ , in which secondary stress is regularly initial because primary stress is post-pen-initial. is pronounced both / ᵻˌkʌɪnə(ʊ)ˈdəːml/ and / ˌɛkɪnə(ʊ)ˈdəːml/ (OD) because on the one hand, there is the word , which is pronounced / ɪˈkʌɪnəs/ (OD), while on the other hand, there is the word , which is pronounced / ˌɛkɪˈneɪsɪə/ (OD). As for stress preferences, we observe that variably stressed words discussed in this part of Section 3.5 fall into two categories: 1) words such as , whose preferred stress pattern is (due to a number of semantic and/ or morphological reasons) either initial or pen-initial secondary stress, and 2) words such as , which prefer pen-initial secondary stress. Regarding the first category, we note that the choice between initial and pen-initial secondary stress is often a matter of semantics. For example, is in American English mainly used to express the meaning “[a]n academic or intellectual” (OD; boldface mine). The preferred stress pattern of in American English is therefore, as pointed out above, / ˌækədəˈmɪʃən/ , which preserves the secondary stress of ˌ ˈ . In British English, by contrast, is mainly associated with the sense “[a] member of an academy” (OD; boldface mine), which is why it is usually stressed / əˌkadəˈmɪʃ(ə)n/ , preserving the stress of ˈ . A different case is , which from a semantic point of view is supposed to be stressed / ˌɪntɛlɨˈdʒɛnsɪə/ (RDPCE: 685), preserving the secondary stress of ˌ ˈ ; that is, according to WordNet, a lexical database for English (Miller 1995), the meaning of is “an educated and intellectual elite” (boldface mine). From a formal point of view, however, it is much easier to derive from (which should be suffixed by means of - ) than from . The more frequently used stress pattern of is therefore / ɪnˌtɛlɨˈdʒɛnsɪə/ (RDPCE: 685), which preserves the stress of ˈ . (Cf. Dabouis 2016: 2, who observes that the “base is the closest form attested in the English vocabulary […]. This means that, even though the base and its corresponding derivative are usually connected semantically, it may not be the case (e.g. → ).” Thus, since 178 Alexander Tokar is formally closer to than it is to , the former word has more chances of counting as the base of than the latter word.) The same is true of , which is formally and semantically related to the verb , which in turn is, however, formally and semantically related to the noun (i.e., = to take in something). Thus, we can say that from a semantic point of view, the stress pattern / pɑːˌtɪsɨˈpeɪʃn/ , which was found to be the more frequently used stress pattern in YouTube videos, is not better than / ˌpɑːtɨsɨˈpeɪʃn/ . At the same time, however, because (from a synchronic point of view) many English - -nouns can be seen as derivatives from - -verbs (cf., e.g., and , and , and , etc.), the morphological analysis + makes more sense than + - . Likewise, because the morphological analysis + makes more sense than + - , the more frequently used stress pattern of is / tə(ʊ)ˌtalɨˈtɛːrɪən/ . An English word in which initial secondary stress is from a morphological point of view better than pen-initial stress is , which was pronounced ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ , and ˌ ˈ (which preserves the stress pattern of the base ˌ ˈ in its entirety) by two different native speakers, whereas one speaker was heard to have used the stress pattern ˌ ˈ . Although means the same thing as - i.e., the former is simply a shorter alternative to the latter - the morphological derivation of from makes more sense than from (which is reflected in the fact that sometimes, preserves not only the secondary but also the primary stress of ). Recall also the above mentioned fact that is according to Gimson (1970: 233) both ˌ ˈ and ˌ ˈ , but the more upto-date LDOCE, OD, and RDPCE give only the pen-initially stressed pronunciation ˌ ˈ (which is also the more frequently used stress pattern in YouTube videos; the initially stressed pronunciation ˌ ˈ is, however, still used by some English speakers). The reason for this seems to be the fact that the word is (in Present-day English) often abbreviated to (  , the bacterium which is the cause of ). Alphabetisms such as are usually pronounced with final stress - / ti: ˈbi: / - because in the underlying phrases, stronger stress falls upon the rightmost primary-stressed syllable. That is, as, for instance, Hayes (1995: 368) observes, “[a] common but not invariant pattern across languages is for