May 01, 2009
May 01, 2009
Academic writing is rarely the product of just one person's work - unless you're a Darwin or an Einstein - and it's only by reading other people's work and discussing with them that your own ideas take shape, so before I begin this topic, which I'll be covering in the next three columns, I'd just like to say that none of the ideas here would be as clearly, or coherently, expressed and developed without the invaluable input of my colleague, Ishikawa Luli, over the years.
I suspect that many of you who have some facility with written Japanese, and those of you who have read texts written by Japanese in English, may be able to relate to some aspects of the following experience.
You pick up something and begin to read it, and very quickly end up getting frustrated: it doesn’t say what it’s going to be about, and just launches straight in with a description of something; or, the first sentence isn’t a sentence at all – not having a verb – and you wonder whether the text has been properly proof read. Just as you’ve made your way through the first paragraph, and so think you might have an idea of what the writer is trying to say, you find the second paragraph talking about something completely different, without much of a clear link with what’s gone before, and this continues, with the text making a number of seemingly unrelated points; or, after talking about one subject for a while, the writer suddenly switches and dashes off on a tangent – writing about ikebana 生花 in a text about management structures, say. Finally, when you get to the end of the text, it just stops, or asks a question, without any signs that the writer has reached a conclusion, and you’re left feeling hopelessly confused: what were they trying to say? Why on earth didn’t they stick to the point? Why start talking about something completely irrelevant in the middle of a text?
You may have sat there frowning at what you have just read, and wondering how the Japanese manage to make sense of such poorly organised gibberish (or maybe, if you’re teaching English writing skills to your students and this was something they’ve written for you, you heaved a heavy sigh and thought, ‘There’s a long way to go.’)
So, what is the reason for this? Well, if you remember back to my column, ‘Is Japanese A Hard Language?’, I said then that one of the features that makes Japanese difficult for native English speakers to pick up is that the discourse structures of the two languages are very different, meaning that the roles different text elements play, and consequently the expectations readers have about how texts should be structured, are also very different, and as a native English speaker it takes a good deal of mental readjustment before you can familiarise yourself with the structures of Japanese. What the aforementioned Japanese writers are doing, of course, is simply following the patterns and conventions of their own language and the confusion arises because these are not the same as English ones.
Let’s start by outlining how English arguments tend to be structured: traditionally, they use one of two patterns, a deductive one, or an inductive one. In a deductive argument, you state your conclusion first, and then provide evidence to support it, so you’d say, ‘X is the case, for reasons A, B, and C.’ An inductive argument is reversed: you present evidence, and then provide a conclusion based upon it – ‘A, B, and C mean X.’ Research has shown, although I don’t have the reference to hand at the moment, that native English speakers on being presented with a text will assume it to be deductively structured, and will then switch to assuming an inductive structure, if that doesn’t seem to work.
Linguist John Hinds (1990), however, has categorised the standard Japanese written style as quasi-inductive, which Maynard (2002: 430) suggests has the following characteristics:
• The presentation of the writer’s purpose is delayed (hence texts can seem to just suddenly start, without saying what it is they are going to be about.
• Pieces of information contained in the writing are loosely related to a single topic (hence you can get a series of seemingly unrelated and unconnected points – remember the topic can be something which can be understood from the context, or title of the piece, and so does not necessarily need to be explicitly outlined in an ‘introduction’).
• The concluding statement is not necessarily based on the preceding statements (hence the text can seem to just suddenly stop).
The reason that Japanese writers adopt this type of style is that:
…the task of the writer is not necessarily to argue, convince or persuade the reader. Rather, the task is to stimulate the reader into contemplating an issue or issues that might not have been previously considered by providing a number of observations and perspectives. The reader is expected to draw his or her own conclusions based on the reading. (Maynard 1998: 38)
I’m sure you know that it’s considered extremely impolite in Japanese society to come right out and state your opinion about something directly – it’s better to hint at it and allow your interlocutors to work it out. Well, it’s the same in writing – arguing your point, or telling your readers what something means, is considered rude and patronising. Your readers are adults after all, and as a writer you need to show them sufficient respect and assume that they are capable of making their minds up on their own.