syntactic phrases to receive final prominence.” Thus, it appears that instead of deriving from the initially stressed disyllable - / ˈtjuːbəkl/ (RDPCE: 1416) - contemporary English speakers derive it from the finally stressed disyllable / ti: ˈbi: / , which naturally leads to the stress pattern / tjʊˌbəːkjʊˈləʊsɪs/ 179 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English (OD). (Note also that of the derivational relatives of , only the word has initial stress. By contrast, in addition to the finally stressed alphabetism , there are also the pen-initially stressed words - / t(j)ᵿˈbəːkjᵿlə(r)/ (RDPCE: 1416) - , , and . This fact also contributes to the stress pattern ˌ ˈ .) As for formations such as , observe that apart from “names of classes of organic compounds containing a particular element or group” (OD; boldface mine), the combining form is also used to relate to bodily organs (e.g., ). It seems, then, that from a semantic point of view, the stress pattern / ɔːˌɡanə(ʊ)-/ should be the preferred stress pattern of formations such as , , , etc., whereas formations such as are supposed to prefer the stress pattern / ˌɔːɡ(ə)nə(ʊ)-/ , preserving the stress of the initially stressed disyllabic base . Notice, however, that of 18 native speakers who were found to have pronounced , 13 (~72.22%) used the pen-initially stressed pronunciation ˌ ˈ (while the words , , and were exclusively pronounced ˌ -). Thus, it can be stated that even when the meaning of an -word, such as , encourages the use of the stress pattern / ˌɔːɡ(ə)nə(ʊ)-/ , the combining form is as a rule stressed / ɔːˌɡanə(ʊ)-/ . A very similar case is - / ˌspəːmətə(ʊ)ˈdʒɛnɪsɪs/ vs. / spəˌmatə(ʊ)ˈdʒɛnɪsɪs/ (OD) - which, just like , is also more frequently stressed / spəˌmatə(ʊ)-/ than / ˌspəːmətə(ʊ)-/ even though, from the perspective of both semantics and morphology, it is much easier to derive from than from , i.e., is the genesis of . According to Tokar (2017: 149-150), the preponderance of stress patterns such as / ɔːˌɡanə(ʊ)-/ and / spəˌmatə(ʊ)-/ is due to what he calls the vowel effect. Whereas trisyllables that end orthographically in (e.g., ) are almost exclusively (~89%) pronounced in Present-day English with antepenultimate stress - which is as a rule the promoted etymological secondary stress; for instance, if the English word retained the stress of the Latin word energīa (Dictionary.com), it would be stressed ˌ ˈ , with the first syllable receiving secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. Cf. the Italian word , which is stressed / e.ner.ˈdʒi: .a/ (PONS), or the German word , which is stressed / enɛrˈgi: / (Kleiner et al. 2015: 342) - trisyllabic English words that end orthographically in / / (e.g., , , ) prefer penultimate stress: Of the 2,479 penultimately stressed trisyllables in LDOCE, 348 (~14.04%) are words such as , , or , which end orthographically in / / . By contrast, of the 4,979 antepenultimately stressed trisyllables, only 172 (~3.45%) are words such as , , or , which end orthographically in / / . This difference is statistically highly significant: χ 2 (1) = 286, < 0.000001. 180 Alexander Tokar The reason for this is that words such as , , were mainly borrowed into English from Italian and Spanish, where 1) stress is predominantly penultimate, and 2) in stark contrast to Present-day English, words often end orthographically in / / : “The penultimate stress pattern of Spanish has a very high type frequency, occurring with about 95% of nouns and adjectives that end in vowels ( , , )” (Bybee 2001: 11). Similarly, as reported by Tokar (2017: 108, 123), “[o]f the 25,925 syllabified Italian transcriptions in PONS‟ Italian - English dictionary, 20,714 (~79.9%) exhibit penultimate stress” and “[o]f the 24,961 solidly-spelled Italian words in [the same dictionary], 15,163 (~60.75%) end orthographically in / / .” (Needless to say, also such unusual pronunciations as / fɪˈnɑːli/ (LDOCE) must be attributed to the influence of the source language Italian, where, in contrast to Present-day English, the word-final (i.e., ) has a phonetic realization.) That the Italian/ Spanish Stress Rule is productive in Present-day English is especially obvious in the case of feminine Slavic - -surnames ( , , , , etc.), which are as a rule mispronounced by English speakers as / ˈ-əʊvə/ : That is, for instance, / pavˈləʊvə/ rather than / ˈpavləvə/ , which is the stress pattern of the source language Russian, where the feminine derived form ˈ preserves the stress of the masculine base ˈ (Tokar 2017: 149). Because among English - -words is the Italian word - / ˌkasəˈnəʊvə/ (RDPCE: 195) - it is not surprising that has over the course of time abandoned its original (i.e., etymological) stress pattern / ˈpavləvə/ and is nowadays exclusively stressed / pavˈləʊvə/ (Tokar 2017: 149-150). Similarly, we argue that because penultimate stress is in general the preferred stress pattern of trisyllables that end orthographically in / / , combining forms such as and -, which end orthographically in , are predestined to be stressed / ɔːˌɡanə(ʊ)-/ and / spəˌmatə(ʊ)-/ rather than / ˌɔːɡ(ə)nə(ʊ)-/ and / ˌspəːmətə(ʊ)-/ . (Notice, however, that the combining form of formations such as is never stressed ˌ -, even though, just like the combining forms and -, it also ends orthographically in . What distinguishes the combining form from the combining forms and is that unlike the latter, the former lacks a pen-initially stressed (formally and semantically) related word, such as and . At the same time, however, there are numerous -formations such as ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ , ˌ ˈ , etc., in which the first syllable receives secondary stress because the third syllable takes primary stress. Therefore, also in formations such as , the combining form -, which ends orthographically in , is stressed upon its first rather than its second syllable. The orthographic ending is thus apparently not a sufficient condition for a combining form such as and to receive penultimate stress.) 181 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English In addition to being stressed / ʌɪˌdɪəˈlɪstɪk/ and / səˌriəˈlɪstɪk/ , preserving the stress of ˈ and ˈ , the derived adjectives and are also stressed / ˌʌɪdɪəˈlɪstɪk/ and / ˌsəriəˈlɪstɪk/ (RDPCE: 639, 1331). On the one hand, it can be argued that these stress patterns are due to the words ˌ ˈ and ˌ ˈ , in which the first syllables receive secondary stress because the third syllables take primary stress. On the other hand, if the syllabification of the pre-tonic strings / ʌɪdɪə-/ and / səriə-/ is / ʌɪ-dɪə-/ and / sə-riə-/ rather than / ʌɪ-dɪ-ə-/ and / sə-ri-ə-/ (i.e., if the hiatus / ɪ-ə/ is resolved via diphthongization), the adjectives under consideration can only be stressed / ˌʌɪdɪəˈlɪstɪk/ and / ˌsəriəˈlɪstɪk/ , with secondary stress being regularly initial because primary stress is post-peninitial. Note also that in YouTube videos containing the spoken occurrences of , there is only the initially stressed pronunciation / ˌalvɪəˈpalətl/ (OD), which runs counter to the aforementioned tendency of pronouncing combining forms such as with penultimate stress, i.e., / alˌvɪə(ʊ)-/ (OD). This finding strongly suggests that the syllabification of the pre-tonic string / alvɪə-/ is / al-vɪə-/ rather than / al-vɪ-ə-/ ; i.e., the secondary stress of / ˌalvɪəˈpalətl/ is initial because its primary stress is post-pen-initial. In contrast to the secondary stress patterns discussed thus far, the secondary stress patterns / bəˌpuːtəˈtswɑːnə/ and / ˌbɒpuːtətˈswɑːnə/ of (RDPCE: 149) do not seem to have a morphological motivation. The same is true of , which is stressed both / ˌtɛɡʊsɨˈɡalpə/ and / tɨˌɡuːsɨˈɡalpə/ (RDPCE: 1356), and (the oft-mentioned word) , which vacillates between / ˌtʌɪkɒndəˈrəʊɡə/ and / tʌɪˌkɒndəˈrəʊɡə/ (RDPCE: 1378). In cases such as , , and , where morphology (and/ or semantics) cannot decide in favor of a particular stress pattern, the choice between initial and pen-initial secondary stress seems to be idiosyncratic (i.e., these secondary stress patterns are both in accordance with the principles of not beginning a word with two unstressed syllables and avoiding stress clashes). On the one hand, because the primary stress of , , and is penultimate in accordance with the Italian/ Spanish Stress Rule - i.e., these words end orthographically in - also the pre-tonic strings -, -, and -, which end orthographically in / / , can in accordance with the same principle receive penultimate stress. (Cf. the above mentioned ˌ ˈ , where the morphologically simple component and the morphologically complex (i.e., prefixed) component 182 Alexander Tokar - , both of which end orthographically in , receive penultimate stress.) On the other hand, because in Present-day English, “secondary stress shows all characteristics of the Germanic system: preservation of the relationship with the deriving form whenever possible; otherwise