That doesn’t mean that you can’t appeal to them, however, and one of the ways in which writers do this is to attempt to grab readers attention – hence an ungrammatical initial statement, and launching straight in. Japanese readers recognise this as a technique which gets them immediately involved and interested in the ‘world’ the writer creates in the text. Similarly, providing a number of different perspectives, to use Maynard’s expression, helps to stop readers getting bored and keep their attention on the text. Finally, ending a text on a question invites a response from the reader, asks him or her to join the writer in the ‘world’ of the text, and elicits their sympathy. Obviously, writers hope that readers will agree with their point of view, but they don’t attempt to force it on them.
Unfortunately, this type of style can seem extremely vague, if you are not used to it and able to read between the lines to work out what the point is that the writer is trying to make. When we read an English text, ideally, we expect to be told what it is going to be about in the introduction, have it organised into paragraphs, each of which makes its main point in its first sentence, and each of which leads logically on to the next one, or, if the topic changes, for this to be clearly stated and explained. If these organisational ‘signposts’ are missing, however, it’s easy for us to get lost. Japanese readers, on the other hand, do not expect to be led around by the hand in this way, and writers don’t write texts that do. Instead, they will make efforts to write in a way which is mentally challenging and emotionally appealing.
More on this next week, including some suggestions on how to start making sense of Japanese texts.
References:
Hinds, John (1990), "Inductive, deductive, quasi-inductive: Expository writing in Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Thai", 89-109 in Connor, Ulla and Ann M. Johns (Eds.) Coherence in Writing: Research and Pedagogical Perspectives Alexandria, VA, Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages, Inc.
Maynard, Senko K. (1998), Principles of Japanese Discourse: A Handbook Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.
Maynard, Senko K. (2002), "Discourse Analysis and Pragmatics", 425-43 in Tsujimura, Natsuko (Ed.) The Handbook of Japanese Linguistics Oxford, Blackwell.
International
Japan
Regimentation or Stimulation?
Should the writer arrange the flowers or leave it to the reader? The oyster needs a grain of sand, the flower a bee. Is it better to be lost in Hampton Court or led by the one-eyed man? Is the answer too abrupt?
Take your choice!
I completely understand the strangeness of Japanese writing from my own experience translating things at work. I remember one piece of writing in particular that went from one place to another, from one era to another even, with no seemingly logical link. As I had to translate this into English all I could really do was take out pieces of information in the text and reorder them, and completely rewrite some parts so that in the end the "flavour" of my translation was completely different to the original. I still can't get my head around this style but this article has at least given some better understanding. Many thanks.
Interesting article. It never ceases to amaze me that top Japanese high school students who are smart enough to master high level English examinations seem unable to organize their thoughts on paper in even the most basic ways.
Now, I will at least look for the "Japanese style" in their writing and try to redouble my patience.
Thanks
Even there are some English people who can't stick to the point. Do you think it is possible for you to disclose the writing in question (by deleting some of the texts in ordr not to be identified by the writer) so that we can tell if you are reasonable in your argument? Otherwise, you sound unfair to the Japanese in a way.
Yes, could you disclose the text or a couple samples of texts that you are referring to?
This is a very important article! Dr. Tom gave this lecture at one of our summer residentials. It was by far one of the most useful explanations of Japanese thinking that I've ever sat through. The implication is that when working on a translation, you do have to remodel and rework certain J to E texts so that the result "hits" the English reader the same way the source did for the Japanese reader. This is far far more than robotic translation, of course. Note that it's not fair, or smart, to throw up your hands and say, "The source text is just incoherent, so it's not my fault!"
What is really surprising is that this difference is not generally taught in teacher training or reflected in methodology or curriculum.