demarcative stress on the beginning of the word” (Fournier 2007: 235), also the first syllables of , , and , with which these words begin, can receive (demarcative) secondary stress. To reiterate, in cases such as , , and , an English speaker has good reasons to use either initial or peninitial secondary stress. Although the focus of this article is on pre-tonic secondary stress variation, we also briefly discuss words that (in American English) have more than one post-tonic secondary stress pattern. For example, is only / ˈkandɨdətʃə/ in British English, but American English speakers vacillate between / ˈkæn(d)əˌdeɪtʃər/ and / ˈkæn(d)ədəˌtʃʊ(ə)r/ (RDPCE: 184), with either the penult or the ult receiving secondary stress. Similarly, for , RDPCE (481) gives the British English transcription / ˈfɛd(ə)rətɪv/ and the American English transcriptions / ˈfɛdəˌreɪdɪv/ vs. / ˈfɛdərəˌtɪv/ . From an etymological point of view, words such as and are supposed to have a sequence of two stressed syllables. That is, on the one hand, a trisyllabic English - -word such as is etymologically due to a penultimately stressed tetrasyllabic Latin -ātusword such as candidātus (Dictionary.com). In this way, we obtain the stress patterns / ˈkandɨdeɪt/ or / ˈkandɨdət/ in British English vs. / ˈkæn(d)əˌdeɪt/ in American English (RDPCE: 184), with 1) what was supposed to be secondary stress - ˌ ˈ - being promoted to primary stress, and 2) what was supposed to be primary stress being demoted to secondary stress in American English vs. destressed in British English. At the same time, however, because English - and - -words etymologically go back to penultimately stressed Latin -ūraand -īv -words - cf. Modern Italian , which is stressed / kan.di.da.ˈtu: .ra/ (PONS), or German , which is stressed / fødəraˈti: f/ (Kleiner et al. 2015: 374) - the ults of the English words and are also supposed to be stressed, i.e., ? ˈ ˌ ˌ and ? ˈ ˌ ˌ , with one secondary-stressed syllable occurring immediately after another secondary-stressed syllable, which is unfortunate from the point of view of rhythm. The stress patterns of the English words and are therefore ˈ ˌ vs. ˈ ˌ and ˈ ˌ vs. ˈ ˌ , with post-tonic secondary stress being interchangeably penultimate and final. 183 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English As for stress preferences, it seems that the stress pattern / -ˌtɪv/ is relatively rarely used by contemporary American English speakers. That is, in RDPCE, apart from the word , only the words and are also stressed / ˈfæktəˌtɪv/ and / ˈfjudʒəˌtɪv/ (472, 523), with the secondary stress / -ˌtɪv/ being the etymological stress of the Latin words factitīvus and fugitīvus (Dictionary.com). In stark contrast: The stress pattern / -ˌeɪdɪv/ is, according to RDPCE, exhibited by 186 - -words, such as, e.g., , , , , , etc. As for - -words, note that eight tetrasyllabic - -words in RDPCE - , , , , , , , and - exhibit the secondary stress pattern / -ˌtʃʊ(ə)r/ , while only five - , , , , and - are stressed / -ˌeɪtʃər/ (i.e., apart from , also and vacillate between the stress patterns / -ˌtʃʊ(ə)r/ and / -ˌeɪtʃər/ ). That - -words are considerably more frequently stressed / -ˌeɪdɪv/ than / -ˌtɪv/ is a consequence of the fact that unlike the latter, the former stress pattern (often) has a synchronic motivation. That is, as observed in 3.2, the - -word is stressed / ˈnɒmɪˌneɪtɪv/ when it expresses the meaning “appointed by nomination.” Similarly, because there is a connection between the meanings “imitative” and “imitation” - i.e., according to WordNet, the meaning of is “marked by or given to imitation” (boldface mine) - contemporary English speakers still have good reasons to use the stress pattern / ˈɪməˌteɪdɪv/ (RDPCE: 644). (Note that for , LDOCE gives the phonetic transcription / ˌɪmɪˈteɪʃən ◄ / , which contains the stress shift symbol ( ◄ ). What this means is that the stress pattern / ˈɪməˌteɪdɪv/ can be directly obtained from the stress pattern / ˈɪmɪˌteɪʃən/ , which is one of the stress patterns of .) Similarly, in the case of and , the synchronic motivation for the stress pattern / -ˌeɪtʃər/ is the suffixation analysis / + - . (As for and , the justification for penultimate secondary stress is the words and .) The word cannot, by contrast, be analyzed as a suffixed derivative, whose base is the (non-existent) - -word * . The same applies to and , which from a purely semantic point of view are hardly segmentable into the bases and and the suffix - . (Note also that and have an unstressed vowel in the ult: / ˈlɪdərət/ and / ˈtɛmp(ə)rət/ (RDPCE: 769, 1359). Accordingly, even if the suffixation analyses + and + made sense from a semantic point of view, the words and would still not be stressed ? / ˈlɪdəˌreɪtʃər/ and ? / ˈtɛmpəˌreɪtʃər/ .) Finally, observe that “a word-final syllable must have more consonants to be counted as heavy, since word-final consonants are often extrametrical” (Hayes 1995: 59). The rhyme structure VC is therefore word-finally equivalent to the rhyme structure V and counts therefore as 184 Alexander Tokar light rather than heavy. Because heavy syllables are more likely to attract secondary stress than light ones, an English speaker is more likely to use a finally stressed pronunciation such as / ˈkæn(d)ədəˌtʃʊər/ , where the rhyme of the ult exhibits the structure VVC, than a finally stressed pronunciation such as / ˈfɛdərəˌtɪv/ , where the rhyme of the ult exhibits the structure VC. The secondary stress pattern / -ˌtɪv/ is thus virtually nonexistent in Present-day English, whereas the secondary stress pattern / -ˌtʃʊ(ə)r/ , which does not have a synchronic morphological motivation, is the majority pattern among tetrasyllabic English - -words. The main finding of this article is that secondary stress variation has morphological (rather than phonological) causes. Prototypically, one and the same English word has more than one secondary stress pattern because it is formally and semantically related to more than one differently stressed word. For instance, , which is related to both ˈ and ˈ , is stressed both / ˌjuːtɪlɨˈtɛːrɪən/ and / juːˌtɪlɨˈtɛːrɪən/ (RDPCE: 1483). The pen-initially stressed pronunciation ˌ ˈ is, however, (especially in American English) more frequently used than the initially stressed alternative ˌ ˈ because from a morphological point of view, it is much more intuitive to derive from than from . Other important factors that were found to be responsible for secondary stress preferences include semantics (e.g., ˌ ˈ meaning “an academic” vs. ˌ ˈ meaning “a member of an academy”) and especially the orthographic ending , which is the reason combining forms such as and are usually stressed / ɔːˌɡanə(ʊ)-/ and / spəˌmatə(ʊ)-/ rather than / ˌɔːɡ(ə)nə(ʊ)-/ and / ˌspəːmətə(ʊ)-/ . An important question that, however, requires additional investigation is the extent to which secondary stress assignment depends upon discourse context. That is, as observed in 3.5.1, when words such as and occur in close proximity, at least one of these words receives initial stress: ˈ ˈ or ˈ ˈ , which is because the initial monosyllabic strings and are what makes the semantically opposite words and formally different from each other. What precisely is, however, meant here by the term “close proximity”? By how many words can and be separated from each other to count as being in close proximity? Are there any syntactic restrictions? That is, do and need to belong to the same phrase, clause, or sentence? Compare also the combinations and (or ). The nature of the semantic connection between the words and 185 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English is less obvious than it is between the antonyms and , which is why it comes as no surprise that the YouTube platform does not contain a single video in which the combination is uttered by at least one native English speaker. Given this fact, it can be conjectured that the stress pattern ˈ ˈ is far less likely than the initially stressed pronunciation ˈ ˈ ; that is, the initial monosyllabic strings -/ of / have a weaker emphatic potential than the initial monosyllabic strings -/ of / . To find out whether this is indeed the case, we need informants (i.e., native English speakers) who will be asked to read aloud combinations such as vs. . It will then be seen whether the stress pattern ˈ ˈ is indeed more likely than ˈ ˈ . An interesting question is also whether contemporary English is similar to German in that “the probability of a secondary stress on the second syllable increases when the word is uttered after a stressed syllable: ˈ ˌ ˈ ? ” (Hanna 2013: 123, f. 8). The present article is inclined to answer this question with a “no.” That is, for instance, when expresses the meaning “an academic,” it is stressed ˌ ˈ even in combinations such as , in which pen-initial secondary stress would from the point of view of rhythm be better than initial stress. Likewise, the of combinations such as is never stressed ? ˌ ˈ even though this stress pattern would also from the point of view of rhythm be better than (the actually occurring) ˌ ˈ . To be fully justified in claiming that what Hanna (2013) reports with regard to German is not true of English, we need a more extensive corpus study of how words such as meaning “an academic” and are stressed in environments such as and , in which stress clash avoidance should increase the probability of pen-initial secondary stress. Becker, Thomas (2012). . Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Bermúdez-Otero, Ricardo/ McMahon, April (2006). “English Phonology and Morphology”. In: Bas Aarts/ April McMahon (Eds.). . Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 382-410. Bybee, Joan (2001). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chitoran, Ioana/ José Ignacio Hualde (2007). “From Hiatus to Diphthong: The Evolution of Vowel Sequences in Romance”. 24/ 1. 37-75. 186 Alexander Tokar Cruttenden, Alan (2014). Gimson’s Pronunciation of English. Eighth Edition. Abingdon/ New York: Routledge. Crystal, David (2016). . Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dabouis, Quentin (2016). “Is the Adjectival Suffix a Strong Suffix? ”. 21. http: / / anglophonia.revues.org/ 754. (Accessed 2 June 2018). , http: / / www.dictionary.com/ . (Accessed 7 February 2017). Fournier, Jean-Michel (2007). “From a Latin Syllable-Driven Stress System to a Romance Versus Germanic Morphology-Driven Dynamics: In Honour of Lionel Guierre”. 29/ 2-3. 218-236. Fudge, Erik C. (1984). . London: George Alien and Unwin (Publishers) Ltd. Gimson, Alfred C. (1970). . Second edition. London: Edward Arnold. Halle, Morris/ Jean-Roger Vergnaud (1987). . Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Hammond, Michael (2006). “Prosodic Phonology”. In: Bas Aarts/ April McMahon (Eds.). . Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 411-432. Hanna, Patrizia Noel Aziz (2013). “Language Processing and the Evolution of Rhythmic Patterns: Asymmetries in Binary Stress Systems”. 24/ 1. 115-134. Hayes, Bruce (1980). . Massachusetts Institute of Technology Ph.D. Dissertation. Hayes, Bruce (1982). “Extrametricality and English Stress”. 13/ 2. 227-276. Hayes, Bruce (1995). . Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Hayes, Bruce (2009). . Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. Jones, Daniel (1917). “Explanations”. In: Daniel Jones (1974[1967]). Everyman’s . Thirteenth edition (Ed. Alfred C. Gimson). London: J.M. Dent and Sons LTD. xxii-xliv. Kenyon, John S./ Thomas A. Knott (1953[1944]). . Springfield, Mass.: G. and C. Merriam Company, Publishers. Kingdon, Roger (1949). “The Teaching of English Stress”. III/ 6. 146- 152. Kiparsky, Paul (1979). “Metrical Structure Assignment is Cyclic”. 10/ 3. 421-441. Kleiner, Stefan/ Ralf Knöbl/ Max Mangold (2015). - . Siebte komplett überarbeitete und aktualisierte Auflage. Berlin: Dudenverlag. [n.d.]. http: / / www.ldoce online.com/ . (Accessed 9 November 2016). Mair, Christian (2006). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mille r, George A. (1995) . “WordNet: A Lexical Database for English”. 38/ 11. 39-41. [n.d.]. http: / / www.oxforddictionaries.com/ . (Accessed 31 December 2015). Pater, Joe (2000). “Non-Uniformity in English Secondary Stress: The Role of Ranked and Lexically Specific Constraints”. 17/ 2. 237-274. 187 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English Poldauf, Ivan (1984). . Oxford: Pergamon Press. [n.d.]. http: / / de.pons.com/ . (Accessed 27 February 2017). Tokar, Alexander (2017). . Tübingen: Narr Francke Attempto. Trevian, Ives (2015). . Bern: Peter Lang. Upton, Clive/ William A. Kretzschmar (2017). . Second edition. Abingdon/ New York: Routledge. van der Hulst, Harry (2010). “Word Accent Systems in the Languages of Europe”. In: Harry van der Hulst/ Rob Goedemans/ Ellen van Zanten (Eds.). . Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. 429-507. van der Hulst, Harry (2014). “The Study of Word Accent and Stress: Past, Present, and Future”. In: Harry van der Hulst (Ed.). . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 3-55. Wenszky, Nóra (2004). . Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. YouTube [n.d.] http: / / www.youtube.com/ . (Accessed 3 March 2018). Zumstein, Franck (2006). “The Contribution of Computer-Searchable Diachronic Corpora to the Study of Word Stress Variation”. In: Roberta Facchinetti/ Matti Rissanen (Eds.). . Bern: Peter Lang. 171-196. According to LDOCE, OD, or RDPCE, the following words are pronounced with either initial or pen-initial secondary stress. acatalectic acataleptic acatallactic acategorical acetobacter acetocarmine acetogenic acetonitrile achondroplasia achondroplasic achondroplastic achromaticity acidophilic acotyledon acotyledonous adiabaticity Ahasuerus albuminiparous allotriomorphic alveolarisation alveolarization alveopalatal amortization anaerobiosis anaerobiotic anastomoses anastomosis anisomorphic anisotropic anisotropically antagonistic antagonistically anticipation antipathetic antipathetical antipathetically antipodean Antonioni antonomasia apotemnophilia applicability arboricultural arboriculturist aristocratic aristocratically Aristotelian arithmetician arrivederci asexuality authoritarian authoritarianism 188 Alexander Tokar azeotropic azidothymidine balletomania Bophuthatswana carcinogenic carcinogenicity cerebrospinal cerebrovascular chionodoxa chromatophoric coccidiosis cohabitation cohabitee communalisation communalistic communalistically concatenation conspiratorial conspiratorialism conspiratorialist conspiratorially corynebacteria corynebacterium cyanobacteria cyanobacterium deactivation deattribution decalcification decapitation decarbonisation deceleration decentralisation declassification decolonisation decolorisation decommunisation decommunization deconsecration decreolization decriminalisation de-escalation defenestration defibrillation defoliation deforestation degranulation dehumanisation deionisation delocalisation demagnetisation demilitarisation demineralisation demobilisation demonetisation demystification denationalisation denaturalisation denaturation denazification denitrification denuclearisation deontological depersonalisation depolarisation depolymerisation depressurisation dermatoglyphic dermatoglyphically desalinisation desensitisation desexualisation despicability destabilisation de-stalinisation desulfurisation detoxication detoxification detribalisation devaluation devitalisation devitrification dichloromethane dicotyledonous disapprobation disapprobative discoloration disconsolation disforestation disinclination disinfestation disinformation dissatisfaction dissatisfactory dissimilarity echinodermal Echinodermata economisation electronification electronographic encephalitic encephalitis equilibration etherification excogitation foraminiferan foraminiferous gametogenesis gametophytic gelatinisation geometricity gerontological Gigantopithecus halogenation hematozoon hendecasyllable hepatomegaly hepatopancreas hepatotoxic hepatotoxin Hispaniola historiographal historiographer historiographership historiography historiology historiometry historionomer historiosophy homologation humanitarian humanitarianism humanitarianize humiliation hydrogenation iconoclastic 189 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English iconoclastically icosahedral icosahedron idealisation idealistic idealistical idealistically immunoassay immunochemistry immunocompetent immunocompromised immunodeficiency immunodeficient immunodiagnostic immunodiagnostics immunodiffusion immunofluorescence immunogenesis immunogenic immunoglobulin immunohistochemical immunohistochemistry immunomodulation immunomodulator immunoprecipitation immunoproliferative immunoprophylactic immunoprophylaxis immunoreactive immunoreactivity immunostimulant immunostimulation immunostimulatory immunosuppress immunosuppressant immunosuppression immunosuppressive immunosuppressor immunosurveillance immunotherapy impartiality imperatorial imperishability impermeability imponderability impossibility impracticability impracticality improvisation improvisational improvisatorial inactivation inalterability inamorata inamorato inapplicability inapprehensible inaudibility incapability incomparability incomprehensibility incomprehensible incomprehensibleness incomprehension inconsequential inconsequentiality inconsequentially inconsequentialness incontrovertibility incontrovertible incontrovertibly incorrigibility incuriosity indisposition inefficacious inefficaciously inefficaciousness inexplicability inextricability infallibility infeasibility infinitival infinitivally inhospitality inquisitorial inquisitorially insensitivity inseparability insolubility intelligentsia intercalation interpellation invincibility inviolability invisibility invulnerability iodination Iphigenia irreconcilability irreconcilable irreconcilably irrefutability irresolution irreverential maintainability makunouchi Mephistophelean Mephistophelian mesaticephalic mesaticephaly mesatipellic mesenteritis metempsychosis metempsychosist methaemoglobin methanotrophic micellization miscalculation miscalibration miscegenation miscegenationist miscegenetic miscoloration miscomprehension multimerization municipality myrmecophobic nematodiriasis Nematodirus nematogenic neontologic 190 Alexander Tokar nephritogenic neuroglioblastoma Nicomachean nicotiana nitrogenation nitrogenization nocardiosis numismatology Oedipodean organochloride organochlorine organogenesis organogenetic organogenic organographical organoleptic organoleptically organological organometal organometallic organophosphate organophosphorous organophosphorus organotherapy organotypic ornithorhynchus oscillometric palatoglossal palatoglossus palatomaxillary palatopharyngeal palatopharyngeus parthenogenic parthenogenically participation participational participatory pathognomonic peptidomimetic phantasmagoria phantasmagorial phantasmagorian phantasmagoric phantasmagorical phantasmagorically phantasmagorist phantasmological phonematology plantaginaceous Pneumatomachian poikilothermal poikilothermia poikilothermic polarographic pollicitation polygonization polygonometry polymerisation pontificalia pontification predestination prefabrication prefiguration premedication premeditation preoccupation primordiality prioritisation procaryotic procatalectic progenitorial programmability Propliopithecus prosopopoeia pyramidoidal Pythagorean Pythagoreanism Pythagorician rachitogenic reaffirmation reallocation reanimation recombination redecoration rededication re-education referability reflexibility reforestation refutability regeneration regurgitation rehabitation rejuvenesce rejuvenescence rejuvenescent renaturation reoccupation reorganisation reorganizational reorganizationist reorientation repacification repagination repatriation replegiation repopulation requisitorial resettability respirability retransformation reunification reutilisation revification revitalisation revivication revivification revocability rhinocerotic salutatorian selaginella Shakespeareana somatogenic somatotonic spermatogenesis spermatogonia spermatogonium spermatozoa spermatozoal spermatozoan spermatozoic spermatozoid spermatozoon stomatogastric suburbicarian 191 Secondary Stress Variation in Contemporary English surrealistic taramasalata Tegucigalpa teratogenic Ticonderoga 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Web: http: / / periodicals.narr.de/ index.php/ aaa, Tel.: +43 / 316 / 380-2488, 2474, Fax: +43 / 316 / 380-9765 Herausgeber / editor Bernhard Kettemann Redaktion / editorial assistants Georg Marko Eva Triebl Mitherausgeber / editorial board Alwin Fill Walter Grünzweig Walter Hölbling Allan James Andreas Mahler Christian Mair Annemarie Peltzer-Karpf Werner Wolf Alexander Tokar Stress Variation in English Language in Performance (LIP), Vol. 50 2017, 251 Seiten €[D] 78,00 ISBN 978-3-8233-8180-8 eISBN 978-3-8233-9180-7 This monograph is concerned with the question of why some English words have more than one stress pattern. E.g., 'overt vs. o'vert, ′ pulsate vs. pul'sate, etc. It is argued that cases such as these are due to the fact that the morphological structure of one and the same English word can sometimes be analyzed in more than one way. Thus, 'overt is the stress pattern of the suffixation analysis over + -t, whereas o'vert is due to the prefixation analysis o- + -vert (cf. covert). Similarly, pulsate is simultaneously pulse + -ate (i.e., a suffixed derivative) and a back-derivative from pul'satance. “Tokar’s approach in the use of both dictionary (OED) and corpus data (YouTube) holds promise of a scholarly breakthrough on the vital linguistic prosodic topic of English stress assignment of doublets and of stress assignment in general.” (Irmengard Rauch, Professor of Germanic Linguistics at the University of California, Berkeley) SPRACHWISSENSCHAFT \ ANGLISTIK Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH+Co. KG \ Dischingerweg 5 \ 72070 Tübingen \ Germany Tel. +49 (07071) 9797-0 \ Fax +49 (07071) 97 97-11 \ info@narr.de \ www.narr.de 6,7 AAA_2018_2.indd 4-6 19.12.2018 16: 43: 16 periodicals.narr.de Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 6,7 ISSN 0171 - 5410 Mit Beiträgen von: Daniel Becker Ingo Berensmeyer Eva Sicherl Alexander Tokar Band 43 · Heft 2 | 2018 Band 43 · Heft 2 | 2018 AAA_2018_2.indd 1-3 19.12.2018 16: 43: 15